People of the Ark (Ark Chronicles 1) Read online

  Ymir stood transfixed, his eyes on Japheth. At last, he removed the demon mask, handing it to the one beside him. Ymir had handsome features, noble, with dark eyes and silver hair. Clean-shaven, he had the likeness of a youthful god.

  “I spoke of your victories, Great One,” the Spellbinder said.

  “Noah refuses to fight?” Ymir asked in his eerie voice. The sound held strangeness, an alien quality, of someone not fully human.

  Japheth paled and wet his lips.

  Ymir frowned, and he glanced at the cloaked one before turning to his Slayer. “This son of Noah fears.”

  “Perhaps Noah hides out of fear,” the Spellbinder said.

  “Son of Noah,” Ymir said. “Can this be true? I was assured none was like Noah, that alone among men the Nephilim fear him. It pains me to discover the falsehood of it.”

  Noah strode out of the darkness, past Japheth. His long white beard gave him dignity, and his white hair was combed back to reveal a broad forehead. Noah wore a rough robe, and a leather belt was knotted around his waist.

  Gaea and a hobbling Lamech joined Japheth.

  “Noah?” the Spellbinder asked.

  “Of course this is Noah,” Ymir said. “See how his eyes glow, how firm he sets his lips. Ah, mighty Noah, this is a pleasure indeed.”

  “I have heard of you, Ymir,” Noah said.

  “You honor me,” Ymir said, “as I hope to honor you. Know, O man of Jehovah, that after I slay you in single combat that I will torch your wooden insanity. I will make such a fire that the gods themselves will rise from the depths of the Earth, from the sea and come down from the skies to witness it. Then all will know that Ymir is the greatest warrior of all.”

  Noah closed his eyes and bowed his head, drawing a deep breath. He straightened and his eyes flashed. He pointed a rigid forefinger. “You, O Ymir, are doomed to destruction, for you have hardened your heart with blasphemies. Yet still will Jehovah grant you mercy—if you go now! He will grant you yet a few more years of life.”

  “Life?” Ymir asked. “Great deeds are what I crave.”

  Noah lifted his staff, stretching it at the Nephilim.

  Ymir opened his lips without making a sound. He touched his sword as if to draw it. He couldn’t. Fear entered his eyes. He turned to the cloaked figure at his side.

  That one moved with smooth grace, raising slender, golden-ringed fingers to the hood. She let it fall from her shoulders, revealing astonishing beauty framed by dark curls. A ruby hung from her throat. Shadowed eyes sparkled and rouged lips smiled mockingly.

  “Noah, Noah, Noah,” she said. “You cannot banish us with a gesture.”

  “I have only this to say to you,” Noah began.

  But a voice out of the darkness interrupted him. A loud, beseeching cry startled everyone. “Naamah!”

  Noah turned. Ymir blinked, seemingly dazed.

  Naamah’s stunning smile twisted and her hard eyes shone. For Ham ran forward, a leather helmet on his head and leather armor studded with bronze upon his torso. On his left forearm was strapped a small target shield. His left hand clutched javelins. In his right hand was one ready to throw.

  “I challenge you, O Ymir! I challenge you for the hand of Naamah!”

  19.

  With his heart beating wildly, Ham fixed his gaze on Naamah. He recalled their moments by the river. He remembered how she had kissed him, how she had pleaded for him to return.

  His father regarded him with disbelief. “You must not do this,” Noah said.

  “She is to be my wife.” Ham couldn’t dissemble—he could hardly think. There was a roaring in his ears; a drumbeat that he vaguely understood was this thumping heart.

  “Are you mad?” Japheth hissed, clutching him by the elbow.

  Ham tore his arm free, and he ripped his eyes from Naamah. Ymir blinked with surprise. Ham grinned. He had suspected that much of Ymir’s power was simply his size, that if a person could muster the courage he’d find the giant sluggish and dimwitted.

  “My darling,” Naamah cried, clapping her hands, looking on him with rapture. “I feared never to see you again.”

  Ham laughed recklessly, lifting his javelin. “Last time we had to cut our moment short. From this night on you shall never leave me.”

  “You would fight for me?” Naamah asked.

