Dawn Of The Aakacarns

by John Buttrick

  An hour later, maybe less, the rain stopped and the sky was cloudless except far to the west, a fact made clear by the amber glow in the east. He easily determined they were drifting east-southeast. They had survived to see the dawn! The boy was still asleep so had not technically seen anything other than the insides of his eyelids, yet they were both alive and Jubal’s spirit soared with the coming of the new day.

  Dry ground came into sight several hours after dawn. The current began to fight him as he drew closer to his goal, forcing the branch-craft and most everything floating in the vicinity to the south, and away from his intended destination. The muscles in his arms bulged and strained as he wrestled against the pull of the contrary flow. The battle brought him a hundred stride-lengths farther east, but also nearly as much south. He doubled his efforts and the craft emerged from the forest, at least clear to the right as far as the eye could see, a bend in the river. The other views were of countless trees. He wondered idly if the climatic changes spoken of by Mel would turn all of what he was seeing into a desert, but dismissed the concern in light of the situation he was in the middle of. He had enough of a challenge without adding imaginary ones.

  The Euphrates flowed west to east through the settlement, but he and the boy were much farther east than anyone had dared to go. “The river bends to the south here,” he commented while trying valiantly to keep the craft from drifting in that direction.

  Rue’s arms went wide in a great stretch. “Where are we?” he asked sleepily and then added, “Oh, I think we should go over there.”

  The current was winning the struggle for dominance. Jubal’s arms were shaking from the strain; he had gone too long without rest and the water was so deep the pole barely scraped the bottom. To top it all off, his foot hurt. “As you can see, dry ground is a couple thousand paces away, and the river is not cooperating, but I agree it is the place we should go. Getting there is going to be the hard part.”

  “Why?”

  Children were known for asking such questions, frequently, Jubal understood, and so did not lose patience. An adult asking about what should be obvious would have been subjected to a smart remark. “I am having difficulty poling the branch against the current. As you can see, I am holding the end of the pole and both my hands are under the water. The river is deeper here and soon the other end of this stripped branch will not reach the bottom. In the mean time I am hoping a croc doesn’t clamp down on my hands and that I do not get bitten by a poisonous snake.”

  Both scenarios were real possibilities under the circumstances.

  Rue threw back the coat from off his head and shoulders and began looking all around and in particular at their mode of transportation. He scratched his head. “There are trees with limbs over on dry ground. Do we really need this one? Can’t you just fly us there and let this branch go where it wants?”

  Jubal thought for a moment and then bust out laughing. He could not think of a single reason to keep fighting and was slightly embarrassed for not seeing the easy solution. “Are you fond of this branch?”

  Rue shook his head. “It was a better place to sleep than the one I chose, but it is harder than grass and doesn’t have a place to cook fish.”

  “I will take that as a, no, and agree over there would be a better place to eat,” Jubal replied, and dropped the pole, grabbed his nephew around the waist, and focused the potential.

  Up they flew, leveling off at twenty paces above the surface. “Don’t drop me.”

  Jubal chuckled. “If I do, you will be the first thing I fish out of the river.”

  He levitated them toward the bank and as they approached, his fanciful dream of the ideal place came to mind. The sudden desire to explore the area he was approaching was just as quickly dampened by practicality. The wind was cool on his wet skin, reminding him Rue’s needs were greater than his own. The boy was shivering, so lighting a fire would be a high priority, as well as catching food and making some sort of shelter.

  Jubal’s feet touched down, right foot aching in protest as he ceased the focus of energy and his full weight settled on the abused appendage. He staggered while lowering Rue to the grassy and mushy ground, but managed to regain stable footing without falling on top of the person he was supposed to protect.

  “See if you can find old dry sticks,” Jubal said while balancing on his left foot. “But stay within sight of me.”

  Rue nodded, handed back the coat, and then began the difficult search. Since nothing was dry after such a thorough soaking, the real purpose was to give him something to do while Jubal took care of the necessities.

  By the time the lad returned with a small bundle of sticks in his arms, Jubal had set up camp and was wrapping a fresh bandaged, ripped from his already tattered coat. Infection had set in and the bottom of his foot was an angry red. The sore was not a sight fit for the lad and so had been taken care of in his absence.

  “These aren’t very dry,” Rue’s voice sounded apologetic while he was dumping the sticks in the shallow hole dug for that purpose.

  The twigs were long dead and unable to soak in moisture, so it did not take long for the sun to evaporate the exterior dampness. Jubal removed the flint and tinder box from the crocodile pouch and quickly had a fire going. “There, now let’s go fishing.”

  -----

  They had been camping on the bank of the river for two days and Rue enjoyed every moment of it. Uncle Jubal was limping a little, trying to pretend his foot did not hurt, but aside from that, Rue felt as if he was taking part in a grand adventure. He learned early on that fishing with his uncle was unlike anything he had ever seen before. All the giant had to do was point a finger at which ever fish happened by and then a beam of light would snatch it right out of the water. They ate well morning, noon, and evening.

