Wives of the Flood

by Vaughn Heppner

  The balls burst into vicious flames. The dragon uttered a sound never again heard on Earth. It was a ghastly, soul-agonizing bellow. Kush and his brothers staggered from the beast with their hands over their ears. The monster’s very thrashing and mindless pain caused it to trap itself. This time, it lacked the wherewithal to right itself. The brimstone, burning with Sheol-like intensity, curled the dragon’s leathery hide and caused blood and bone to bubble.

  The screaming soon lost its incredible volume. Like a mantis mobbed by tiny ants, the larger lost to the smaller. Man prevailed over the monster, and the idea of dragons would endure forever in legend.

  Pharaoh’s Palace

  1.

  Blind Ham awoke as his door creaked. Someone with a heavy tread entered the room. The person’s armor jangled and a loose dagger clacked in its scabbard.

  “Who is it?” Ham asked.

  “The guard captain.”

  Ham’s stomach tightened. Pharaoh’s last orders had been that if he died during the night, the guard captain must shove a dagger in his belly.

  “I can still spit, Guard Captain.”

  “Spit?”

  “In your eye,” Ham said.

  “Ah. You think I’m to murder you now, is that it?”

  “Think well before you strike. Consider who will sit on the throne after Pharaoh dies.”

  “Listen to me, you ancient schemer, before you perjure yourself further. I’m to take you to Pharaoh.”

  “What?”

  “He’s still dying, not yet dead.” The guard captain grunted. “Maybe you’re to die too before the night is over. My guess is Pharaoh will order me to throttle you for his amusement. So you can save your spit until then.”

  Ham chuckled as a powerful hand gripped his arm.

  “Old fool. Has fear turned you senile?”

  “Let me dress.”

  “There’s no time. I’m taking you to Pharaoh’s bedroom, so what does it matter if you’re in your nightclothes?”

  “Guard Captain,” Ham said, summoning his last shreds of authority. Maybe dreaming of how he had driven Nimrod to the dragon gave him something of his old strength.

  “What is it?”

  “I will don garments suitable to enter Pharaoh’s presence.”

  For several heartbeats, the guardsman said nothing, his grip hurtful. “As you will,” he said finally, stepping back.

  “Do you see it?” Ham asked.

  “What?”

  “My robe.”

  “You think I’ll be your maid servant as well as your executioner? Get your own robe, you old goat.”

  “Surely as the progenitor of the pharaohs, I should be shown respect as well as dignity.”

  “Do not presume upon me, old one.”

  “You serve a pharaoh consumed by hatred. Will the next ruler feel likewise? Might not he who ascends the throne next recall that there was one who dared spill royal blood?”

  “Do you mean yours?”

  “I am ancient and may be destined to die this night, but I may yet curse the one who slays me, or I may give him my leave to do the dreadful deed.”

  “Pharaoh cares nothing about your leave.”

  “That is true. But you might on the day a new Pharaoh ascends the throne.”

  Ham felt the cold stare, or perhaps it was his imagination. Moments later, however, the guard captain muttered darkly as he thrust a robe at Ham.

  “Hurry, if you please, Lord of Schemers. Or it will be both of us who die this evil night.”

  2.

  Hunger gnawed Ham’s belly, making it rumble. It felt as if he’d tramped these halls forever. He heard the guardsman’s crackling torch and the man’s heavy footfall.

  “Slow down,” Ham told him.

  “How is it a bag of bones like you has managed to cling to life for so long? Why, I could shake you apart with one hand. You’re weaker than my mother-in-law is—Set curse the bloodsucking old wretch. She’s like you, old man, a bedridden schemer, always demanding this or that. I’ve a mind to take her to the Nile and feed her to the crocodiles. You’ve no idea how costly the temple healers have become. As soon as they cure her cough, she starts spitting blood. Half my pay goes to the temple. Maybe Pharaoh has the right idea. Throttle the aged and be done with them.”

