by Mark Morris
“I have never forgotten,” Noah said, still in that same controlled voice. “I am the son of Lamech. As a child I watched as, like a coward, you slaughtered him. An unarmed man. A holy man. And as a man I watched as you raped the world.”
Tubal-cain regarded Noah steadily, thoughtfully. He fingered the snakeskin draped over his shoulders, and smiled.
“You may smile,” Noah said, still allowing no bitterness, no anger to enter his voice. “But know that we have all been judged. Return to your cities of Cain. Wash the blood from your hands if you can. For soon He will wash away all of you.”
“Do you threaten me?” Tubal-cain asked, amused.
“No.”
Tubal-cain’s eyes flickered. It was clear that he was unnerved by Noah’s absolute but understated conviction. A note of irritation entered his voice.
“You talk bravely. All these men at my back, and you stand there alone and defy me.”
To Tubal-cain’s surprise the hint of a smile played across Noah’s features.
“I am not alone.”
All at once, creaking, clattering and rumbling, the huge rocks scattered around the clearing and marking its boundary began to stir. The Watchers, motionless and perfectly camouflaged until now, unfurled themselves and stood, rising to their full, majestic height. Swiftly and efficiently they moved into position, adopting a battle stance, each of them stretching out their six massive arms. Some of them held huge clubs fashioned from tree trunks and studded with nails, others clutched lumps of tzohar. Glaring down at Tubal-cain’s army, their black eyes glittering, their chests heaving as they breathed, they looked ferocious, magnificent, and terrifying.
Some of the women in Tubal-cain’s party screamed and ran. Even many of his soldiers began to scramble over one another in their efforts to retreat, terror stark on their faces.
Tubal-cain himself, clearly shaken, darted forward and snatched up his axe, though it looked no more effective than a toothpick now.
“His minions,” he barked. “Here with you…” He gestured at the sky with his weapon. “Miracles? A deluge, you claim? Well, perhaps you are right. Perhaps casting us out of Paradise was not enough. Perhaps He returns to finish us off. Well, if He does, I will ride out the storm in that ship of yours.”
Noah’s face was as stone-like as the Watchers that stood behind him. “There is no escape for you and your kind. Your time is done.”
He turned and walked away. As the Watchers slowly and menacingly advanced, forcing Tubal-cain and his men back, the warrior bellowed after Noah’s retreating figure.
“The land is dying. The cities are dead. My people follow me, and more will follow them. I am not afraid of miracles, son of Lamech. If you refuse to take my dozens on that Ark of yours, then I will return with legions!”
11
THE MAMMALS
Work continued on the Ark, the Watchers moving with even greater urgency.
Noah stood in the clearing as the late afternoon sky deepened toward dusk, looking out at the line of trees from which Tubal-cain and his soldiers had emerged. With him were Shem and Og.
Shem looked nervous. He clutched the brush he had been using to seal the wood beams with pitch, holding it as if it were a weapon.
“Will so many men really come?” he asked.
“We will fight them if they do,” Og said stoically.
Noah reached up and patted the Watcher on the shoulder of his lowest arm. “Yes, my friend, but even you will not be able to hold them long.”
He turned with a sigh to look at the Ark. Structurally it was almost complete, though there still were a great number of the finer details to finish. Plus at least half of the outer shell still had to be sealed with pitch.
“We will finish our work as fast as we can,” he said. “It is all that we can do.”
“But what of the animals, Father?” Shem asked anxiously. “When will they come?”
“Before the rains,” Noah said.
It was an unsatisfactory answer, but it was the only one he could give.
* * *
Tubal-cain and his men had retreated, though not very far. Back in the forest, two miles from the clearing, they set up camp. The soldiers hacked down trees with abandon to create a large clearing of their own in which barracks were being raised. Tubal-cain’s royal tent had already been constructed. Although larger than the other tents clustered around it, it was still a shabby and ramshackle affair, the veteran—like its owner—of many a grueling military campaign.
