“What happened to your hand?” she asked.
He told her about the mammoth calf and then revealed his doubts about being able to load some of those wilder animals onto the Ark.
“Jehovah will take care of it,” she murmured.
He knew she would say that. For once, he’d like to hear her voice some doubts. Rahab was a good wife, but sometimes he wondered whether she was too good. It made him feel guilty whenever he tiptoed off by himself to get drunk. No one knew; he was certain about that. It had started with a need to ease the throb of his painful hip and turned into a need to unwind and not worry or think about everything. It wasn’t as if he lived the idyllic life. Queen Naamah and the cruel city of Chemosh lay just over the horizon. Any one of these days an army of giants led by the bene elohim in what had once been his cousin Laban would march out here and put an end to all their dreams. Yes, that had been terrible news. Laban had sacrificed his son Ben-Hadad to Azel in the grim temple of Chemosh. Horrible rites had taken place and Laban…Shem called it demon-possession. Not even Nephilim could face Laban now when the fury took hold. His cousin waded through the field of battle like a god. The Destroyer was what people were calling him, and it was said that Naamah had given birth to a new Nephilim, one spawned by Laban or the bene elohim that dwelled in the fleshy shell of his cousin’s body. The point was that the fallen ones wielded terrible supernatural powers, and Ham had begun to wonder if they might not be, when all combined, at least as strong as Jehovah was and maybe even stronger.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t tell any of his brothers that. Europa might understand, but certainly not his wife.
“Ruth says that Arad is marshalling its hosts,” Rahab said.
“What was that?” he asked, his eyelids drooping. What he’d like was to sink into a tub of hot water and soak for about an hour.
“Ruth says she overheard Ikkesh whispering to some field hands. He said that Arad was about to avenge the treacherous slaughter of the Red Blades.”
“He says that all the time.”
“Ruth says when Ikkesh caught her eavesdropping he got an eerie, frightened look and he glared at her. She thinks something strange is going on.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Are you listening?”
“Of course,” he said, his eyes closing.
“Ham.” She shook him some time later. “Ham, you have to get ready.”
“Huh? What?” He raised sleepy eyes.
“It’s time to get ready. I let you nap a few minutes, but we’ll be late if you don’t change now.”
Blinking, Ham stumbled into the bedroom and changed into clean clothes. Rahab waited by the door in a cloak, her dark hair spilling out from under her hood. She smiled as he limped near, and she looked so lovely that he dropped his cane and clamped his hands on her shoulders.
“Are you happy, Rahab?”
“Ham! Yes. You know I am.”
He kissed her, and arm in arm they stepped outside and strolled toward his parents’ house. Torches flickered on the posts and a glance showed Ham that the main gate was open. He peered back at it as they headed to the house.
“Are you happy, Ham?”
He didn’t answer. Because it struck him that none of the hounds prowled about. Usually at least one or two of them nosed him and whined for attention. He stopped.
“What’s wrong, husband?”
He looked first one way and then the other. No hounds by the barns, none lying by the well and—the kennel door was ajar!
He twisted his arm free of Rahab’s and limped for the kennel.
She trotted behind him. “Is everything all right?”
His frown turned into a scowl. There was no night watchman. Had Queen Naamah sent assassins into the Keep?
He burst into the kennel and squinted at the darkness. Usually dogs bayed with delight and scratched at the wooden slats of their pens. He whirled round when Rahab bumped him, grabbing her by the arm so she sucked in her breath.
“What’s going on, Ham?”
“Stand there,” he said, pushing her to the side. “Don’t move.”
He tapped the floor with his cane, and in the first pen, he felt a warm, limp body. With his palm on the hound’s side, he felt its ribs lift. He shook the beast, but it didn’t wake. He crawled to the next pen. That hound also slept.
“They’re drugged,” he said.
“I’m scared,” Rahab said.
He was about to tell her to run to the house, but then he realized that he had no idea what was going on. “Stay behind me and do exactly as I say.”
A single mewl of fear escaped her, but then she was silent, nodding that she understood.
He came out of the kennel with his cane in his fist, just in time to hear the cry coming from the main house.
