People of the Flood (Ark Chronicles 2) Page 7

  The tusks he broke off, deciding to carve figurines of Kush and Deborah, as mementos of this glorious occasion.

  The wedding day finally arrived. Noah and Gaea came first, dressed in splendid white linen garments. Then Shem, Ruth and their clan arrived. Ham shook hands all around, while his daughters filled cups and passed through the yard with platters of honey-filled pastries. Last, as he’d known it would be, Japheth and Europa arrived with a troop of surely boys but demure girls. Ham admitted to Rahab that the girls behaved very well, considering.

  Ham spread mats, roasted the huge boar over an open pit and told them the hunting tale, even showing them the ripped breeches the tusks had torn.

  Noah presided over the actual wedding, gave a solemn lecture on peace and watched approvingly as Kush produced the golden ring and slid it onto Deborah’s finger.

  “You may kiss the bride,” Noah intoned.

  Kush did, to cheers and clapping.

  Gomer stared at the ground throughout the proceedings, Japheth nudging him from time to time and whispering in his ear.

  Soon, everyone sat down to eat and Ham showered them with great hunks of pork, heaping helpings of peas and lentils and onions and overflowing cups of honey-sweetened water. He had Io play a harp brought over from the Old World, and then he rose to give the first toast.

  He lifted his cup.

  “Too bad it isn’t wine, eh brother?” Japheth shouted from his mat.

  Silence fell over the crowd. Europa poked her husband and shook her head.

  Ham paled, scowled and then cleared his throat. He tried to smile but failed. “To a glorious pair, Kush and Deborah, the first married couple of the New World. May your children grow to be strong and valiant, champions in arms but lovers of peace. May you survive every blow of adversity and every treacherous plot that others hatch against you.”

  Japheth leaped to his feet. “Treacherous plots, is it?” He dashed his cup to the ground. “I won’t stand for such slurs.”

  “Slurs!” shouted Ham. “Ha! What else can you call—”

  “Ham!” Rahab shouted, jumping beside him and tugging his arm.

  He looked at her, then at the crowd of silent spectators.

  She hissed in his ear, “It is Kush’s wedding, and these are our guests.”

  Ham yearned to throw his cup at Japheth and charge him. But he controlled his passion and nodded at Rahab. Then, he lifted his cup and said, “Who will drink this toast with me?”

  Japheth shoved his wife’s arm aside. “First take back your insult, brother.”

  Ham studied his older brother for several seconds, and he noticed his father rising to his feet. “I will not quarrel with you Japheth, not here at my son’s wedding. This is a happy occasion, and my toast is directed at them, not at you. Now, who will toast with me?”

  “He insulted us!” Japheth shouted.

  “You insult me at my wedding!” Kush shouted.

  “You can’t speak to my father like that,” Gomer said, leaping to his feet.

  “Silence!” The others looked at Noah. “This is monstrous. This is a wedding. Ham, my son, please, pick another toast, and you, Japheth, I demand that you act civilly.”

  “First he must apologize for ruining the wedding,” Ham said.

  “Bah,” Japheth said. “It’s always you who starts these things and always I who have to fix them. Either you take back your slur, or I’m leaving.”

  “I’ll not be bullied into taking anything back,” Ham growled.

  Japheth paled, as if he seemed to realize what he’d just said. He scanned the watching throng. With grave dignity, he lifted his chin, threw his cloak over his shoulder and waited a half-moment more. Then, he stalked from the wedding. Gomer looked like he would follow, but Europa spoke stern, quiet words in his ear, and he slumped back to his mat.

  Ham watched his brother stride away. He felt shame and triumph. Perhaps he should have taken back the last part of his toast. But to be backed down in front of everyone, by the brother who had slaughtered orns and lost the horses, perhaps on purpose… No! That had been asking too much.

  “I’ll ask once more,” Ham said. “Who toasts my son and my new daughter-in-law?”

  Cups rose, people toasted, but the wedding had lost its savor. And several of those present secretly vowed never to forget what had happened.

  The Curse

  1.

  Young Canaan and a seventy-eight year old Ham brushed aside branches and trampled upon dead leaves and old fallen twigs. At fifteen, Canaan was dark-haired, handsome and witty, and had a net of woven goat-hair slung over his shoulder.