  Ham wheezed as he leaned against the wall. At least the guard captain had let him stop. This was the essence of old age: enfeeblement. It galled him to be decrepit; to be this “bag of bones,” as the guardsman had said. Ah, if only he could be young again. Then he would teach this braggart about toughness. Could the guard captain have faced down Ymir? Would he have driven Nimrod near the dragon? It pleased Ham to think about a day when the guard captain would be old, when it would be his turn to have the young sneer at his weakness. Not for the first time, Ham wondered how life would have been different if Adam hadn’t fallen to Satan’s guile. What if a man need never grow old? Sin had brought aging and death. And the author of sin had been Satan, the deceiver of men and the enemy of Jehovah.

  “That’s long enough,” the guard captain said.

  The rough hand wrapped around Ham’s sticklike arm, propelling him.

  “What about food?” Ham wheezed.

  The guardsman made a rude sound, pushing him faster.

  Ham’s sandals slapped against the tiles. His skinny shanks quivered, while his belly rumbled. Only the guardsman’s strong grip kept him upright.

  Harp playing drifted near, fingers artfully plucking strings, and the beautiful, melodious voice of a woman.

  “Are we in the Woman’s Quarter?”

  “Where else do you think Pharaoh spends his last days? Too bad you’re blind, old man. He has some lovely maidens here. Even your blood might be fired if you could see them.”

  “Do they tempt you?” Ham asked.

  “I’m the guard captain. I’m beyond temptation.”

  “In these matters, only eunuchs are beyond temptation. Has Pharaoh had you castrated?”

  “You have your little jokes, old man. I’ll remember when Pharaoh orders me to wrap my hands around your throat. It’ll be a pleasure then.”

  “Truly, you are the champion. You challenge old men and find beautiful women unappealing. I stand in awe.”

  The singing and harp playing grew louder.

  “Sit here,” the guard captain said, pushing Ham onto a marble bench. He marched away, taking his crackling torch with him.

  Ham cocked his head. The harp player was skilled. The woman’s accent wasn’t from Egypt, Put or Canaan. He frowned. He’d recently heard a similar accent. Yes. Abram. The woman’s accent was like the shepherd from Ur.

  The singing stopped. Men spoke. A gong sounded.

  Ham waited. He heard jewelry clink before he heard the shuffle of feet and the tapping of a man’s cane. Men, women, even some Egyptian children wore gold bracelets and faience or lapis lazuli necklaces. Some of the necklaces were elaborately embroidered, approaching the size of an Antediluvian Slayer’s gold collar. Bee-shaped pins adored cloaks, as did beetle-shaped pins. Rings of turquoise, gold and more lapis lazuli added beauty to their wearers, and added, like all jewelry, magical protection. To the superstitious Egyptians, they were amulets or charms, warding off evil spirits, disease and death. Canes, interestingly, were badges of office and showed one’s place in the social order. Ham wasn’t sure when that had started, but the man tapping his cane was obviously someone of status.

  “Who is it?” Ham asked. “Who’s there?”

  “Look,” the singer said, the woman. Ham recognized the accent. “An old man. What is he doing here?”

  “Ignore him,” the high-pitched voice of a palace eunuch said.

  “Sarai?” Ham asked.

  “How does he know my name?” the woman asked.

  “It’s unimportant,” the eunuch said.

  “I’ve spoken with Abram,” Ham said, delighted that he’d guessed right.

  “Wait,” the woman said.

  The eunuch made a
n exasperated sound.

  “Old one,” the woman said gently, with respect. “Have you really spoken with Abram?”

  “I have,” Ham said. “Yesterday.”

  “Is… Is my brother well?”

  “Your brother?” Ham asked.

  Linen rustled and jewelry clattered as the woman sat beside him. He didn’t think she wore the necklace for magical protection, but because it had been foisted upon her. Her perfume was rich, of great cost. Ham was certain that she was very beautiful, perhaps rivaling Semiramis or even Naamah. Yet this beauty was meek, at least according to all he’d heard about her.

  “Please do not mock me, my lord,” she said.

  “Your name is Sarai?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “I do not mock you,” Ham said. “In turn, I ask that you speak only the truth.”

  “Of course,” Sarai said.

  “What occurred in Pharaoh’s bedroom?”