  “You shall no longer be a slave,” Ham said. “I shall make you my wife!”

  “Ham,” hissed Japheth. “Can’t you see she’s no slave? She’s their leader.”

  Ham shook his head.

  “She’s using you, Brother. She’s a witch, an old woman of bones. One of the first to have consorted with demons, I suspect.”

  “Stand back, Japheth! Lie to me no longer.”

  Naamah touched Ymir’s wrist. The blinking giant frowned, and he crouched so she could whisper in his ear.

  “I challenge you, Ymir!” Ham shook his javelin. “Face me if you dare.”

  “Think, Ham,” Japheth said, clutching his shoulder.

  Ham whirled around and backhanded his brother. Japheth reeled away with blood on his lips. “I’m fighting for my wife. Naamah, will you be my wife?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Stand back, Father,” Ham warned.

  “No, my son,” Noah said. “You must reconsider.”

  “You can’t stop it, old man,” Naamah said. “Perhaps you could have stopped Ymir from firing the Ark. But you cannot stop this fight. Your son has walked out of your protection on his own free will.”

  “Let us fight,” Ymir said, drawing his sword.

  Despite his courage, Ham trembled. Ymir no longer seemed half-witted.

  “Fight for me,” Naamah said. “Let us spend endless nights entwined in love.”

  “Ymir!” Ham screamed.

  The giant moved into position, his shield held slantwise under his chin, his massive sword ready for a sweeping blow.

  Noah, Gaea and Japheth scrambled out of the way, Lamech limping after them. The Slayers outside the gate edged closer.

  Ymir bellowed and Ham almost froze and lost right there. At the last moment he leapt, Ymir’s sword sweeping under him. As his feet retouched the ground, Ham heaved. His javelin flew at the giant’s face. With a deft twist, Ymir deflected it with the shield.

  They circled one another. Ymir moved nimbly and the sword struck like lightning. But Ham was faster, barely. Dodging, rolling and leaping he avoided death, and soon he gasped for breath. If just once the sword connected, he would be hewn in two. He looked for openings, launching his javelins one by one, each either missing, or deflected by Ymir’s armor and shield. Soon Ham held his last javelin. His lungs burned. Sweat stung his eyes.

  “You will never feel her caress, little man, though I thank you for the fight.”

  Ham watched the awful sword and twisted as the giant swung. What a fool he’d been to challenge a Nephilim. Had Naamah tricked him in some way?

  “You are dead,” Ymir said.

  Ham ducked—the sword swished a finger’s width from his ear. Ham flung his last javelin so it quivered in the bronze-lined shield.

  For a moment no one moved. Then Ymir laughed.

  “First beat him with your fists,” Naamah said. “Break his bones.”

  Ymir set aside his sword and shrugged off his shield. Ham dove for a javelin. Ymir sprang and pinned Ham to the ground before lifting him. Ham’s stomach lurched as he viewed the construction yard upside down, fifteen feet from the ground. He was about to die.

  “No!” Ham wrenched his arm free. He stabbed with the spike of the target shield, the one yet strapped to his arm. The point sank into Ymir’s right eye so gore spurted.

  Howling, Ymir raised Ham higher and hurled him down. Bones snapped. Muscles tore. Agony ripped through Ham.

  Stumbling, Ymir clutched his gory face. Then he fumbled on the ground for his sword. He rose, with his good eye riveted on Noah kneeling by his son.

  “Kill them both!” Naamah screamed.

  �
�Yes, Mother,” Ymir said.

  “Do you renounce her?” Noah whispered.

  “Oh, Father,” Ham said, blood staining his teeth. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “Do you renounce her?”

  “I do,” whispered Ham.

  Noah rose as Ymir towered before him like a mountain. “Back, spawn of a demon, withdraw, I command you!”

  Noah’s words had effect. Ymir groaned before he lifted his gory face to the stars. “Father! Help me! Come to me, your son, that I may slay this man of Jehovah!”

  Ham didn’t understand. Everything was blurry. He blinked, with pain fogging his thoughts. He groaned. A bright warrior stood behind Noah. The being had white hair like wool and flaming eyes. He wore shining linen and a belt of gold and his feet were like burnished bronze. In his hand gleamed a brilliant sword, drawn and held crossways over his body.

