People of the Tower (Ark Chronicles 4)

by Vaughn Heppner

  “Halt!” cried Ham.

  His sons stopped.

  “Greetings, brother,” Shem said. He leaned on his staff in a manner reminiscent of Noah. He looked travel stained, his robe grimy and his sandaled feet dirty. His black beard was caked with dust, although his dark eyes seemed very clear. Beside him, Beor looked weary.

  “Shem, what are you doing here?” Ham asked.

  “Who do you carry?” Shem asked.

  “Rahab.”

  “Where do you take her?”

  “To the pyre.”

  “To burn?” Beor asked.

  Ham nodded.

  “To turn her body into ashes?” Beor asked.

  Ham nodded again.

  Shem and Beor traded glances.

  “I think the meaning of your dream has revealed itself,” Beor said.

  Shem seemed troubled.

  “Grandmother Rahab is the rare bird,” Beor said. “Soon she will be ashes.”

  Shem shook his head, and he became very pale.

  Ham wondered what Beor babbled about. Yet he didn’t have time to inquire. “You must stand aside,” he said.

  Shem lifted his face heavenward. “Isn’t this foolishness?”

  To Ham the act of talking to the sky seemed foolishness. It, combined with Shem and Beor’s appearance, made the moment surreal, seemingly otherworldly, especially with his dead wife on his shoulder.

  Shem sighed, and he straightened, approaching them. “Lower the brier.”

  “You must step aside,” Kush said.

  “Listen to Shem,” Beor said.

  Ham did not intend to try to ram through Beor. He didn’t know what this was about, but he was too weary to argue. “Lower it,” he said.

  Reluctantly, Kush did, as did the others.

  “Stand back,” Shem said.

  Kush bristled. Ham shook his head. “Listen to him. Let him pay his last respects to the dead.”

  His three sons stepped back beside Canaan, who had trailed them after all.

  Ham smiled sadly at Shem. “She is the first of us to go. Mother is dead, I realize, but among the children, I mean.”

  Shem sighed again, deeply, and his eyes took on an intense cast. Ham noticed that he clutched the staff so his fingers turned white. He didn’t understand. Shem wasn’t usually this emotional.

  “Brother,” whispered Shem. “The LORD Jehovah has sent me to Babel.”

  Ham frowned. That sounded ominous.

  “I have a task here,” Shem said. “Only now do I understand it.”

  “What task?”

  Shem’s throat convulsed as he swallowed. “Nothing is impossible for Jehovah. The Creator is able to bring things into existence that are not. Do believe that?”

  Ham frowned. He didn’t understand what was going on, what Shem was trying to say.

  “Do you believe that Jehovah can do all things?” Shem asked.

  “I do,” Ham said.

  Shem fell onto his knees. He set down his staff, and he put his dusty hand on Rahab’s face. In a loud voice he cried, “O LORD my Jehovah, let this woman’s life return to her.”

  Behind him, Ham heard his sons gasp. He stared stupidly at his brother. What did Shem think he was doing?

  “Again,” urged Beor. “Call out again.”

  “O LORD my Jehovah,” cried Shem, “let this woman’s life return to her.”

  To Ham it seemed that Shem wilted. His brother’s features became ashen. Shem had always been Jehovah crazy. But this…not even Noah had ever attempted to raise the dead. It was madness.

  “O LORD my Jehovah,” cried Shem a third time, “let this woman’s life return to her.”

  Terror whelmed within Ham. For color returned to Rahab’s cheeks. Her skin twitched. Ham groaned and his knees threatened to unlatch.

  Shem said, “The LORD Jehovah has heard my cry, and Rahab’s life has been returned to her. Arise, Rahab!” Shem took her hand.

  Rahab opened her eyes, and with Shem’s help, she sat up.

  Two thumps startled Ham. He turned to see that Canaan and Menes had fainted. Put seemed dazed, while Kush’s eyes had opened wider than Ham had ever seen a man’s do, and his hair stood on end.

  “We must give her something to eat,” Shem said.

  “I have food,” Beor said. He took a piece of bread from his belt-pouch.

  Shem broke it apart and gave some to Rahab. She did eat.