  “That is not your place to ask,” the eunuch said.

  Ham groped for Sarai’s hand. It was smooth, with rings on her fingers. “I spoke with Abram. He told me how Jehovah called him out of Ur.”

  “You believe in Jehovah?” she whispered.

  “Before Him, there are no others,” Ham said. “He alone is Divine.”

  She hugged him, while the eunuch muttered shocked words of piety. “You dare to blaspheme Egypt’s deified pantheon?”

  “Tell me, Sarai, what occurred in Pharaoh’s bedroom.”

  “She may not speak of it,” the eunuch said.

  “What harm is there in telling him about my harp playing, O Master of the Harem?” she asked sweetly. “Pharaoh delighted in my singing. Cannot others know that Pharaoh was gladdened? That my singing drove away his tormenting spirits.”

  “This one asks more than that,” the eunuch said.

  “There is nothing more to know,” Sarai said.

  “You must take care,” the eunuch said. “This one is in Pharaoh’s disfavor. Let us leave before he taints us.”

  “Oh, but he has a message from my… from Abram. Do you not?” she asked, touching Ham’s arm.

  “I know the truth,” he said.

  She sucked in her breath.

  “What does he mean?” the eunuch said.

  Ham patted her hand. “Fear not, Sarai. I know why Pharaoh is sick. He may yet be cured—if he heeds me.”

  “Listen to me, woman,” the eunuch said, “as you love your life, we must leave. Look. The guard captain comes. I will be flogged if they find you speaking with Ham.”

  “Ham?” Sarai asked.

  He could feel her stare and almost feel her wide-eyed shock.

  “I have heard people speak of Egypt as the land of Ham,” she said.

  He dipped his head.

  “It is not possible that you are that Ham,” she said. “Though you seem very old, my lord.”

  “Now, woman,” the eunuch said. “We must leave now.”

  “If I am that one,” Ham said, “know that in terms of power, it means nothing.”

  “But that Ham would be the same as in Shem, Ham and Japheth,” she said. “The sons of Noah.”

  “Yes.”

  “My lord,” she whispered. “You rode in the Ark?”

  “That was a long time ago, Sarai.” Ham patted her hand, enjoying its softness. “Many, many lifetimes ago.”

  “Please,” the eunuch said. “Let us leave this instant.”

  “Go, Sarai,” Ham said. “The harem master is right. I have your good at heart, and today will see whether Jehovah will aid me or not in my aiding of you.”

  “Bless you, my lord,” she said, as she kissed his cheek.

  The eunuch groaned.

  Linen rustled and jewelry clattered. “Goodbye, Lord Ham,” she said. “Jehovah has shown me tonight that I am not forgotten. When next you see Abram, tell him…tell him I love him.”

  “If I’m right, then I think you shall see Abram before I do,” Ham said, more determined than ever to save Egypt.

  Their footfalls receded, while that of the guardsman’s drew nearer.

  “Still plotting, you old schemer,” the guard captain said moments later. “And with Pharaoh’s newest pretty. Ah, you are a bold fool indeed, you rogue.”

  “Is Pharaoh ready to receive me?”

  “Oh, he’s ready. The question is, are you?”

  3.

  Incense warred against a rotting stench. Soft footfalls told of movement. Muted whispers bespoke of fear, worry and dread concern.

  Amongst that, the now silent guard captain pushed Ham onto a chair. Hot bread stung his hands. Ham tore into the softness, gumming the steaming food, swallowing, gaining strength.

  “There’s nothing wrong with your appetite,” Pharaoh wheezed.

  “No, my lord,” Ham said with a full mouth, surprised he’d been the center of focus. That was one of the problems with being blind. You didn’t know when everyone was staring at you.

  “Give him wine,” whispered a dying Pharaoh.

  “Only water, if it pleases your majesty.”

  “But you’ve told us how fond you are of wine,” Pharaoh said.

  “That was once true, my lord. But these years in bed…I have at last been cured of drunkenness. It happened in Babel.”

  “Babel. Strange you should speak that name.” Pharaoh’s hoarse whisper changed into dreadful coughing. He spat into the physician’s bowl.