“He has mother!” Shem shouted.
“Stop!” Noah roared. “If you harm her—”
“Back! Stay back,” thundered Ikkesh.
“Get into the kennel and stay there,” Ham hissed at his wife.
“What are you going to do?” Rahab asked.
“Now,” Ham said.
“Be careful,” whimpered Rahab. “Don’t—”
“Hurry, wife.”
Ham ran to his own house. His hip flared with pain, but in another instant, he couldn’t feel it. Behind him, he heard heavy running. He dropped his cane and sprinted faster than he had at any time since his Ymir-given injury. Crashing through his front door, he spun, reached up and grabbed the spear pegged over the door. Then he darted back outside. By torchlight, he saw five field hands bearing swords running along the side of the longest barn. Another staggered under the load of a small chest cradled in his arms like a baby.
Ham knew that chest. It was the moneybox Gaea kept under her bed. Fat Ikkesh waddled out of the shadows, with his silky hair tied in a knot. His pin-dot eyes glittered with malice and his pudgy skin shone as if greased. Ikkesh bore an axe, the blade bloody. Behind him followed a lean field hand, a man with skull-like features who had only recently hired on. He carried a woman on his shoulder: his mother, Gaea.
Methuselah, in a long, flapping robe and with a club in his gnarled hands shouted a feeble war cry as he stumbled from around a barn’s corner. The sword-wielding field hands dodged the ancient patriarch. They kept running for the open gate. The lean man with Ham’s mother on his shoulder laughed as Methuselah swung and missed. It was Ikkesh who paused. The obese guest, the one Noah had saved from butchery and thereafter preached to endlessly, snarled with savage delight at Methuselah.
“Are you Jehovah’s warrior?” Ikkesh roared.
Methuselah, 969 years of age, stumbled to the attack as he swung his club a second time. Ikkesh easily evaded the blow, and he chopped with his bloody axe, clipping the ancient patriarch on the side of the head. Methuselah went down. Ikkesh sneered, spat a glob of saliva at him and then hurried after his confederates.
The five swordsmen and the lean kidnapper had all stopped and watched the exchange, although the field hand with the treasure chest concentrated on huffing along with his prize and stumbling for the gate. Thus, it was he who first saw the wild-eyed avenger, the one running at the knot of swordsmen.
“For Methuselah!” Ham bellowed, thrusting.
The nearest swordsman turned and went down in one motion of Ham’s spear. The others, startled, surprised by Ham running in from behind them, hacked inexpertly at the shouting spear-wielder. Ham cunningly deflected a blade with his hardwood shaft, while another man sliced through his cloak but missed cutting skin by a fraction. The others simply slashed air. Then those four surviving swordsmen broke into a sprint for the gate.
Ham let them go as he braced himself. “Ikkesh, you swine!”
The former ambassador of Arad hefted his bloody axe. “Come back,” he bellowed at the others.
Ham snarled, but then he turned. He didn’t have time for Ikkesh, as much as he hated him. Ham sprinted after the lean, skull-featured man who carried his mother. That one gl
anced over his shoulder and spun about as he clawed at his belt for a dagger. Ham howled with rage, plunging his spear into the man’s belly, driving him back, off his feet. As the kidnapper screamed, Gaea tumbled off his shoulder and crumpled to the ground.
Noah, Shem and Japheth ran out of the shadows, weapons in hand.
Ham wretched his spear free and whirled around as Ikkesh waddled for the open gate. The ambassador hadn’t tried to help his comrade, but had used the diversion to gain ground. Ham roared with fury and—
“Ham!” Noah shouted, striding to him. His father’s white beard bristled and those bluest of eyes gleamed with wildfire. “Let them go.”
“What?” Ham asked.
Noah knelt beside Gaea as she groggily opened her eyes.
“She’s going to be all right,” said Shem, who had slid to knees to check his mother.
Relief filled Ham. Then he shouted, “Methuselah!” He ran to where his Great-Grandfather lay sprawled in the dirt, blood welling from his scalp.