  A huge, old cave bear prowled these parts, a monster that had stolen more than one lamb. But with several hounds crashing through the underbrush and responsive to his whistling, and with his heavy black bow, Ham wasn’t worried… much.

  “Are you sure this will work?”

  Canaan flashed a brilliant grin that had already gotten him in trouble with Noah. It happened because Japheth and Shem’s daughters loved Canaan. The handsome lad regaled them with tales and teased them so the girls mobbed him. And more than once, he had grabbed and kissed his cousins. Ham had heard about it, especially from written messages from Japheth. They seldom talked, ever since the falling out at Kush’s wedding. Ham shook his head. The trouble was his boys needed wives, and so did Japheth’s, and there were only so many girls to go around. So, for the sake of their clans, they were forced to act civilly.

  Ham elbowed his son in the side.

  “What was that for?” Canaan asked.

  “You’re being more careful these days, I hope.”

  Canaan was sharp. “You mean with grandfather?”

  “And with your cousins,” Ham said.

  Canaan laughed. “Yes, Father. I won’t get caught again.”

  “Well…. One of these days, you have to marry one of them.”

  “Just one?”

  Ham chuckled. “Don’t let your aunts or uncles hear you talk like that. Lamech of Cain’s line was the first to have more than one wife, and he was evil.”

  “Why would that be bad?”

  “Having more than one wife?” Ham asked.

  “Right.”

  Ham eyed his son. “I don’t think Jehovah likes a man having more than one wife.”

  “Why not?”

  “Ask your Uncle Shem. He knows Jehovah’s thoughts better than I know Jehovah’s thoughts.”

  “Shem’s a bore.”

  Ham sighed. “He’s your Uncle Shem.”

  “Sure. Good old Uncle Shem.”

  They reached the river that Ham thought of as the boundary to his land, a fast-flowing stream fed from the glaciers in Ararat. The river foamed over rocks and had steep sides, winding through the forest.

  Forty years ago, the eight of them had exited the Ark. At seventy-eight, Ham had a salt and pepper beard and was still as strong as an ox. He had lived in the New World longer than in the Antediluvian Era. Some of his sons and daughters had married, with children of their own getting married. Time fled faster here, maybe because there was so much to do. For instance, no one couldn’t barter or buy ore. People had to dig it out of the ground, smelt it and, with a forge, fashion a tool. Or, to make fur garments for his wife… First, he had to trap the animal. A leg-hold trap worked best, stout wooden jaws driven shut by a copper spring held the animal in a trap line. Then he slew and skinned it. Coyotes, ermines, foxes and other small animals were cased. He cut a line across the rump from leg to leg and peeled off the pelt from the inside out. For bears, badgers and other beasts, he used the open method: slit a line up the animal’s belly and peel off the pelt from side to side. Then he tied the pelts to a wooden frame, scraped off all the fat and tissue, and dried them. Dressing was next, applying grease and pounding it with a wooden mallet. Finally, he mixed in sawdust, cleaned and dried the pelt. Only then did he give the furs to Rahab, for her to make blankets or garments or other various articles.

  “This way,” Canaan
said, pointing to a wolf run parallel with the stream.

  “When have you ever been here before?”

  “Ah…”

  “Don’t lie to me, boy.”

  “Of course not,” Canaan said. “This is my first time this far out. I’m not foolish enough to run around in the wilds on my own.”

  Ham squinted at Canaan, a smooth liar, unfortunately. Should he have taken a belt to him more often, the way Noah had to him? Canaan reminded him of himself, although his boy wasn’t as broad-shouldered or as dark. Still, he could envision Naamah being intrigued with Canaan.

  “You shouldn’t go this far from camp on your own,” Ham said.

  “I know. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m serious.”

  Canaan flashed his grin.

  “All right,” Ham said, propelling his eager offspring. “Show me.”

  Ham limped as his fleet-footed boy dashed over the wolf run without a thought of slipping into the raging waters below.

  “Hey!”

  Canaan halted, looking back.

  “What would you do if a wolf showed up?”

  “Whistle for the hounds.”

  “What if they didn’t come fast enough? Or what if the river-noise drowned out your whistle?”

  Canaan patted the net slung over his shoulder.