  Unbidden, tears flowed from Ham’s eyes. He knelt beside his wife, touching her, wondering if he dreamed.

  “Hello Ham,” she said, smiling.

  “Rahab?” he whispered.

  She glanced about, with a hint of a frown in her eyes. “I remember… I seem to recall bright…” Her frown deepened as she chewed the bread.

  “Rahab,” Ham said, touching her cheek.

  She smiled, taking his hand.

  He hugged her, helping her stand. “You’re alive.”

  “Of course I’m alive,” she said. “What a strange thing to say.” Then she noticed his tears. “Darling, why are you crying? And why are my sons lying in the dirt?”

  11.

  Amazement, bewilderment and shock struck Babel. At first even Nimrod was stunned into silence. Rahab walked to the pyre, alive, well, seething with vitality.

  Shem and Beor followed in her train, and Beor clumped up the wooden steps to Nimrod, greeting him. Then the big man turned to the crowd and gave his first sermon in Babel under the shadow of the Tower.

  Work on the Tower stopped immediately.

  People debated the idea of spreading out in small clans, filling the world as Jehovah had decreed when the eight had first exited the Ark.

  Tirelessly, Beor rose each morning with Shem beside him. Beor spoke earnestly about Jehovah: that the people turn from the way of Cain. He and Shem had spoken during the journey south. Combined with Noah’s teachings, Beor now brimmed with Jehovah-knowledge.

  Beor had never envisioned that he would return to his tribe like this. Cracking heads, bellowing, showing them who the real fighter was, that’s how he had imagined it many lonely nights while in exile in Japheth Land. Now he spoke to the people in the cool of the morning. Together with Shem in the afternoon, he prayed to Jehovah. At night, he rested, usually dinning with Ham and Rahab, sometimes with other families. He felt more at peace than at any time in his life. Yet there was a void, a secret pain that he was unwilling to tell Shem for it seemed petty and well, sinful. At night as he lay on his mat, sometimes outside on the roof of a house, he stared at the stars. At other times, on cold nights beside the coals of a hearth, he prayed to Jehovah to give him the strength to resist the temptation of this secret sin.

  In the morning, he preached once more. It delighted him to see people nod, to take in the thoughts of Noah and Shem, the ideas each of them had taught him. And if he was honest with himself—he tried hard to be—he was fiercely glad to thwart Nimrod’s evil scheme. He wondered at times if he was happier stopping the evil or stopping Nimrod. He suspected the latter and prayed that it be the former.

  Then the spring floods came. The Euphrates surged with raging water, and the time of hard canal work took precedence over everything else.

  12.

  Nimrod crouched in the grass of the plain, his hand on the sleek hide of his cheetah, Azel. He loathed canal work, directing teams here or others there. Naturally, he couldn’t give the old task back to Kush. The people looked up to the man who led them in the farmer’s chores. So today, he had told Uruk oversee the work. Uruk was a handy man, willing to do anything. Nimrod simply had to get away from the suffocating presence of Shem and Beor. They drove him to despair.

  As he couched in the grass, he bared his teeth like a wolf. Underneath his hand, Azel grew stiff.

  Nimrod raised his head, peering up from the grasses around him. A gazelle wandered by, apart from the herd that nibbled the short stalks farther away. The lone gazelle paused, looking up, its nostrils twitching. Then it bent its head, tearing from the lush grass. />
  Nimrod eased up his bow, laying a reed arrow on the wood, drawing the string. The twang made the gazelle start. Then an arrow stuck in its hindquarters,

  “Go,” whispered Nimrod.

  The cheetah shot out of the grass. The wounded gazelle didn’t have a chance. The rest of the herd bounded a short distance away and watched the dismal drama.

  The Mighty Hunter trotted near and pulled the cheetah off its kill, hooking a leash to the leather collar. The beast hissed as if it would bite him. Then training took over. Nimrod threw it a piece of bloody meat. Afterward, the beast allowed itself to be pulled away.

  Dressing the kill and taking the choicest pieces, Nimrod pondered his dilemma. A league later brought him to the hunting camp. An awning had been erected against the sun and leather tarps laid out. A Hunter readied a campfire. Minos played tunes on his harp for Semiramis and her maidens. Nimrod brought the kill to the cook, who began to ready it.