“Methuselah has fallen!” Ham shouted. He glanced up as the gate swung shut—Japheth closed it—and then Ham forgot all about the treacherous field hands and ignoble Ikkesh. He devoted all his efforts to trying to keep Methuselah alive, remembering that as long as the ancient lived, the world was safe from Jehovah’s wrath.
Deluge
1.
A duke inspected the Ark. He had seen it once before years earlier, with a slave collar riveted to his neck. Then Noah had struck off the bronze collar and preached to the former slave. “Let Jehovah strike off your yoke of sin so you can join us aboard the Ark.”
The ex-slave had listened politely, for his sister Europa had looked on. Her agent had found him in the mines of Havilah, and had paid for and freed him. That had been then. Now he had returned with an escort, a tall sword-bearer in clean felts. Due to his sister Europa’s efforts, the duke had married well and had thus been able to lay out a heavy sum for an army of sell-swords, which in turn had gained him a dukedom in their father’s former kingdom.
After listening to Noah’s warning and inspecting the zoo, the duke spoke privately with Europa. “Our brother the king wavers, but he will ally in the end with Chemosh.” The duke hesitated as worry marred his fine features. “Your situation here is untenable, Europa. To Queen Naamah you are a fly in ointment. Eventually Noah will fall to her. What then of you, my sister?”
“If that happens, I’m doomed,” Europa said. They strolled outside the Keep, the tall sword-bearer following at a discrete distance.
The duke halted. His shifting glance seemed to take in the Keep, the nearby apricot grove and the workers pruning branches. “You did me a good turn years ago. Now I will return the favor.” He lowered his voice. “Naamah will pay for Noah’s death.”
Europa eyebrows rose.
The duke watched her sidelong. “Noah is doomed. That is a certainty. But why fall with him? You are wise, Europa. Yet what have you gained from it? You’re a drudge here, wife to a fool and daughter-in-law to a maniac. Help me in this and I will split this purse with you.”
Europa struggled to hide her astonishment. “You want me to help you murder my husband and father-in-law?”
The duke scowled. “No, no, certainly not. You may save your husband, but for the father there is no hope. In the past you were unable to profit by our brother’s victory, which was terribly sad.”
“One might almost say it was unjust.”
“Perhaps, perhaps, but on that score you mustn’t be bitter. Fortunes change. You were up when most of us were down. Now we are up and you are on the wane.”
She scowled. “Most of you are ‘up’, as you say, because I either purchased your freedom or brought you into profitable marriages.”
“I suppose that’s one way of viewing the matter.”
“What other way is there?” Europa asked, outraged.
“It’s no use getting upset over past history. The future is the thing. I’m here offering you a place in that future, to stand in the sun as night descends upon these fools.”
Europa stared at her brother. “Do you realize that one of these fools that you refer to so glibly gave me the money to buy you out of slavery?”
“Of course I realize,” the duke said with growing irritation. “As I told you, that’s why I’m here, to pay back old debts.”
“Is that what you think you’re doing?”
“What would you call it?”
“Treachery, duplicity, conniving, insulting—”
“Insulting?” he asked. “How have I insulted you?”
“Brother dear,” Europa said. “You think me so base that I’d stoop to help slaughter my father-in-law? I, at least, am not an ingrate.”
“And I am?” he asked, his voice rising.
“Answer me this,” Europa said. “What title has any of my brothers or sisters offered me?”
“How could you expect rank when you hadn’t paid any money for hiring sell-swords? There was only so much to go around.” He adjusted his cloak, visibly regaining control. “One has to be reasonable about these things.”
Tears threatened, forcing Europa to turn icy lest she cry, which she refused to do. She resumed walking, increasing her stride and making her brother hurry.
“Europa, is this your answer?”
She didn’t bother looking at him, although out of the corner of her eye she saw him glance slyly at the sword-bearer, signaling him perhaps.
“Europa.” He grabbed her arm.
She twisted her arm free and walked faster, frightened now.
“I’ve spoken to you in confidence,” he panted, trotting to keep up. “You mustn’t breathe a word of this to Noah.”
She whistled as Japheth had taught her. Hounds appeared, huge brutes wagging their tail. She halted, facing her brother and the tall bearer that had a hand on his sheathed sword.