Tubal-cain was fashioning a long steel pike on an anvil outside the tent, bashing it into shape with a hammer. He turned as a soldier emerged from the forest, leading a group of bedraggled-looking refugees.
“Keep them together,” Tubal-cain said. “We will need a place to put them.”
The soldier laughed contemptuously. “We would waste shelter on these useless wretches?”
“They are men,” Tubal-cain said. He grabbed the pike he had been making and walked slowly along the line of refugees, inspecting them. Most of them trembled and looked at the ground as he passed by. He stopped in front of a scrawny young man, grabbed him by the collar and pulled him out of the line.
“You,” he said. “You want to eat?”
The man glanced up, nodding dumbly.
“Then you fight for me. Here.”
Tubal-cain held out the metal pike. The young man hesitated, as if uncertain what to do. With a grunt of annoyance, Tubal-cain swung the weapon into the young man’s head, dropping him to the ground. He strolled down the line until he came to another refugee, this one stocky and dark-haired. Instantly the man stepped forward and took the bloodstained pike. Tubal-cain grabbed him by the hair and shoved him in the direction of the soldier.
“Teach him how to use it,” he said. “Feed only those who are prepared to fight. Arm them. Train them. There is nothing they can’t do. With an army, we can crush those giants.”
All at once he heard a scream. Then cries of alarm. He swung around to see soldiers and refugees alike breaking away from the edge of the clearing where they had been felling trees. They were running in his direction.
Tubal-cain stood his ground, drawing the great double-bladed battle-axe from his belt as people ran past him.
What was happening? Were the giants here? Had they decided to attack? He stepped forward with a snarl to meet whatever was coming.
And then his eyes went wide as two huge sabre-toothed bears came crashing out of the forest.
* * *
Noah and Shem were sitting on rugs on the floor of the Hearth, taking a short break, when they heard it.
They were both grimy with sweat and dirt, too tired to speak. Noah was wearily raising a cup of herbal tea to his lips when, above the noise of hammering and sawing that echoed around them, they heard what sounded like approaching thunder. Shem looked up at his father in alarm.
“Do the rains come already?”
Noah was frowning, his eyes staring into the middle distance as he concentrated on the approaching tumult. Then a slow smile spread over his face.
“No,” he said. “Listen harder.”
As Shem did so, he realized that the sound was not thunder, as he had thought, but something more… organic. Something alive. As the noise grew louder he was able to pick out individual aspects.
All at once he knew what he was hearing.
“Hoofbeats!” he exclaimed.
“And more besides,” Noah said, scrambling to his feet. Together they hurried along the connecting walkways of the Ark until they reached the huge main entrance. Naameh, Ila, Ham, and Japheth were already on the ramp, huddled midway down, struck with wonder. Noah and Shem ran up to them, but whereas Shem halted and put his arm around Ila’s shoulders, Noah kept running, eager to meet the new arrivals.
Emerging from the tree line on all sides, swarming into the clearing, were thousands of animals. It was an explosion of varied and exotic life, a jostling cornucopia, a glorious display of the myriad wonders o
f Creation, all moving as one, in perfect harmony, their greater purpose overriding their natural instincts.
Halting at the bottom of the ramp, Noah saw primates and rodents, ungulates and marsupials, carnivores, herbivores, predators, and prey. Rats and pacas and bat-eared foxes scampered through and around the stomping legs of diprotodons, while wild dogs and great cats rubbed shoulders with gazelles and antelopes. There were vulpavuses and oxen, spiked warthogs and giant white kangaroos. Apes swung from the trees, dropping onto the backs of larger animals when the trees ran out. These transported them across the clearing toward the Ark without hesitation.
The sight was so magnificent, so utterly breathtaking, that Noah threw back his head and laughed. He spread his arms in greeting as the animals converged on the Ark and began to swarm up its entrance ramp. Two huge and regal tigers padded toward him, male and female. They passed him, one on either side, his outstretched fingers gently brushing through their fur. Further up the ramp, Naameh, Ila and the boys, their faces full of trepidation at first, began to smile and then to laugh as the tide of mammals streamed past. The larger ones trod delicately. The great antlered giraffes and the titanotylopuses ducked their heads to enter, even though the vast entranceway was high enough to accommodate them.