  He drank from a jug and rinsed his hands. Then Nimrod paced along the outer edge of camp.

  From the corners of their eyes, the others watched him, whispering to each other. Finally, several urged Semiramis to talk to him, no doubt to discover what ailed him. She seemed reluctant, but at last rose and approached him. She seemed concerned, worried, although she was careful to smile. Nimrod had long ago made it clear that he enjoyed a pleasant, cheerful countenance rather than a dour one.

  “What troubles you, my husband?”

  He peered at the horizon, not bothering to glance at her.

  She hesitated, and then pressed against his side. “Is it Beor?”

  “It isn’t the crops,” he said sarcastically.

  “Yet the yearly flood couldn’t have come at a better time,” she said.

  He regarded her.

  “Rahab’s recovery—”

  “Being raised from the dead isn’t a recovery, my pretty. It’s a miracle.”

  Resentment flashed across her features. She quickly smoothed that away. “You’re right. That was a poor choice of words. But consider this. The miracle awed our people, making fertile soil for Beor’s preaching. Naturally, they heeded him. How could they not? Now they work as of old, keeping the canals intact and saving their fields. When they’re done, the miracle won’t seem as miraculous. They will have become accustomed to it. And Beor’s words… They’re hard, like all of Jehovah’s sayings. Jehovah is so demanding, so strict and such a tyrant. Who can breathe under the dictates of Jehovah? Believe me. The people will soon grow weary of listening to this new preacher.”

  “Perhaps,” Nimrod said, “and perhaps not. The people with their whims are like the wind, blowing first one way and then another.” He shook his head. “I can’t count on that. Beor’s influence and by him Jehovah’s must be broken. And yet…” A troubled look entered his eyes. He put his broad hand on Semiramis’ throat. “Do you know what I wonder?”

  “No, my husband,” she said, her eyes bright.

  “I wonder if Jehovah is right. I wonder if the angel tricked us.” He applied pressure, squeezing her throat. “I hate being a pawn, Semiramis. I loathe being at the disposal of another. I am Nimrod. I am the Mighty Hunter. I choose my own fate. I decide for myself. Yet this miracle…”

  He let go of her throat and studied the horizon. The miracle frightened him. How did one war against that kind of power? There had to be a way. Somehow, he must strike off the shackles that others tried to forge and put on him, even if the other was Jehovah. He must be free! Free to live and do as he desired, not to be a slave. He laughed. He put a collar and leash on Azel, his cheetah. What he wouldn’t allow was anyone to put a collar and leash on him.

  “Now is the time when we must gather strength,” Semiramis said. “As the people toil at canal work, we must regroup.”

  “Eh?” Nimrod asked.

  “While the spring flood keeps the others busy, we must marshal all who are ours and find a way to stop Beor’s hideous influence.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “We need our most cunning minds,” she said, “our deepest thinkers. Gilgamesh has always helped you in the past. Perhaps now is the time to bring him back. He has been gone long enough in the marsh. Why, even Ramses has finally returned, giving up on his sister. Only Gilgamesh remains there.”

  “Forget about Gilgamesh.”

  “Husband,” she said, clutching his arm. “I know you’re angry with him. And—”

  “No. Gilgamesh has been driven insane. This girl… What’s her name?”

  “Opis.”

  “Yes, her,” Nimrod said. “She is surely dead. Gilgamesh knows that, yet he refuses to return. Like some living ghost, he haunts the great southern marsh.” Nimrod shook his head. “Let him rot.”

  “Listen, my husband, please. You mustn’t let your anger color your judgment. We need Gilgamesh. He is your friend, your best friend.”

  “No. Uruk is my best friend.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Uruk is tireless in your service. He is a good man. But Gilgamesh has that rare gift of thinking. Now we need him more than ever.”

  Nimrod peered at her with suspicion.

  She bowed her head.

  “You seem very eager for Gilgamesh to return.”

  “Don’t you think that now is our most dangerous moment?” she asked. “That as you attempt the great prize, the most devious and deadly peril has arisen?”