  “You must sleep, Pharaoh,” the high priest of Sekhmet said.

  “How can I sleep?” wheezed Pharaoh. “The dream, the dream. It haunts me.”

  Ham first thanked whoever handed him the glass and then slaked his thirst. Yesterday’s talk and his dream this night had left him famished. Eating and drinking here revived him. It was time now to stave off Pharaoh’s death—and perhaps save his own life.

  “Sire,” Ham said.

  “Shhh,” someone hissed.

  “He’s sleeping at last,” another man said.

  “No,” another said, gravely. “Pharaoh has stopped breathing.”

  Mutterers moved into a clump. The whispers grew agitated. Finally, one man raised his voice. “Guard Captain, take the old one away. He’s no longer needed.”

  “Back to his room?” the guard captain asked.

  “…No. Kill him. Those were Pharaoh’s last orders.”

  “Throttle him, or use a dagger?”

  “Kill him! You decide how. Use your expertise.”

  “I obey, Lord Chamberlain,” the guard captain said.

  “Wait,” Ham said.

  “Don’t make a mess of it,” the guard captain said, gripping Ham’s arm.

  “Pharaoh!” Ham shouted. “Pharaoh.”

  “He’s dead, you fool.”

  “No. Pharaoh!”

  A loud wheeze stilled everyone. Ugly coughing punctuated the quiet. Then, “Why is everyone staring at me?”

  Silence ruled.

  “Chamberlain, what is the meaning of this?”

  “Pharaoh, we thought…”

  “They thought you had died,” Ham said.

  Groaning told of the struggle, and when next Pharaoh spoke, his voice came from higher up, as if he sat.

  “I had a dream,” Pharaoh said. “A most strange—Guard Captain, why do you clutch Ham by the arm? Put him on the chair as I ordered.”

  “Yes, Pharaoh.”

  Guided, Ham stumbled onto the chair, his knees giving way as he realized how near he had been to death. He tried to gather his wits, but failed. He heard voices and a snapping finger.

  “Shake him,” Pharaoh said.

  The hard grip hurt his arm, and his head jerked back and forth.

  “Gently, Guard Captain,” Pharaoh whispered. “Ham? Can you hear me?”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  “You prattled endlessly yesterday. Now you wear a witless look.”

  “I… forgive me, Sire.”

  “Your words yesterday… They have made me dream strangely tonight. My seers could not
interpret the dream, and the priests? They are fools. Only Sarai’s singing brought me peace. But now, the dream torments me again, and I wonder. Can you interpret the dream?”

  “I am not a seer,” Ham said.

  “Then you’re useless, a burden I will no longer tolerate. Guard Captain!”

  “Pharaoh, you may yet live,” Ham said.

  “No more of your mockery, old one. I’m dying. These fools thought I had already died.”

  “Listen to me, Sire. I know why you are dying.”

  “You speak like a honey-tongued charlatan,” Pharaoh said. “And I will not listen to more of your prattle, not when I lie on the threshold of death.”

  “What is your dream, Pharaoh?” Ham asked.

  “Are you suddenly a seer, old one?”

  “I will not know until I hear the dream.”

  A wheezing chuckle brought on coughing and more spitting. Until: “See how he clings to life. Oh, he is a serpent in his guile. If only I had your tenacity, old man. But then, maybe you are right. Maybe you should hear my dream after all.”

  “You must rest, Pharaoh,” the high priest of Sekhmet said.

  “Should I summon the nobles, Pharaoh?” the chamberlain asked.

  “I am Pharaoh,” whispered the dying man. “Interrupt me again and the guard captain shall have two to slay this night, or maybe more. And you, old one, if you interpret my dream correctly, I may yet rescind your death sentence.”

  “I will do my best, Sire,” Ham said.

  “Of that, I have no doubt. Now listen—listen. I dreamt first of a cheetah. It raced across a plain gobbling hares and antelopes, and it grew until it devoured lions, and then it sprouted a horn. With the horn, it became the king of beasts. Then… oh no, my dream fades and I cannot remember more. But it was important. Oh, it, it seemed—I must remember the dream!”