People of the Flood (Ark Chronicles 2) (12 page)

To his amazement
, Beor found that Europa stood as tall as he did.

“
You’re a massive man, Beor, perhaps the biggest of your clan.”

“
Some say so, my lady.”

“
And you’re brave and courteous and honor your grandparents.” She smiled for the first time. It brought lines to her face but made her more beautiful. “You have the bearing of a king. Like many of your line, you strike me as exceeding resourceful. I like you, Beor.”

“
Thank you, my lady.”

“
Thus, I must ask you to reconsider this marriage.”

His smile vanished
. He appeared perplexed and groped for words.

“
I suggest rather that you court Hera, a girl worthy of a king, more in keeping for a man like you. Or, if not her, then choose Freya.”

Beor bowed his head
. “I appreciate your suggestion, my lady. Yet it was for Semiramis that I slew the great sloth and drove my sheep these hundred leagues.”

“
Semiramis is very beautiful,” Europa murmured. “And she has ambition. But I do not foresee good for you if you marry her. It will be a trial for you.”

“
You are wise, my lady, and—”

Europa held up her hand
. “No flattery, Beor, please. For I see that my words effect you not at all. You yearn for that which burns.” She set aside her cup and resumed her place on the cedar chair. “What if I said no?”

Uncertain what to say, Beor swallowed, at last
holding up his palms.

“
Hmm, quiet strength even.” She seemed sad, resigned. “I am reluctant to say yes, yet I think it is unwise to tell the great sloth slayer no. True nobility lies in you, Beor, power that it is dangerous to thwart. So I will grant your request, providing Semiramis agrees.”

“
Thank you, my lady.”

“
We shall see,” Europa said. “For the end of a matter can never be seen at its beginning.”

When told of the matriarch
’s decision, Tarshish assured Beor that his daughter would say yes, which proved true. Thus, Semiramis became Beor’s second wife. The first had died of sickness several years ago.

On his return
home, Semiramis the Beautiful added to Beor’s luster. Beor, the strongest man on Earth, the greatest hunter and the wearer of the great sloth cap, now had the most beautiful wife. His father Canaan was proud and gained stature through Beor and a rise in clan leadership.

Neither of them, however, counted on Kush
’s dour lust for dominance.

2.

Kush loathed the curse of Noah almost as much as he hated the sons of Japheth. He seethed at the idea of being anyone’s slave, let alone of the man who had ruined his wedding. He was certain the curse was directed at all Ham’s sons. That by singling out Canaan, Noah had meant from the youngest to the oldest will be cursed.

“
You must wait,” Deborah cautioned. “You must hide your feelings.”

“
I want to arm my brothers, march into Japheth’s camp and kill him as he stares at the clouds. My father’s right about one thing: Japheth and his clan are an airy band of dreamers and big talkers.”

“
They’re also cunning,” Deborah said. “I suspect that’s Europa’s doing. She taught them to think like kings. That’s why Gomer led you to his hidden club and goaded you into a fight.”

Kush scowled and spat on the floor.

Deborah rose from the kitchen table and wiped the spittle from the wooden planks. “You’re muscled and headstrong and tireless in a fight, my lord. But to pay back Japheth for his insult, you need patience and guile.”

“
Do you think I’m a fox or a weasel?” Kush banged his fist on the table.

“
You are lion, my lord. But even lions must step carefully if they walk through high grass slithering with vipers.”

Kush regarded his wife, and he remembered his father had said that Deborah had guile, and that he should use her guile for the furtherance of the family
. Kush knew he wasn’t as quick-witted as others were, that others laughed at jokes he didn’t understand. Still, anyone smarter than he was, like his Uncle Japheth or cousin Gomer, or even his sly brother Canaan…if they picked up clubs to fight, they would be the ones stretched out on the ground. Maybe others thought quicker, even deeper than he did—he scowled at the idea, hating it—yet there was one thing he did understand that some of the sharp ones never did. A wise man learned from those smarter than he was. So he told his wife, “Teach me guile. Teach me patience, and show me how to outwit the clever.”

