People of Babel (Ark Chronicles 3)

by Vaughn Heppner

  “What do you plan?” Canaan asked, sounding subdued, no longer sneering.

  “I am a Hunter,” Nimrod said, and with his Black Mane cloak, he seemed indeed like a lion, a king of beasts.

  “You are a warrior,” Javan said.

  Nimrod nodded. “A warrior must be flexible, ready to meet any challenge. I don’t know exactly what I’ll do, Uncle Canaan, or should I say how I will do it. But this is my goal: to free my men and win to Babel new immigrants.”

  Canaan thought about it, finally saying, “Reasonable. But why this meeting, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  Nimrod grinned. “For what I attempt, I need power.”

  “Power?” Canaan asked.

  “The power of leadership,” Nimrod said. “I am the War-Chief. Alas, our High Priest, our former leader, has failed us in our moment of crisis. Now what will you elders, you clan heads, do about it?”

  The older men considered his words, studying the fire, glancing at each other. Put rose, tall, lean and scarred. “We’ve learned the value these past few years of following a strong man, a leader. The canals of Babel have taught us the worth of it. Many hands working under the guidance of one mind. But a leader must be strong-willed, filled with purpose. Such Nimrod seems to be. So I propose that Nimrod guide us here at Festival. That he wields the power of sole leadership.”

  “And after Festival?” Canaan asked.

  With his thin lips, Put almost smiled. “Let us see the outcome of Nimrod’s leadership. He has promised not to risk us, yet at the same time to free his men and gain more people for the city. Let us see if a War-Chief is superior to a High Priest.”

  “I’m for it,” said Javan. “I’ve nothing against Kush, but it seems to me that he himself has laid down the reins of power. Let Nimrod pick them up.”

  “Yes,” said Ashkenaz. “Agreed.”

  Menes nodded. “Nimrod will lead us at Festival.”

  Canaan looked around and finally shrugged. “So be it.”

  38.

  Back at Festival the next morning, as the sun rose, Odin unwound his sabertooth cloak, stretched and picked up a pole and line and headed to the lake. After a breakfast of fresh fish, he drifted back to the chariot, watching people stir. He sat on the chariot edge, took out a rag and began to polish his spearhead, looking up from time to time, a line creasing his forehead.

  “Are you worried about what to do, about which side to take?”

  An old woman with a shawl regarded him. He rose, dwarfing her, and bowed in respect for Ruth, the wife of Shem.

  “I beg your pardon?” he said.

  “You sit apart. Do you fear to become tainted by us?”

  “Uh, no, but…”

  “But you don’t want to be found mingling when Nimrod comes. Is that it?”

  He peered at her, surprised. “You are wise.”

  She chuckled. “It is elementary deduction, as my husband would say.” She grew serious. “Do you think Nimrod will slay Noah?”

  He scrunched his thick eyebrows and soon shrugged.

  “I believe it’s unlikely,” she said. “That being so, Noah will talk them out of their blood rage. So there will be no fight. So your worry is pointless.”

  “Suppose Noah is slain by accident?”

  She drew the shawl tighter. It made her seem smaller. “In that case, some of my sons will surely die, as will sons of Japheth and Ham.” She regarded him more closely. “You are a Japhethite but have lived with them. Where will you stand?”

  “I am a Hunter,” he said.

  “One of Nimrod’s Hunters?”

  With his pudgy fingers, Odin dug in a pouch slung around his belly, drawing out a leather cord, with a nine-inch tooth dangling on the end.

  “Is that a fabled dragon tooth?” Ruth asked.

  “That’s right. Taken from the beast slain by Nimrod. I earned this, bleeding many times and facing danger against wolves, lions and bull elephants. It was given me in trust, and I took an oath.” Odin might have pursed his lips; it was impossible to tell under his bushy mustache. “Into Japheth’s line I was born. Through an act of will, I have become a Hunter of Babel.”

  “Then let us hope Noah hasn’t been slain,” Ruth said.

  “Agreed.”

  “May I ask you a personal question?” she asked.

  Odin dipped his head.

  “Why did you warn us? Nimrod will surely not be pleased by it.”