  “A net?” Ham asked. “What good is it?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  Ham mulled over the idea of a net against a wolf. “You’d only have a single cast,” he shouted.

  “It’s all I’d need.”

  Ham liked the confidence, even if too much sometimes got one in trouble. “I still think you should carry a bow.”

  “Like Put?”

  “Exactly.” Of all his children, Put was the best shot, a natural-born archer.

  “Over there,” Canaan said, trotting to a pool fed by the stream. A natural dam had created the pool. Farther downstream, the river churned as before. Reeds grew along the pool’s muddy bank and into the shallow waters. Canaan kicked off his sandals and shucked off his breeches.

  “You should keep your clothes on.”

  “Why is that?” Canaan asked, already wading into the pond, with only his tunic to cover his nakedness.

  If Noah saw Canaan shamelessly stripping down, he’d scowl and launch into a sermon. But how could he explain it to his son so it made sense? Of all his children, Canaan was the least religious.

  “Watch,” whispered Canaan, lifting the net off his shoulders and slipping a string onto his wrist. With a practiced toss, he threw it over the water. The net was weighted with small stones. It spun and neatly opened and landed on the surface, the stones on the edges pulling it out of sight. Canaan yanked the string attached to his wrist. With both hands, he hauled the net in. Four twisting trout fought for freedom.

  Ham waded into the pond and snatched the net. As they squirmed, the trout opened and closed their gills. “Can you do that again?”

  Canaan ran out of the pond, threw the trout to the ground and waded back in. With squinting eyes, he looked here and there. He flung the net. Moments later, he hauled out three more trout.

  “That’s amazing,” Ham said.

  Canaan’s eyes shone.

  “One more time,” Ham said.

  Before long, they trekked home with ten big trout on a string passed through the gills.

  “We’re going to show grandfather,” Ham said, taking a fork in the trail.

  “Noah always yells at me.”

  “He won’t after he sees how fast you can catch fish. This is a great invention.”

  Canaan laughed, telling his dad how he’d first gotten the idea.

  It was a long walk, tiring because it was uphill. During it, Ham recalled a conversation with Shem. His brother’s main point was that each of them should pick a direction and head out. Jehovah had said to fill the world. They thus tested the Holy One’s patience by all staying in one general location.

  Ham had several objections to Shem’s thesis. They needed to stay close so cousins could marry instead of brother and sister. Too, this wasn’t like the Antediluvian World. Back then, hordes of people had kept down the number of predators. Here, animals exploded in population. Shem had pointed out the fear clause given in the Rainbow Promise. Ham said that sometimes fear led to bloodshed. For didn’t a man often kill what he feared? It seemed foolish to scatter amid the numberless hordes of vicious beasts. He’d seen long-horned aurochs and giant-horned elk and wooly mammoths. It was a dangerous world now, what with earthquakes, volcanoes, rain, sleet and snow.

  “Why is Gomer running?” Canaan asked.

  They trudged upslope toward a wide plateau where they all used to live. Wheat grew on the gentle slopes. In the background rose the snowy heights of Ararat. A stone corral held Noah’s flocks.

  Gomer, a tall man with long red hair, ran from the main tent and uphill to…

  “Can you see that far?” Ham asked.

  Canaan squinted. “He’s running to grandfather coming down the prayer hill.”

  “Do you see smoke on the altar?” Ham asked.

  “I think so.”

  Noah still prayed at his hilltop altar, according to Shem, interceding for them. Sometimes, said Shem, Noah had visions of the future.

  “Why do you think he’s running?” Canaan asked.

  “How should I know?”

  They increased their pace, Ham limping and calling on Canaan to wait for him. He hated being even partly a cripple. He’d thought about constructing a chariot. But they had never recaptured the horses Japheth lost, and their lone one had long ago died. Still, donkeys could draw a chariot.

  “Ah,” Canaan said. “Grandfather runs to the tent with Gomer.”

  Ham saw that. Noah fairly flew down the hill. Despite being in his mid-six hundreds, Noah was still as vigorous as his offspring.

  “Hurry,” Ham said, sprinting for the tent, his stomach clenched with fear.

  Noah beat them; he ran with terrible intensity.

