Wives of the Flood

by Vaughn Heppner

  “The beginning,” Satan whispered from the air.

  “Your beginning?” Kush asked.

  “Of me and the others,” Satan said.

  “What of Jehovah?”

  “As you saw,” said Satan. “He was already there.”

  “Before you?” Kush asked.

  “Before me by seconds only,” said Satan. “Jehovah is clever and quick, never doubt it. Yet his claim to holiness and perfection—ha, I claim otherwise. If omniscient, why did my rebellion catch all heaven by surprise? If omnipotent, why with a third of the sons of the morning have I been able to not only hold my own but take territory?”

  “What territory?” Kush asked.

  “Earth, for a beginning,” said Satan.

  “Did Jehovah really destroy the Earth by flood?” Nimrod asked.

  “You know that he did,” Satan said, “although he has sworn an oath never to do so again.”

  “Why did He swear?” Nimrod asked.

  “Out of fear, is what I think,” Satan said. “He knows the other poor deluded angels will turn on him if he tries that a second time.”

  “Then you can defeat him?” Nimrod asked.

  “Yes,” Satan said. “I can topple Jehovah from his throne, for he like me is self-created from the watery void. Thus, he is not the Maker. Matter is first, not Jehovah, and therein is our hope.”

  “Hope?” Kush asked. “Victory is not certain?”

  “Mighty Hunter,” Satan said, “when you stalk a lion, is victory certain?”

  “No,” Nimrod said. “You must bring all your skill and daring into play and then achieve greatness.”

  “So it is in the realm above,” said Satan. “But look you: all humanity is almost under your authority. Together, we shall forge such a host as will storm heaven and the entire universe. Every day we’re closer to victory. Nimrod, advance on Shem and you will be victorious. Wield your empire as world-conqueror, knowing another flood will never be sent against you. Teach mankind these truths. Let them know that their gods have sprung full born from watery chaos. In such a way, fear of Jehovah shall be destroyed, weakening his power here on Earth.”

  With that said, the mote of light began to shrink.

  “Wait!” Nimrod cried. “What boon will you give me? I demand longer life and that you teach me self-creation into a higher form.”

  “Another time, Mighty Hunter,” Satan said. “When you have finished the Tower and weld an unruly people into true obedience, then we shall see.”

  The mote vanished, and the braziers flickered in the sudden darkness.

  7.

  Far away on the upland plain of Nineveh, Hilda strolled through a field of flowers with Odin. It was her first time alone with him. She plucked a flower, sniffing it, and she felt odd for a moment in her knee-length dress, with her arms bare. She wondered if she should have picked a different sort of outfit. She jabbed her javelin into the soil and fixed the flower into a braid.

  She blushed, and she wasn’t certain why she had put the flower there. She snatched her javelin and tramped through the flower field.

  Odin wasn’t handsome like Gog had been. Oh, beautiful Gog had been strong and tender. Odin was fat, although he moved with agility. And his beard made him seem older than he was. Yet she admitted that it was a handsome beard. She wondered what it would feel like to run her fingers through it.

  Her father didn’t trust him. Odin’s story—the reason why he had fled Babel—was an ugly one. Some people didn’t believe it, although she knew Ham did. Odin had been a Mighty Man, one of King Nimrod’s bodyguards. One evening in Babel, Nimrod’s oldest brother Seba had been escorted into the palace. Uruk and two others had marched him to the throne where Nimrod sat. Odin had been one of the bodyguards lined against the walls, ready to hurl his spear into anyone who dared threaten the king. Nimrod had spoken softly to Seba. The heavy-faced man squirmed in Uruk’s grip. With his foot, Nimrod had shoved a small chest forward.

  “Open it.”

  Uruk released Seba. Frightened, Seba knelt, drew back the lid and fell with a scream.

  Odin jumped near, cocking his spear. Then he saw the overturned chest. Thick granules of salt poured onto the floor, while out rolled the bloody head of Seba’s youngest son.

  “I am Nimrod. I am King. Your sons disobey me at their peril.”

  Odin fled Babel soon thereafter.

  Beor said the man’s story was a trick to lure them. Her father predicted war with Babel. He trained a small band to make swift raids and surprise attacks.

  Hilda sighed. She didn’t want to think about chariot raids and javelins. Today, with Odin the Spear-Slayer beside her, she walked through a field of flowers.

  Odin cleared his throat. “I think instead of Hilda, I’ll call you the Huntress.”

  “Isn’t that what they call the moon goddess in Babel?”

  Odin grimaced. She remembered then that people said he didn’t like talking about Babel.

  Hilda smiled to take the sting out of her words. He seemed to misinterpret her action, taking her hand, and saying, “Hilda…”

  A sudden noise made them turn. Her father rattled to the edge of the flower field on his chariot. He pretended as if he’d stumbled upon them and now avoided them as a matter of courtesy.

  “What were you going to say?” she asked, trying to ignore her father.

  “Doesn’t your father trust me?”

  “Yes,” she said, “as long as you’re within range of his bow.”

  “Should I call him here?”

  “Whatever for?” she asked.

  Odin smiled, and he waved to her father. Beor didn’t wave back. Instead, he halted to let the donkeys munch grass.

  With several emotions working across his face, Odin strolled to a rock and gestured that she sit there. Odin leaned on his spear and kept her father in view. Beor shaded his eyes, pretending to watch birds but clearly seeing what was going on with her and the Babelite, as he spoke of Odin.

  “This is too much.” Odin stomped through the flowers toward her father.

  Hilda sighed. The sun felt good on her face, but she wondered on the wisdom of Odin’s course. Her father stepped aside for no man. After visiting Noah and during his months as the preacher, he had seemed to change, to become…softer would be the wrong word. Perhaps more godly. But the incident with Semiramis had shaken her father to the core.

  Hilda sat up, watching the two men. When Odin had first come to the plain of Nineveh, he had begged Beor to let him be a Scout. “What I know is fighting,” Odin told her father.

  Beor had reluctantly agreed, and they had hunted wolves, bears and lions together. Many a night, her father and Odin had discussed battle tactics while sharing a wineskin and trying to wrinkle Nimrod’s weaknesses from their memories of him. Finally, Odin had won permission to walk alone with her, and after many no’s she had changed her mind and said yes.

  “Do you need a ride back to the settlement?” her father asked Odin, loud enough for her to hear.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Odin asked. “How come you have to spy on us?”

  “Don’t like it, do you, boy?” Beor asked.

  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 days 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.”