  Before he could answer, a loud clattering and a horn sounded. The horn blew low, flat, and long, and the sound came from behind the pines standing nearest the clearing.

  Men shouted. People ran out of their tents, some with spears and others with bows. Dogs barked and children squealed.

  The horn blew again, and from around a bend of pines, a four-donkey team ran pell-mell, dragging a bouncing cart. A woman flicked the reins. Her blonde-braided hair writhed like snakes, and her teeth flashed in a wild grin. She wore a short dress to her knees, with her arms bare. Beside her hulked a black-bearded brute, bigger than anyone Odin had ever seen. The giant wore a great sloth cap and a strange suit that winked golden whenever the sunlight touched it. The giant blew the horn a final time.

  “Hilda,” whispered Odin, his eyes on the slender driver.

  “And her father, Beor,” Ruth said. “Do you know them?”

  Hilda brought the team to a skidding halt. Camp folk hurried to Beor, who jumped out of the chariot and clumped with a peg leg to a wooden platform.

  “I met her at Mount Ararat,” Odin said, “several years ago.” He wrapped the leather cord around his fist, letting the dragon tooth hang across the back of his hand. Then he escorted Ruth to the growing excitement.

  “They march to us,” Beor said, grim-faced, standing on the wooden platform, speaking to a growing crowd. His strange, reddish-golden suit seemed to be fashioned of copper, armor that hung past his waist, like something out of Antediluvian legends. He seemed powerful, incredibly warlike and wise in the ways of battle. The image was strengthened by the unstrung bow in his left hand, a huge weapon, fully six feet long. Odin had seen Beor use the giant bow before at Mount Ararat. When he shot it, Beor stuck out his left foot, his only foot. He rested the end of the six-foot bow against his foot, using it as an anchor, and he drew the bowstring, firing arrows fully three feet long. Such deadly arrows could penetrate shields, could splinter any three of them put together. Only a powerful warrior could wield such a terrible weapon.

  “Did you see Noah?” Shem asked, his sons making room for him around the platform.

  Beor hesitated.

  “Speak up,” said Assur, a tall man beside Shem.

  “I saw him,” Beor said. “Noah marched at their head. They’re about an hour away.”

  “Did Noah march as a prisoner?” Assur asked.

  “It didn’t seem so,” Beor said. “Noah seemed to lead them, although he leaned on Ham. Perhaps Noah has been wounded. It’s more than possible, I say, for Nimrod is sly, a master of deceit. Thus, this could be a trick, a trap. We must be prepared and meet them with a united front.”

  Some looked frightened at the idea. A few scowled. Others nodded as they slapped daggers belted at their side or hefted spears or bows.

  Shem sighed. “Yes. I’m afraid you’re right, Beor. Until we speak with Noah, it’s sensible to take precautions. I’d rather that Japheth and the rest of his sons were already here. Everyone must gather his or her weapons. We will meet them in a show of strength.”

  Beor hopped off the platform. His armor jangled with a metallic jingle not quite like bells, but extraordinary just the same. He clumped with a group of men to some tables and benches, where they began to plan.

  Odin dropped off Ruth and sauntered to where Hilda drove to a water trough. Some lads also followed, and they began unhitching the sweaty donkeys, letting them drink. Others brought a new team in replacement.

  Hilda accepted a wooden ladle, sipping daintily despite her amazon garb. She squinted as Odin moved near, perhaps
noticing him watching her.

  “You, uh, really know how to drive them,” Odin said, no longer seeming quite so self-assured.

  “Who are you?” she said. “You look familiar.”

  “I’m Odin, grandson of Ashkenaz. I, uh, met you at Ararat several years ago.”

  She scrutinized his face before smiling. “Yes. You went north, I thought.”

  He nodded, grinning.

  “You let your bread grow, I see,” she said.

  He beamed. He was proud of his beard.

  “So what do you know about chariot driving?” she asked.

  He pointed to the one parked under a tree.

  Her smile vanished. “You came with Ham?”

  He nodded.

  Her gaze roved up and down his torso. “What’s that?” she snapped, pointing at the dragon tooth dangling across the back of his pudgy hand.

  “A tooth.”

  “I can see that,” Hilda said. “Where’d you get it?”

  “Uh, Nimrod gave it to me.”