  “Azel, help me!” Ymir shouted.

  A roaring sounded. The stars blotted out. To Ham came a chill like the grave. A dark shape, an evil being with a black sword and red eyes like coals, funneled like smoke into Ymir.

  “Now,” Ymir said. “Now.” He turned to Noah.

  The bright warrior—an angel of heaven, Ham realized—stepped in front of Noah as his father raised his gopher-wood staff.

  Ham wondered why no one shouted at seeing such a strange spectacle. He gurgled, desperately trying to speak. Everyone watched Noah and Ymir, as if they couldn’t see the other two, as if they were invisible to everyone else.

  The bright being glanced at Ham, then moved toward Ymir. The dark being leaped out of the Nephilim. He lunged at the bright warrior. Together they grappled.

  Noah and Ymir stared eye to eye, while Naamah chanted.

  The bright warrior tore his sword-hand free. He hewed at his dark opponent. The dark being—a bene elohim, Ham realized, perhaps Azel himself—threw his smoky head back and howled like a thousand screeching bats.

  Ham winced, wondering why no one seemed to hear them.

  The bright sword sliced smoky darkness. The dark one jumped skyward and flew away, escaping his terrible foe. The angel of heaven didn’t pursue. Instead, like a thought, he stood before Ymir, his shining sword held at the giant’s throat.

  “Leave while you can,” Noah said, “never to return.”

  Ymir turned to Naamah, to the one he had called mother.

  She hissed and looked upon Noah with hatred.

  “You have seconds to decide,” Noah said.

  “Come, my child,” Naamah said. “I weary of this game. Let us go elsewhere for amusement.” She sneered at Noah. “A pity about your son, he was a fine boy.”

  Steely-eyed, Noah stared at her, making no reply.

  Ham gurgled and his eyes fluttered. He wondered if he was going to die.

  The Menagerie

  1.

  “Will he live?”

  “If he does he may never walk again.” That sounded like Gaea—like his mother. No one knew more about healing than she did. “He’ll need a nurse, someone to watch him, perhaps day and night.”

  “We don’t dare trust one of the servants. Naamah might buy their loyalty and then…”

  “With poison or a dagger they’ll finish the deed. One of us will have to nurse him back to health.”

  “What about Europa’s sisters?” Noah asked. “They seem to delight in our son. Perhaps one of them will sit in vigil.”

  “I have someone else in mind,” Gaea said.

  “Who?”

  Ham’s thought drifted as the voices faded.

  Later, Ham’s eyes flew open. There was pain and searing, stabbing agony. His mouth yawned wide but he couldn’t draw air. His eyes goggled and sweat oozed.

  Then blinding light engulfed him and there was a rush of feet. “Oh my,” was spoken with such tenderness that he wanted to weep for the beauty of it. Something soft brushed his cheek. He couldn’t understand how the agony in him could allow him to sense such a touch.

  “Ham, you must listen to me.”

  A terrible croak was his only reply.

  “You must relax, Ham. You must let every muscle go limp. Oh, be still, my darling. Be still.”

  He didn’t know whether it was the touch, the gentleness of her words or the uttered “my darling” that broke through. But he slowly relaxed. Every muscle loosened its terrible tension and he lay still. The agony subsided and he trickled air into his lungs. O blessed breath of life.

  “You mustn’t move, Ham. You must lie perfectly still. Do you understand?”

  A blurry vision swam before him, a shape. He was certain he knew the voice. Then he understood—he remembered. They had tied splints to his broken limbs and a tight wrap around his shattered ribs. Anyone could kill him now, although Ymir hadn’t been able to.

  Ham groaned. Ymir and, and—Naamah. He’d survived the giant, and at some point after that, his father had prayed. Ham thought he might have seen another angel. He couldn’t remember now, although he remembered the pain and spitting up blood.

  “You must eat or you’re going to whither away into nothing.”

  A damp cloth pressed against his forehead. His vision began to focus.

  Rahab hovered there. She was so different from Naamah. The giant’s mother had been exotically white-skinned, while Rahab was swarthy like him, perhaps even a shade darker. Rahab smiled shyly. She had small white teeth. A shawl hid her hair and she had such a tender touch, so kind and caring. She had had liquid eyes like a deer.