  “It has,” he admitted.

  “That is why I counsel you as I do. There are no other reasons.”

  He studied her, before breathing deeply. “I’ve wondered on a way to restore the balance, to rid us of this Jehovah lunacy. Imagine, wandering in small groups over the face of the Earth, devoured one by one by the beasts. Mankind would perish. And if not, then what would be the point of existence? A dirty, miserable life, breaking our backs hoeing or trotting after sheep. What glories could be achieved? What heights of civilization could be scaled? None. Certainly none for us.”

  Nimrod shook his head. “Here, in this generation, if we unite, we can dare grand goals. We can raise a monument to the ages. Think of it, Semiramis. Our names will be etched in eternity as the builders of civilization, as the rulers of it, the patrons. Perhaps even as its…” He grinned, with the gleam of the future in his eyes. “We have all labored many years to achieve our goals. Now, in their simplicity, the people yearn to throw away their hard-won efforts. I want to save them from that. The way is risky and fraught with peril. It will be a thankless task. Yet we cannot let fear overcome our love. If the people are simple, we must be wiser still and take the hard yet reasonable course.”

  “What is that?”

  “I’ve thought long on this,” Nimrod said. “I’ve pondered for a way out of our dilemma until my head aches with fatigue. The needed task, as I said, is dirty and mean and perhaps even worse than that, it will be thankless. Yet which of us will shirk his duty if called on to save civilization? Perhaps I have been raised up for this very hour. I doubt if anyone else has the courage to see through this difficult task. If I could find some other means, I would.” He squinted. “People’s memories are short. They think on what they see. Out of sight is out of mind.” He pursed his lips. “Except, it seems, for you regarding Gilgamesh.”

  She kept silent.

  “In any case,” he said, “the miracle slaps them in the face everyday. They can do ought but discuss it and marvel anew on what occurred. Although it pains me to say so, there is only one way to insure against that.”

  “You cannot banish Rahab.”

  Anger twitched across his face. “Do you consider me a fool? Do you think I could dare such a decree, snapping my fingers so my Hunters grab her by the elbows and hustle her out of Babel? Oh, yes, I can see it now. Before everyone, I deny Rahab salt and bread and inform her that if she dares to step foot in Babel again, she will die.” He snorted. “You’re wise and far-seeing, Semiramis.”

  “Forgive me, husband. I thought—”

  “When I said it’s a thankles
s task, I meant that it can’t be done openly. Now to ask a man to slay a dangerous beast is to praise and to honor him, to imply that he has great skill and courage. What I suggest is low and despicable. The one who would volunteer for it we would spit upon and call a cur and a hyena. Yet perhaps for that very reason it takes even greater courage to do—if this evil deed is done for the noble reason of saving civilization. I know that most people could never consider it. It is why we lead. For the good of all, some, at times, must perish.” Nimrod peered at the horizon. “Neither I nor any cabal of elders would or could banish Rahab. No, Semiramis, what I suggest, reluctantly, is much more certain and permanent and therefore fraught with risk. Rahab must die and stay dead.”

  “No,” Semiramis said. “You can’t mean that. It’s horrible, wicked.”

  For a moment, Nimrod stared at his wife the way a wolf or leopard might stare at a hare. Then his features softened, and he stroked her cheek. “Dear wife, even you with your cunning recoil at the needed task. As I said, it’s low and despicable. I wish the deed on no man or woman. And yet…it is simply another reason why Bel must have chosen me over my father. As a hunter, I have learned to be remorseless. I have learned to ponder the choices, arrive at the decision and then carry it out.” Nimrod sighed. “The question, Semiramis, is do we let grandmother thwart everything we’ve worked for?”

  “As you say, I’m just a woman, no doubt too soft to think…to think of such a deed. There is craft and deep thought in this, and I know the idea horrifies you. Oh Nimrod, it’s too risky even for you.”

  “There is no other way.”

  She pressed her cheek against his shoulder. Then she let go of him, stepping back, regarding him. “You know that my brother Minos is clever regarding these things. Perhaps you should relate these thoughts to him. He sees life though a poet’s eyes. He might see something that neither of us would have thought of, perhaps missed.”