  She stiffened and grasped her dagger hilt. “You’d better leave before I shout for Gog and he comes and breaks your back.”

  The transformation startled Odin.

  Hilda whirled around and stomped to where her father sat.

  Odin watched her, liking what he saw, but still perplexed. He noticed that a thick-necked youth, a heavy lad with a rich cloak and shiny wristbands, watched him from among Beor’s men. Was that Gog? He looked tough.

  “I don’t think she likes you,” a boy said, one watering the donkeys.

  Odin tugged at his beard, beginning to suspect the same thing.

  Hilda reached the tables, pointing back at him. Beor scowled, turning, drawing an axe.

  The lad watering the donkeys whistled, tugging his charges away from the trough and away from Odin.

  Odin butted Gungnir onto the ground, trying to keep calm even as sweat prickled his armpits. Beor’s men followed the big man.

  “There’s a Hunter among us,” Beor shouted, as he pointed his axe at Odin. “A spy!”

  Odin wondered on the wisdom of holding his ground. Then he saw Ruth leading Shem and Assur. The two groups converged at him.

  “We must bind this ruffian,” Beor said. “He’s one of Nimrod’s scoundrels.”

  “No,” Ruth said. “He drove Ham here to warn us.”

  Beor eyed him coldly, while Gog pushed through to the forefront.

  “We must meet Babel’s army in strength,” Beor said. “While we do so we cannot let spies roam free.”

  “Did you hear what I said?” asked Ruth. “He drove Ham here to warn us. He’s on our side.”

  Beor eyed Odin. “You’ll march with us, then?”

  Odin nodded.

  “Without stabbing any of us in the back?” Beor growled.

  Odin scanned the throng. He’d didn’t like Beor’s tone. “If I decide to kill you, I’ll do it face to face.”

  Beor was much bigger, with massive shoulders and magnificent armor. He smiled grimly, nodding, perhaps admiring Odin’s guts. Then the huge man motioned to his men. “It’s time to get ready. Time to show the Babel Horde what fear is.”

  39.

  The two hosts met on an open hill surrounded by forest. Ham and a feverish Noah, together with Nimrod, worked toward Shem, Assur and Beor in his chariot.

  Everyone noticed Beor and his armor. Ham hadn’t seen the like since Antediluvian times. He knew something of the work it took to make such a suit. As metals went, copper was soft, but an armor suit of it was superior to the leather jerkins many in Babel’s army wore. The style of Beor’s armor was called fish scale. Each triangular piece was cut from a sheet of copper, with tiny holes punched in each base. The first row of scales was stitched onto soft leather or onto a heavy cloth tunic, starting with the bottom row. The next row overlapped the first like tiles on a roof. It made for flexible armor.

  Unfortunately, in battle and during regular use, the scales could easily catch and snag, while small points such as daggers and spearheads could get under the scales. Before donning such a suit, a man put on a tunic of wool or leather padding to absorb weapon blows and to keep the metal from chaffing.

  The two parties met, Nimrod smiling and affable, Beor squinting as if looking for traps. They met, agreed to peace but not the terms for Gilgamesh, Enlil and Zimri.

  Nimrod lost his smile, and Beor looked ready to leap out his chariot and brain the Mighty Hunter with an axe. But Noah groaned, swaying, looking as if he might pitch over. That ended the meeting and officially began Festival.

  40.

  Two nights later, Noah sat shivering on a mat in Shem’s tent. He was wrapped in blankets and sipped Ruth’s concoction, cradling the steaming mug in his big hands. A pale hue discolored Noah’s cheeks and he wheezed with a wet rattle in his chest. He claimed it was simply a lingering cold, nothing to worry about.

  With silver tongs, Shem poked coals in an open brazier, warming his hands over them as he studied his father. Ham sat on a nearby stool.

  “Nimrod speaks of peace and love, but he only honors Jehovah from the teeth outward,” complained Noah. “The rest of him is craft and planned malice. He’s a serpent, beguiling whomever he speaks to.”

  “Show the others who he really is,” Ham suggested.

  Noah began coughing, an ugly sound. Ruth knelt beside him, pulling the blankets tighter around his shoulders.