  The cleaning and cooking of the catch was done the normal way with an obsidian blade and ordinary fire, and so was the rest of their daily routine, but every once in a while he would do something magical, like stripping and weaving grass into useful things and snapping branches off trees for building materials without physically touching any of it. The canoe he had begun to build involved magically pulling apart a tree branch and a stone, which he broke into a smaller piece, leaving a sharp edge with which to cut and shape the long narrow boat, again magically.

  Rue glanced down at the tunic of plant fibers his uncle had made for him. The pale green garment was something to wear while his linen tunic was drying. Jubal had made a loincloth and a kilt out of plant fibers to wear while his woolens were drying on a line, so both of their clothes would be clean by the time they started up the river. Unfortunately he insisted that their bodies be clean as well.

  “Do you think it will rain today?” Rue asked.

  Uncle Jubal came out of the hut he had constructed from branches and woven reeds. His huge frame was wrapped tightly with muscles, making it sometimes difficult to keep from staring at him. “Even though we spent most of yesterday sitting in the hut to stay dry, I think today will be different. The sky is clear from horizon to horizon. According to the priest, the water will reach its highest level tomorrow and then will gradually recede.”

  Rue eyed the azure blue and sighed. Part of him missed his mother and wanted to be with her, but he also did not want his time with Jubal to end. “The canoe you are making will be finished today. Are you going to take me home then or wait until the water isn’t so high?”

  Jubal scratched the top of his head as if giving the matter some thought and then glanced inland. “Since we have been given such a beautiful day, I thought we might do a little exploring.”

  Rue hopped several times in place before he realized how childish doing so must have seemed to his uncle, so then folded his hands together in what he hoped was a more grownup way. “I bet there are lions and bears and wolves.”

  “Does the possibility worry you?”

  Rue laughed at the notion and shook his head. “It is the wild animals that need to worry about you.” />
  Jubal grinned. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. I will take your response as agreement. Let’s go exploring.”

  He turned and stumbled after putting all his weight on the bad foot, but managed to catch his balance and shift to the left. “Perhaps I should use the oar I made as a staff.”

  Rue ran inside the hut, grabbed the oar leaning against the far wall, and then brought the item to his uncle. “Maybe if we wait a little your foot will feel better.”

  Jubal took the oar and shook his head. “My foot will not feel better until we get back to the settlement and someone who knows how to make a good poultice can tend to it.”

  Rue wanted the adventure to continue and yet as exciting as the prospect of exploring the wilderness promised to be, he was worried. “Maybe we should finish the canoe and paddle to the settlement.”

  “Thanks for the thought, but I feel the need to discover more about this place,” Jubal replied and then absently stroked his beard. “The feeling is beyond curiosity, it seems like a duty, and something that must be done even if it means putting up with a little inconvenience.”

  Rue had nothing to counter the response, only grasping the fact that his uncle intended to take him exploring. “Okay.”

  -----

  Jubal readied the canoe at dawn for the journey home; home meaning anywhere Vashti could be with him. He and Rue spent most of the previous day exploring the region and the time had not been wasted. For good or ill a decision would soon be made that held the possibility of changing the way of life for all mankind, certainly in a far different manner than what it had been over the past two hundred years. The ability to summon and focus life-force energy guaranteed change, as well as the fruit of his brief and promising explorations.

  They were each dressed in their regular clothing, except for Jubal’s right foot. The appendage had swollen to the point the boot no longer fit. So much wool had been removed from the coat; his midriff was exposed all the way around. He had been forced to split the deer hide and bind the entire boot to his foot to keep the internal wrappings clean.

  The foot hurt something fierce, but would be no hindrance to rowing. He was well rested, and with the strength in his arms fully restored, he knew making the journey to be well within his physical capabilities. Vashti would be on Japheth’s Hill, which was where he intended to go first, rather than to Shem’s Hill. He and Rue would soon be reunited with their families, a prospect they both looked forward to, but the houses they knew no longer existed, although the boy might not have grasped that fact.

  “This is a good place for a new settlement,” Jubal said while lifting his nephew into the watercraft.

  Rue’s young face twisted into one of bewilderment. “New, what is wrong with the old?”

  Jubal pushed off the canoe, hopped aboard, careful of his sore foot, and took up the oar. “You will see.”

  The water was still far above normal, so much so there was no high ground within sight, left or right, as he rowed in the center of the Euphrates, against the current. The forests on both sides were completely swamped, which meant the caravans had to remain at their encampment for another day or two.

  It was late in the afternoon when the five hills came into sight, each like an island with boats moving back and forth between them. He estimated the distance travelled up river, using Artemis’s spans as the measure, and was satisfied with the result. The three bridges were merely arches shooting up out of the water, none of the ends touched dry ground. Every hill was covered with quickly-made shelters and the populations were densely packed in the limited spaces.

  “Where are all the houses?” Rue asked while he turned his head every which way.

  “They are all underwater. The dwellings made of stone and bricks might be salvageable, but the rest have likely been washed away,” Jubal replied while picturing his home floating down the river as a mass grouping of logs. He hoped the oven remained intact and to find all of the clay tablets unbroken.