As the years went by
, Deborah noticed Ham’s red eyes and that he often slept too late or disappeared early into his house. She noted, too, how Ham’s household depleted wineskins and beer kegs faster than anyone else’s did—this was in the years when Ham first hid his drunkenness. So she urged Kush to help his father, to relieve him of certain onerous tasks, especially those that took hard work. Kush excelled at hard work, and he gained the nickname: Kush the Ox. Through his seemingly eternal labor and the incremental passage of time, the duties of elder were borne in him and matured. Deborah bore him many children, and by the time their children married and bore them grandchildren, Kush had replaced his drunken father as the chief decision-maker. Early on, Deborah had counseled him to get her opinion before making decisions, and that keeping his mouth shut where others pontificated gave Kush the appearance of wisdom and added to his dignity.

Then one day, after Deborah had sworn she was too used-up to bear any more children, she became pregnant again
. This pregnancy wearied her more than the others. And in the fourth month of it, she worried about a choice Kush had to make. He worked hard in the fields, directing and helping clear an area of firs and underbrush. She feared because Canaan had gone with them, she believed, with the sole intention of urging Kush into a choice she didn’t approve of.

So she went outside with the idea of walking to the clearing
. But merely going outside winded her. She wasn’t the young beauty of yore, which galled her. Men no longer paid her heed, other than Kush, her children and grandchildren, but not in the ways of old, not in the way that men did to pretty, young maidens.

Beside their log house stood an old oxcart, a simple platform of wood with two huge wooden wheels
. Because she was in a hurry and oxen plodded so, she had two daughters hitch donkeys to the cart.

“
Should I go with you, Mother?” asked one. “You look peaked today.”

Without answering, Deborah twisted a wide-brimmed hat onto her head, so the sun didn
’t give her more wrinkles, and she settled onto the buckboard. The donkeys trotted out the settlement and onto a dirt track. She flicked the reins, wanting to get this chore over with now.

“
Hurry, you lazy beasts,” she shouted.

They hurried
. Then a wheel hit a rock, and the old oxcart, which had sat beside the log house for a reason, broke its axle. The oxcart skidded and tipped to the side, throwing a surprised Deborah. She saved herself by rolling, but one of the donkeys panicked. It kicked its back legs, and one of the hoofs clipped Deborah in the mouth.

She flipped back, moaning
. And in shock, she felt her mouth. Her two front teeth… in a daze, she crawled near the oxcart, and she saw her two front teeth lying in the dirt.

She was bedridden for weeks
. The loss of her two front teeth devastated her, and in her sorrow and self-pity, it made her bitter. Afterward, she only spoke with a hand in front of her mouth, or she spoke from behind a fan. She felt most comfortable, however, when she’d turned her back. She loathed the disfigurement. In time, she blamed Jehovah for letting it happen.

Some thought later that this bitterness was imparted to the baby in her womb
. In any case, five months after the terrible accident, Deborah bore a chubby, strong baby boy.

Kush stood by the bed, silent and looking wise.

Still sweaty from labor, Deborah nestled the baby in her arms, with her mouth pointed at his little head and out of sight of her husband. “You shall call him Nimrod.”

Kush frowned
. It was a husband’s right to give the name.

Deborah had aged these past five months, and
, worse for everyone, she knew it. “Do you wish to know what the name means?”

Kush fingered his beard, which had already begun to turn white.

She looked up at him.

“
Tell me,” he said.

She looked at the baby
’s head. “His name means Rebel.”

“
Why that?”

She brushed Nimrod
’s head. “He shall break Noah’s hold on humanity.” She rocked him gently. “At an early age, this one must go with you to your shrine.”

Kush
’s face remained impassive. At his wife’s insistence, three months ago, he had taken a grave step. She knew much about the Old World from Noah, but since her accident, she lusted to know more, to gain deep wisdom. The
bene elohim
… they had seen all that occurred in the Antediluvian Age. Thus, she had goaded Kush into gaining occult lore, into speaking with the dreaded dark powers, promising him that, through their secrets, he could gain his vengeance against the Japhethites.

She now rocked her baby, crooning to her little rebel.

Kush retreated from the bedroom, and he announced that he had chosen the boy child’s name: Nimrod, son of Kush.