Noah turned to his family and his eyes were shining.
“Now we are ready,” he said.
* * *
Ham wandered among the beasts, reveling in the sights and the smells, the snorts and the grunts and the bellows. As with the birds and the reptiles, once they were inside the Ark the mammals knew instinctively where to go, what to do. The procession of life that had converged on the clearing had been varied and wonderful, and although it had taken many hours for the animals to arrive and make themselves at home, Ham had loved every second of it.
Later he would accompany his father, Shem, and Japheth as they made their rounds of the many mammalian decks, swinging braziers of the burning herb mixture in order to induce hibernation. For now, however, although many of the mammals were already sleeping, others blinked at him in placid, trusting contentment as he passed by.
Eventually he made his way to the Hearth, where his mother was serving up a meal. Ham accepted his bowl of vegetable stew and then went over to sit beside his father. He still hadn’t fully forgiven him for the humiliation he had suffered in front of Tubal-cain and his entourage, but the wonder of the mammals had served to draw the family together, to renew the bond between them. It was further vindication of his father’s heartfelt but unshakable beliefs, and confirmation that he was indeed doing the Creator’s work.
“Father,” Ham said tentatively, “the women with that king? Are they our wives to be? They must be, mustn’t they?”
Noah frowned. It was clear from his expression that he was troubled by the notion, that this was not how he had expected potential partners for his two younger sons to arrive.
It was only when Naameh looked at him and raised her eyebrows that he sighed and said, “I suppose they must.”
“How will you know which of them to choose?” Naameh asked.
“I don’t know,” Noah admitted. He took a mouthful of stew and chewed it thoughtfully. Only when he had swallowed did he continue. “I will go to the camp. The Creator will show me who is innocent.”
Ham looked thrilled, but Naameh’s attention was drawn to Ila, who was sitting beside Shem, picking at her stew as if she wasn’t really hungry. Ila looked troubled, and she subconsciously stroked her stomach, her hand moving back and forth across the place where Naameh knew her scar to be.
* * *
Noah was in his workshop, preparing for his trip to Tubal-cain’s camp. He stood before the furnace where nails and tools were forged from ore mined by the Watchers. He was filling a small pack with supplies. Next to the furnace there was a large pile of tzohar, glowing with its own strange inner light. Taking a purse from his pocket, Noah selected several small lumps of it and stuffed them into the purse.
He was distracted, troubled. He had no idea what might happen when he arrived in Tubal-cain’s camp, but he hoped that the Creator would guide him. He had not forsaken Noah thus far, and Noah hoped that He would not abandon him now—especially not when they were so close to their goal.
Sensing a presence behind him, he turned. Ila was standing there, looking timid and uncertain.
“Should I come back later?” she said.
Noah smiled. He was always happy to see his adopted daughter. She was a gentle, intelligent, and levelheaded presence. In many ways she was his and Naameh’s daughter in all but blood.
“No,” he said, motioning her to sit on one of two stools in the workshop. “Please.”
She smiled and perched on the stool, but still she looked troubled. “Do you think those men will attack us?” she asked.
Noah thought about reassuring her, but he was a pragmatic man and always leaned toward the truth, however hard it might be.
“I’m sure of it,” he said. “When the rains come, if not before.”
“And when will the rains come?”
“Soon,” Noah said confidently.
Ila was silent for a moment. Noah had the feeling that she had more on her mind than she was letting on, that she was dancing around the real issue that was concerning her.
“What do you think it will be like?” she asked eventually.
Noah tried to put it into words. “I have tried to imagine it, but to actually see it, all those deaths, whether just or not… It will be…” He trailed off, shaking his head.
“The end of everything,” Ila whispered.
Noah shook his head vigorously. “No. The beginning. This is the beginning of everything. We must believe that.”