“Go away,” she said.
“Go away?” her brother repeated.
The hounds reached her.
“Go before I set these beasts on you,” she said. “Go before you order your hireling to murder me, and force me to kill you both.”
“You wound me with words.”
“You’re a liar. I see calculation in your eyes. Go. It is your final warning.”
The duke flushed angrily. The tall sword-bearer half-drew his blade.
The hounds growled, their hackles rising.
The two men exchanged glances, the duke shaking his head. The sword-bearer rammed his blade back into its scabbard. The duke bowed stiffly. “By your leave, sister.”
“You are no relation of mine.”
“Those are proud words. I hope you live long enough to regret them.”
She wept that night and she wouldn’t tell Japheth why. In the morning, she began a long missive to her brother the king, using up all her gold ink. She skipped breakfast, lunch and begged off dinner.
In the evening, Gaea knocked on her door.
Worn, her hair in disarray, with ink stains on her fingers, Europa opened the door and slumped onto the bed.
Gaea sat beside her.
Europa wanted to cry, but she refused. Perhaps the duke had been right. She was too proud. She told Gaea about the duke and his plot to assassinate Noah. And she told Gaea about the letter she had penned, warning her brother the king to stay at arms length from Chemosh or its cunning queen would swallow him too. Ally with Arad. That alone was the logical choice.
“Europa, Europa,” Gaea said, patting the ink-stained hands. “You love your brothers and sisters, your family. That is a fine thing, noble and right. Yet now Jehovah bids us to let them go.”
“What do you mean?”
“Worry and woe will be your lot as long as you strive to build in this world. Soon all the striving, plotting and evil schemes will come to nothing. Only those who board the Ark shall be saved.”
“Do you truly believe that?”
“Don’t you?” Gaea asked.
Europa swallowed. “I don’
t know what to believe.”
Gaea took a deep breath, squeezing Europa’s hands. “Send the letter if you must. But think well on what the duke proposed and how evil this world has become. Jehovah will save you out of it, but you must have faith in Him. It is imperative that you believe.”
“I’m trying to, Mother. I really am.”
“Good,” Gaea said. “Now please, come with me and let us find something to eat.”
Europa hesitated—at last nodding, rising and leaving the unsigned letter on the stand.
2.
Ham rolled the wheelbarrow up the Ark’s ramp and to the entrance bigger than a barn door. His father had never said how he planned shutting the door, the only one to the Ark. Ham had suggested by a pulley system, but his father’s reply had always been no. If it weren’t in the blueprint, his father wouldn’t do it.
With a grunt, Ham drove the wheelbarrow over the threshold, turned left and trundled the grain-sacks into the middle deck. There were three decks altogether. On each were hundreds of stalls, pens, cages, feeders, water bins, manure pits and a labyrinth of narrow passageways. All the windows were on the top deck, built in a row just under the ceiling. However, enough light filtered down here so he could see, at least once his eyes adjusted to the gloom.
Methuselah had died a month ago from his head injuries. They had a quiet funeral and Noah had warned them of the old prophecy, that “it would come when Methuselah died.”
Ham squeezed around the corner and trundled to a latched door, opened it and began to wrestle the grain sacks onto those already in the storage room. Everything had been constructed so eight people had enough hours in the day to take care of thousands of animals. For that reason, they had built a storage bin or room near every area of pens. They wouldn’t waste time or effort carting food from one central location to faraway animals.
A strange feeling tingled in his hands as he settled the last sack. He brushed his palms on his pants and took the empty wheelbarrow with him. He snorted, shaking his head, and he couldn’t rid himself of the tingling.
He stopped as he passed a row of bird pens. A giggle escaped him so he clamped a hand over his lips. Each of the birdcages was made of crisscrossed lathes. So when a bird relived itself the guano would fall between the lathes and land on a slanted board. The boards of twenty cages would deposit the manure into a narrow chute. A scoop hung on the wall. During the journey, one simply wheeled a barrow into here, scooped out the manure and rolled the barrow to the moon pool, the access to the sea inside the Ark.
People of the Ark (Ark Chronicles 1) Page 17