As Nimrod grew
, his mother told him tales and stories of yore, the ones she had learned in the crook of Noah’s arm as a child and later at Noah’s side. But the twist, the accent of the stories was different. He learned about Killer Cain who had refused to meekly accept second place. Lamech of that line had slain a man for wounding him, and that Lamech had taken to himself two wives. Ymir the Nephilim found his way into the stories, together with the exploits of Slayers and Tubal-Cain, the king of Nod.

At six
, Nimrod became an avid hunter. He slung a rabbit for Deborah, begging her to put it in the cooking pot. Her praise sent him after other rabbits, crows, squirrels and foxes. If he saw it, and if he could creep close enough, Nimrod twirled the leather strings and let fly. At eight, his father gave him a bow and arrows with half-moon-blades. With the bow, he waded through ponds and the edges of lakes, bringing down ducks-on-the-wing, geese and swans. He loved it when swans died! Everyone commented how beautiful they were, how graceful and elegant. Not when they were dead, they weren’t. With grimy fingers, he dragged the swans through the dirt and to the cooking pot.

Seeing this, Deborah urged Kush to accelerate the boy
’s training. So Kush took Nimrod deep into the woods at night to sacrifice at the secret altar. It wasn’t as Noah’s altar, made of unmarked stones. Kush had cut each stone with a hammer and chisel, making them smooth. At his hidden alter, Kush had waxed in occult wisdom and had grown in the knowledge of the stars.

“
We will not be slaves,” Kush said.

“
Never,” eight-year-old Nimrod chirped.

“
We will
rule
. We will dominate.” Eerily illuminated by the altar-fire, Kush seemed like the personification of determination. “You are a hunter, my son, a killer and a predator.”

“
Yes, Father.”

“
You must swear never to tell anyone about our secret offerings.”

“
Why not?”

“
Because the time is not yet ripe,” Kush said.

“
When will it be?”

“
When we reach Shinar.”

“
Where?” Nimrod asked.

Kush shook his head
. “Your mother and I agree that you aren’t yet ready to learn about that.”

At twelve
, his parents gave him a javelin and he stalked deer, antelope and young auroch calves. At fourteen, Kush gave him a composite bow and trained him in the use of hounds. Soon thereafter, Nimrod dragged home a slain elk or the choicest cuts of a bull auroch. At fifteen, he noticed how people held Beor in awe. He questioned the big man, but found Beor reluctant to speak of it. Since that time, Nimrod swore to only hunt dangerous game and build a reputation like Beor. It was a vow about which his mother offered endless praise.

3.

At present, the Hamites lived in the Zagros Mountains, an upland hill country. Wheat, barley and flax grew in the cleared areas. Cattle, sheep and goats grazed on the slopes, while sturdy log cabins dotted the area, although the majority of the tribe lived in the log-walled settlement. Sheds stood past the creaking gate, while sheep milled in tiny, stone corrals. The extended families lived in long, rectangular houses with timber frames and wooden lattice walls coated with clay. Rows of posts supported the thatched roofs, and most had hearths.

Ham sat in the back of his house as he brushed his beard with gnarled fingers
—a beard much too gray. It had been forty-five years since Noah had cursed Canaan, forty-five years since he’d left the mountains of Ararat. Ham shook his head. His face was leathery, wrinkled far too much for a man a little over one hundred and twenty-three.

Much had changed
. He used to whittle oak and sandalwood. But ten years ago, he had stumbled onto a rare find in the depths of a valley forest. In a hidden nook, while chasing a stray goat, he came upon a mossy mound. The goat licked what looked like a buried tusk. Ham collared the creature and then kicked aside moss and dirt, finding more tusks. He got on his hands and knees and dug. Tusks. There were hundreds of them, along with elephant skeletons.

“
It’s a graveyard of elephants,” he whispered.

He pondered the idea
. The New World exploded with animals, but not like this. So… the Flood… had swept hundreds of ramping elephants and buried them here.

H
am drew out a tusk. In the Old World, they had carved ivory. He grinned, and he hefted the big tusk over his shoulder and untied the goat.

H
am had kept the site secret, returning from time to time for more ivory, and he became an expert ivory carver, producing, over time, beautiful figurines and game boxes. The present favorite was called “Hounds and Jackals.” Ivory pins with either jackal’s or dog’s heads raced by dice and in the little holes around a cedar outlined on an ivory game board.