Ila’s face crumpled and she began to weep softly.
“My dear child. What is it?” Noah asked gently.
She shook her head, unable to answer.
Noah crossed to her, put his arms around her, kissed the top of her head.
“Men are often stubborn,” he said. “But whatever he has done, I know that Shem cares for you.”
Ila stiffened. She looked up at him in surprise, her cheeks wet with tears. In a clogged and wavering voice she said, “Did he speak with you?”
Noah shook his head gently. “I have eyes.”
Ila gave a great sigh and settled into his embrace. Noah could tell she was pondering, wondering how best to broach what was on her mind with the man she now regarded as her father.
Eventually she spoke.
“Shem needs a woman,” she said. “A real woman. He should have all the joys…” She broke off with a sob, then swallowed and said more decisively, “He should have a family. But I can’t give him any of that, can I?”
Noah didn’t respond.
“Can I?” she repeated more sharply.
This time she didn’t even give Noah time to reply. In a suddenly fierce and determined voice she said, “I won’t deny him any of those things, even if he wants me to. I won’t do it.” Her voice abruptly softened. “And besides, why would the Creator want a barren girl on his Ark?”
Noah contemplated the question. He couldn’t deny that it was a relevant one. Choosing his words carefully, he answered her.
“When we first took you in, I was afraid. I won’t deny that I thought you would be a burden. And I didn’t want to watch anyone else ruined by this terrible world. But I was wrong. You were a gift. Don’t ever forget how precious you are.”
She hugged him tight, grateful for his words, and he hugged her back. Her voice, though, muffled against his chest, was as determined as before.
“I know you’ll be going to the camp to find wives for Ham and Japheth, but they are not the only ones who will need them.” Her voice faltering only slightly, she said, “While you are there you should find one for Shem, too.”
12
THE CAMP
Noah crept soundlessly through the trees, his body swathed in a dark, hooded cloak. He had waited until full night before
venturing forth, knowing that his familiarity with the forest would enable him to remain undetected. He crouched in a clump of bushes between two trees, watching in disgust as two of Tubal-cain’s soldiers, arguing drunkenly, set animal traps in the undergrowth. As soon as they had moved on, he slipped out of hiding, used sticks to set off the traps, and then crept silently away, his cloak wrapped around the lower half of his face so that only his eyes were showing.
The camp was not difficult to find. Noah merely followed the combination of distant firelight glimmering through the trees, and the faint clamor of raised and raucous voices. As he drew closer to his destination he encountered refugees, tramping wearily through the forest, all converging on the camp like moths attracted to a flame. It was unlikely that any of them would have raised the alarm—or indeed recognized him—even if they had spotted him, but Noah, wary of his fellow men, nevertheless remained out of sight.
As he reached the outskirts of the camp and came across a greater profusion of cramped and temporary dwellings swelling up like clumps of poisonous mushrooms between the trees, it became more difficult to stay hidden, and soon he was moving as swiftly and unobtrusively as he could through the outer environs of a tented city.
Passing a dwelling that was constructed from sheets of what appeared to be dried animal hides crudely stitched together, then propped up and lashed into place by twine and branches, Noah saw a young girl, dirty and barefoot, no more than twelve or thirteen years old, dart out of its circular opening and into his path, fear on her face. With an animal-like roar, a bearded man in a filthy tunic burst from the tent and lunged at her as she tried to flee, grabbing her by the hair. She screamed as the man yanked her off her feet and dragged her back toward the tent. Noah itched to intervene, but he knew that what he was witnessing was merely a drop in the vast ocean of Man’s cruelty—an ocean that would soon be engulfed by one altogether more devastating—and that any interference on his part would prove ultimately pointless.
So, difficult as it was, he stood back and watched as the bearded man dragged the girl back into the tent and re-emerged moments later, still holding her by her hair with one hand, while his other circled the skinny arm of a terrified boy of perhaps fourteen years of age. As the man stomped away from the tent, dragging the crying children behind him, a woman, clearly distressed, emerged and ran after him.