  “Nimrod is clever,” Noah whispered. “If someone halts one avenue of his plan, he detours around them. I fear that he sways many by his dream of Babel. And I fear that many have grown tired of listening to me and following Jehovah’s ways.”

  Ham fidgeted with his jacket, finally daring to ask, “What is wrong with Babel? Shinar seems like the land of plenty, and surely Jehovah will be pleased by a monument.”

  “Jehovah loves obedience more than sacrifice,” Noah whispered. He coughed and wheezed afterward. “Is the Tower being built to Jehovah? Surely not with this idolatry of the angel of the sun.” Noah brushed aside Ruth’s hands. “I fear for the citizens of Babel. I urge you, my son, not to return to the city.”

  “I must return,” Ham said. “Rahab is there, and there live my children.”

  “Take who you can out of Babel,” Noah warned. “Maybe not this year, and maybe not in five, but Jehovah will judge the city and all who live in it.” Noah coughed harder than ever, groaning afterward.

  “I’ll stay with him,” Ruth said. “You two go to the recital.”

  41.

  As they readied themselves, the tent flap drew back and Japheth and Europa entered. Japheth halted at the sight of Ham. His mouth twitched, whether in distaste or at a private joke was impossible to tell.

  It made Ham bristle just the same.

  “Brothers,” Japheth said.

  Shem greeted him gladly, hugging Europa first and then Japheth. Both of them wore rich robes and hats, and had dirty, travel-stained sandals. Europa was still beautiful, although she seemed smaller than Ham remembered. Japheth, had he always had such a ready sneer, with lines pulling down at his mouth?

  “Is father well?” Japheth asked.

  Ruth shook her head.

  After further pleasantries, Shem held open the tent-flap, and the three brothers stepped outside. Tents had sprouted everywhere, and as the sun set, people moved to the wooden platform where torches flickered atop poles. People threw down mats and spoke with their neighbors, waiting.

  “It seems that your children have drawn Noah out at last,” Japheth told Ham. “I wonder if to his death?”

  “You’re blaming Noah’s condition on me?” Ham asked.

  “Back in your city of Babel, Kush raved like a lunatic, did he not?” Japheth asked. “He started the old feud all over again, only this time with daggers and spears. Luckily, Noah showed up, throwing a bucket of water over the mad dog.”

  “Your children started this,” Ham said.

  Japheth raised an eyebrow.

  “They enslaved Gilgame
sh and the others.”

  “But you’re misinformed,” Japheth said. “Beor captured them. Beor, he’s another of your fine ruffians. He’s a warlike man, trained in warlike, Hamite ways. It’s true that several of my sons sing Beor’s praise, Magog most of all, but the others condemn him as a troublemaker. It’s hard to know which is right. But one thing has become clear: Beor’s choice to keep Nimrod’s bravoes as slaves only escalated the affair. Really, Ham, you must understand by now, it’s your boys that always overreact. Surely, even you can see that.”

  Ham’s desire to strike Japheth almost overpowered his restraint.

  “Beor is a good lad,” Shem said. “He follows Noah’s ways.”

  “I don’t recall Noah ever taking captives,” Japheth said.

  “Bah!” Ham said. He managed a curt nod before stomping to the platform. There were a hundred things he would have liked to tell his brother. In fact, he considered going back and telling him. Then he heard, as it were, the soothing words that Rahab would tell him if she were here. Things were bad enough. He didn’t need to start a fistfight with Japheth. Besides, maybe Japheth had a point. It was his offspring who had started all this. He rubbed his jaw. Why did it always have to be his children that went awry?

  He drifted to the platform, standing in the back as girls in turn went on stage to sing or young men to juggle or to show them dogs who did tricks. The audience clapped, cheered, and laughed at the various antics. Festival was a grand time, when all the children of Noah reunited and traded gossip and goods and marriageable sons and daughters. That disaster had been averted—war—delighted almost everyone. Beor’s armor was talked about as well as what would now happen to Gilgamesh, Enlil and Zimri. The captives, “the slaves,” as some whispered, hadn’t yet been seen. Rumor had it that Beor kept them in a secret camp. How Nimrod would free them, without giving up the incomparably beautiful Semiramis, was something everyone was dying to know.