In his back workroom, as he sat on his bench, he cradled a long tusk between his knees and
, with an axe, chisel and hammer he cut away the outer rind. Once done, he squinted at it until a premonition filled him. He picked up a bow saw and cut off a forearm-length piece. He turned around on his bench and set the piece on the table where, on a cloth, were his ivory carving tools. He had a special tool called a float for paring the surface. Then he had hand chisels, fretsaws, and gauges for the actual carving itself.

He ran his hand over the chosen piece
. This one was fine grained, with a creamy light color and a soft luster. As his old, leathery fingers with their raised calluses slid over the ivory, he imagined… Ymir. He nodded, with his eyes half-lidded. Yes, he could see Ymir while the giant clutched a long-handled axe. A feeling of giddiness came upon Ham. He longed to make the first scrape and begin this artistic endeavor.

Despite his years, Ham still had broad shoulders and most of his strength
. He was slower than before, and he stumbled too much and found himself bruised too often, unable to remember how he had gained such bruises. Alas, it was but one of the products of too much drink.

Just then
, the door to his workroom opened and Rahab shuffled within, like him older, grayer but with most of her teeth. She pulled a stool beside him and handed him a bowl of dried apricots that his boys had traded with some of Shem’s clan. She smiled, her features wrinkling, but looking pretty nonetheless in her red kerchief. Her eyes were still vivid brown, bright and sharp as the day he’d married her.

He chose the biggest apricot, popping it into his mouth, chewing noisily as he set aside his gauge and ivory.

“We must talk,” she said.

“
Oh?”

She lowered her voice
. “I believe a blood feud brews.”

“
Then speak with Kush or Canaan. They’re the clan elders.”

“
That’s the trouble,” she said, rubbing his arm. “You must stop a feud between them.”

“
What feud?”

Rahab whispered a secret known by several women
. It involved Beor’s wife Semiramis, the dark-haired, fair-skinned beauty with green eyes like gems. She had a way of walking and holding her head that compelled men to admire her beauty. Worse, Nimrod had been spotted meeting with her in the forest when Beor was gone.

“
Nimrod? But he’s only nineteen.”

“
And Semiramis is twenty-four and the most beautiful woman since Naamah. Yes, I know,” Rahab said. “Kush loves his youngest son and dotes on him more than he ever did his other children. And for some reason, Nimrod’s brothers aren’t jealous of him because of it. That one is strangely charmed.”

“
Hmm,” Ham said. “Beor is Canaan’s favorite son.”

“
Exactly. If Beor learns that Nimrod has slept with his wife—
if
Nimrod
has
—someone will surely die. We both know, however, that someone won’t be Beor.”

“
We must expose this before a blood feud begins. Nimrod and Semiramis must be stoned to death. Otherwise—”

“
No, no, no. Kush will never let Nimrod be stoned. And do you think Beor will let anyone harm Semiramis?”

Ham realized
Rahab spoke the truth.

“
You must talk sense into Nimrod.”

“
Me?” Ham asked.

“
You must bring Beor and him into friendship so Nimrod would never think about meeting Semiramis again.”

Ham snorted
. Semiramis… she was a match for his memory of Naamah. “How do you expect me to do that?”

“
You will join the scouting expedition.”

“
I can’t do that. My hip—”

“
Your hip is bad. Everyone knows that, which is why you’ll have to take your chariot.”

“
The Scouts will be heading into the lowlands, into forested terrain. My chariot won’t be any good there.”

“
Probably true,” Rahab said. “But you must insist on going and insist on taking your chariot. For a driver you’ll take Nimrod. The weeks you’re gone will give you a chance to know your grandsons better and perhaps heal a breach between them before it destroys the tribe. Too, it will give time for Semiramis to miss her husband and hopefully treat him better on his return.”

H
am squinted at his wife. Rahab didn’t really expect him to bring the grandsons together. What she wanted was time alone with Semiramis. He gazed longingly at the ivory piece, wondering when he’d get a chance to start the carving. He patted his wife’s hand. “Very well,” he said. “Since it’s you who asks, I’ll go.”