  With sweat pouring from him and badly out of breath, Ham, with Canaan, barged into the tent. Noah wept, with Gomer and his wife huddled behind him. On the cot, stretched out, lay Gaea. A blood-clotted gash painted her forehead.

  Wide-eyed and trembling, Ham approached his nephew Gomer. “What happened?”

  Forty-year-old Gomer wiped his eyes, looking at him with sorrow. They seldom spoke, although they each acted more civilly to one another than Japheth and he did. “Grandmother was egg-hunting in the mountains with Aunt Ruth’s girls. She climbed a slippery rock and fell and hit her head.”

  Noah’s moan, low and pitiful, felt like a dagger in Ham’s gut.

  “Is she…”

  Gomer turned away as tears streamed down his face. His wife, Io, one of Ham’s daughters, draped herself onto him. “Oh, Father, what are we going to do? Grandmother Gaea is dead.”

  2.

  Noah stood at his wife’s funeral, the wind whipping his long white beard, whipping his white hair and his white linen garments.

  It was a solemn affair. Everyone wept but Noah. He gazed dull-eyed into the distance as Shem spoke. High cumulus clouds raced across the sky, throwing the funeral into cold shadows. They buried Mother near Noah’s altar, Japheth, Shem and Ham placing the tombstone chiseled the day before.

  The grandchildren cried, as did the great-grandchildren. Great-great grandchildren weren’t far behind. Every person on Earth, except for Noah, shed a tear in her honor.

  Noah stayed at the gravesite long after everyone else left.

  “He was married for over six hundred years,” Shem told the others. “Can any of you conceive of that?”

  “Frankly, no,” Ham said.

  A week later, Noah quietly began to search. High and low, he tramped, often gone for two weeks at a time. His cheeks grew gaunt, and he told stories about the incredible variety of vicious beasts. Behemoths, dragons, great sloths, lions and sabertooths, they all thrived beyond the world of the northern slopes of A
rarat and beyond Lake Van. Hounds went with Noah, but many didn’t return.

  Noah snorted whenever his children urged caution. Noah didn’t say it, but Ham told Rahab, “He’s on a quest.”

  Rahab asked, “For what?”

  “I don’t know,” Ham said. “But you can feel it in him. He’s like he used to be, during the Ark construction days.”

  Shem spoke with Noah most, urging him to relax, to let the grief drain. Noah listened to the entreaties and vanished the next day. He returned sometime later with wild vines in a bag full of dirt.

  As in most things, Noah was the best farmer. He planted stakes and groomed the soil.

  “Grapes?” Ham asked, checking on his father to see if he planned any more forays.

  “We need to expand our selection of foods,” Noah said, leaning on his shovel.

  Ham kept his thoughts private. And he didn’t quite dare ask his father where he had found the vines. Surely, Noah didn’t intend to ferment wine. Ham sighed. He wanted too, oh, how he did, but… He shrugged—not as long as Noah ruled.

  3.

  Before Jehovah told Noah to build the Ark, the white-bearded patriarch had been a farmer, one of the best the Antediluvian World had ever known. As a farmer, he also excelled in the New World. His sod root cellars burst with gunnysacks full of onions, beets, sunflower seeds, wheat, barley and flax. He dined off cabbage soup, rhubarb, peas and apricots. And his grapevines thrived.

  The grapes from the first harvest he set in the sun and turned into raisins. Although, such was the growth of his vines that he cut many shoots and planted several more rows. The second year, he also did likewise. So, by the end of the third year, he had a field of grapevines.

  Ham often visited his father, and he had been tempted to ask for permission to take several cuttings and start his own vineyard. That painful day, however, long ago in the Ark, the memory of his father standing over him as he poured out wine, had kept his mouth closed.

  Mankind swarmed upon the northern slopes of the mountains of Ararat, and the clans of Japheth, Shem and Ham grew. The copper ore from Lake Van served their needs, but the tinstones in the riverbed became increasingly harder to find. There were already over fifty families with children, a vast increase from the eight people who had stumbled out of the Ark forty-some odd years ago. In that time, the three original families had sired countless children. Most of those children were already married, with kids of their own ready to marry. Just as with the animals, mankind exploded into the void of an empty world. And the women, as well as the men, considered it their religious duty to have huge families.