  “Thank you,” he whispered.

  Rahab brightened as she looked into his eyes. Then she looked away, much like a startled deer might.

  Rahab was the opposite of Naamah, the laughing, shameless beauty who had stolen his reason.

  “You should eat,” Rahab said, not as if ordering him, but with concern, with compassion.

  His raw throat hurt, but he forced himself to say, “What do you have?”

  “Soup. Broth.”

  Ham tried to nod, and that sent pain shooting through his tortured muscles.

  “Oh, don’t try to move,” she pleaded. “You must lie still and heal.”

  She spoon-fed him slowly, as if she would like to be nowhere else but feeding the cripple. He appreciated it, and he knew it was the opposite of how he would have acted if they had reversed roles.

  Then a great weariness stole upon him and his eyelids grew heavy.

  ***

  The days merged into one an other, alternating between bouts of blazing pain and Rahab’s comforting presence.

  A long time later Japheth sat beside him. They hadn’t spoken since that night, since he had backhanded Japheth across the mouth.

  The shutters were open and Rahab had put a red-winged blackbird outside the window. It whistled from its cage, fluttered to its perch and then to its tiny feed dish. Ham loved the bright scarlet of its distinctive shoulder markings, and he was amazed how Rahab could put her finger through the slats so the little bird sat there, whistling at her.

  “Thank you for coming,” Ham said. He still couldn’t get up, couldn’t move, and he hated speaking while helpless.

  Japheth nodded, with his features closed, withdrawn.

  “Listen,” Ham said, “I, ah…”

  Japheth lifted blond eyebrows.

  Ham gritted his teeth. Couldn’t Japheth see how hard this was for him? He had made a donkey of himself in front of everyone and now he had to pay for it, never knowing if he would be able to walk again.

  “I hope you get better,” Japheth said, in a mechanical way. “So does Europa. We need you so we can finish the Ark in time.”

  “Too much work for the three of you, eh?”

  Japheth shrugged, not looking at him. He fidgeted. “Well, we really are busy. So I’d better be going.” He rose and took several strides for the door.

  “Japheth.”

  His older brother stopped, although he kept his back to him.

  Ham hated that Japheth had been right and he had been wrong. Everyone i
n his family was always right. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I-I never should have hit you.”

  Japheth shrugged.

  “No,” Ham said. “It… I was under her spell.”

  “The witch’s?” Japheth asked.

  Ham frowned. Had she really been a witch? “I never would have struck you if I’d been myself.”

  “I suppose not.”

  “Will… Will you forgive me?”

  “Consider yourself forgiven,” Japheth said.

  Ham blew out his cheeks. The cramp in his stomach eased. “Japheth—”

  “I’m sorry,” Japheth said, with his back to him. “But I really must return to the Ark. It’s been good talking to you again. Bye.”

  “Bye,” Ham said, to the closing door.

  Rahab soon entered with a tray of sliced pears, asking if he was hungry, smiling and looking him in the eye. Time and close proximity and the duties of a nurse had drawn her out. She had been so obviously pleased when he’d told her he was thinking about apologizing to Japheth that it had firmed his resolve into action. She was good for him.

  “I’m starving,” he said.

  She sat on the vacated stool, and one by one, she popped the slices into his mouth. She chattered about Europa and Ruth, how hard they wove wattle cages that were to go into the Ark. Then she became grave as she told him about Grandfather Lamech’s worsening condition.

  “I think he’s dying,” she said.

  That saddened Ham, and that set him to wondering about Methuselah. When the ancient patriarch passed away, “it” would happen. How much longer did they have left?

  “Do you know what I think?” Rahab said, leaning closer.

  He wondered if her eyes had always been so lovely, and he wondered why his stomach suddenly fluttered.

  “The Flood is near,” she said. “Soon we will all have to enter the Ark.”

  It dawned on him that father and mother would enter the Ark, and Japheth and Europa and Shem and Ruth… and he and Rahab. He studied her eyes and saw how truly liquid brown they were. He noticed how smooth her skin seemed and how her lips were parted.

  “Rahab.”

  “What is it, Ham?”