  “Oh, this is why you think we need a new settlement,” Rue was quick to perceive.

  “Since we must rebuild, why not make our new dwellings on higher ground?” Jubal gave his reasoning.

  “Okay,” Rue gave his usual response and seemed to appreciate being spoken to as an adult, even though he truly had no say in where his parents would choose to rebuild.

  A broad assortment of large and small boats was on the surface. Jonas sat at the tiller of a medium-sized craft propelled by a team of rowers. Catching fish was his profession, although he occasionally acted as a ferry for a small number of passengers, which seemed to be the present case. Five men in robes sat in the center of the craft while the oarsmen stroked to the beat of a single drum. Jonas and his men, third and fourth-gens, were descendants of Shem, making them kinsman, even though all of them were Tinies.

  The passengers began pointing at the canoe and shouting words Jubal could not make out from such a distance. Whatever was said caused Jonas to alter course straight toward the new arrival.

  “That’s Jubal and Peleg’s whelp,” a deep voice called from the boat while it was still too far away for any conversation that would not involve a great deal of shouting.

  Ten shirtless, bearded, rowers stowed the oars as the craft pulled alongside the canoe. One of the five passengers stood up in the middle of the boat. He had a ruddy complexion and ancient brown eyes that had seen a world beyond Jubal’s imagining. Seated around the elder were four of his sons, Gomer, Magog, Javan, and Tiras, each of which were tribal patriarchs, and none of which was under one hundred fifty years of age.

  Jubal stowed his oar and offered a seated bow to his father-in-law. “I never thought to be met by such distinguished men.”

  “Thank you,” Jonas spoke up. “I’m glad you recognize me and my crew as men of distinction.”

  “I am fond of eating your fish,” Jubal admitted, pretending the statement included the fishers, since doing so caused no harm and made the men feel important.

  “By the looks of you,” the captain replied, “you’ve eaten well enough but those clothes have seen better days. Your sleeves are in tatters and the lower half of that fancy hunter’s coat is missing.”

  “Are you attempting to start a new fashion?” Tiras called in his booming voice, the same that had shouted out in recognition earlier. It was difficult to determine under all of the red-brown whiskers, but it seemed as if the sixth-born son of Japheth was grinning. He was also the youngest of the elders in the boat.

  Jubal chuckled at the notion and decided to play along. “Vashti wants me to stand out in the crowd, sort of put myself forward a little more. Do you think exposing one’s midriff might become popular?”

  Javan, whose red-brown beard was neatly trimmed, raised both hands up and outward. “The answer depends on what your goal is. Seeing your tummy does nothing for me, but if the goal is to attract the fond attentions of the fairer sex, I suspect flaunting muscular abs might catch on.”

  “You have already gained more than the fond attention of my daughter,” Japheth joined the conversation while stroking his long red beard. The warm smile indicated he knew the answer his statement would elicit. There would have been no smile had his words suggested even a hint of infidelity.

  “She is the brightest part of my life and a blessing beyond price,” Jubal replied without hesitation and with all sincerity.

  “Since Uncle Jubal can shine brighter than a lightning bolt,” Rue’s high-pitched voice piped in, “I guess that means he loves her a whole bunch.”

  Everyone heard the comment but only Jubal acknowledged it by giving the boy a few light pats on the shoulder. The other adults ignored the child.

  “While I am pleased to see you and hear how highly you regard my giant of a sister,” Magog stated with a frown that did not reflect any sort of pleasure. His face was mostly hidden by a red-blond beard, but the set of his eyebrows made his feelings plain. “I am curious why you are here rather than at high ground where you are supposed to be
.”

  The man was contentious by nature, quick to anger, and slow to give ground. His attitude was in no way surprising, nor was the accusatory tone.

  “I am sure he has good reason to be here rather than there,” Javan told his brother. He and Tubal were the first to welcome their sister’s husband to the family after the wedding and neither had ever been afraid of their older brother.

  Jubal knew the manner in which he intended to give his report, but had not planned on beginning the tale while floating on the Euphrates, yet felt compelled to give an account, not because of Magog, but out of respect for the son of Noah.

  Japheth raised his hand. “We are going to Noah’s Hill. Jubal can come to the meeting and explain his presence to all of us at one time. I am sure his mother and father will be just as interested in his tale as you are, my son.”

  Magog stood and bowed to his father, then sat down, as did the elder.

  “To Noah’s Hill,” Jonas ordered, and nodded approvingly as his crew took up their oars.

  Jubal grabbed his Melody-and-rock-fashioned oar and started rowing, following the larger boat. He sighed, having a desire to see Vashti first, yet resigned to the change.

  Rue also sighed. “I think you were right about us both being in trouble,” he said while fidgeting where he sat. “You told me so back when we were in the tree.”

  Being scolded by his parents was one thing, having to explain to the matriarchs and patriarchs added a whole new level of anxiety, Jubal understood the lad’s concern, although did not share it. “I think they will let you play with boys and girls your own age while I meet with the elders. The ancient one and great lady will probably be so happy after I tell them what happened; they’ll forget to be mad.”