by Tim Chaffey
Noah arched an eyebrow. “True wisdom? From inside yourself?”
Aterre shrugged. “I don’t know. It never really made sense to me. I ignored a lot of those things and just concentrated on the personal combat skills. I thought they might come in handy someday.” He paused. “Turns out when I needed those skills most, I was too late to save anyone but myself.”
Noah was silent for a while. “From what you’ve shared, it sounds like you did well to get out of there alive.”
“I guess. Anyway, that’s what I know of Sepha.”
“Well, the idea of wisdom from within is probably why my father disagrees with it. I think he’d say that true wisdom can only come from the Most High.”
“But what if the two beliefs aren’t really incompatible? What if when we block out distractions and calm our minds, it’s the Creator who shows us true wisdom?”
Noah scratched the back of his head. “That’s a good question. I don’t think that’s how it works though. We should talk to my father about it sometime.”
A pair of young bovars skipped about their sturdy wooden pen as the young men approached. When grown, these animals brought a supply of milk to the family or helped with the plowing, but this pair had a different purpose. They were being kept safe and fed in this pen so that Lamech could one day sacrifice them to the Most High.
As Noah rounded the barn corner and headed toward the house, a small, gray, long-eared bounder stared at them as it nibbled on tall green sprouts growing close to the barn. Both young men walked to the well to wash up. Noah rotated the windlass he’d crafted, quickly drawing up a pail of the refreshing, underground spring-fed water.
“These blisters are finally getting better.” Aterre held out his palms to receive the clean splash Noah offered.
“That’s good,” Noah said, rubbing his own hands together to get them clean. “Maybe now you’ll finally stop whining about them.”
Aterre playfully shoved Noah and the two laughed.
“You and your family talk about the Creator a lot,” Aterre said when they had sobered. “How do you know what He’s like, or that He’s even real?”
Noah hesitated before speaking. It was true that his family often spoke of the Creator. His existence had never been something Noah questioned. But Aterre’s words were not cynical or confrontational. He seemed to have a genuine interest in finding an answer. Noah decided to respond with a question of his own. “You don’t think He exists?”
Aterre shook his head. “No, I didn’t mean that. I don’t have any problem with the idea that an all-powerful Creator made us. That makes a lot of sense. But you and your family talk about Him as though He’s right here, as if He cares deeply about you and this world. How do you know that He’s really like that?”
“What else would He be like?” Noah asked.
“Well, the way He’s talked about in Havilah, it’s as if. ” Aterre ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s as if He were distant, unconcerned. It’s almost like we made up this concept of God so that we’d have someone to blame when things went wrong or someone to call out to when we need help.” Aterre looked straight at Noah. “So when I see your family having such complete trust, not only in God’s existence, but in His goodness, it makes me wonder how you can be so confident about it.”
Noah shrugged. “I’ve always believed in Him.” Noah motioned to the expanse of the farm. “Growing up where I have, with these people around me, I’ve always taken those things for granted. Everywhere I look I see the Creator’s handiwork — the animals, the plants, the stars, and mankind. I’ve never bothered to ask how anyone knows the Creator exists because I just know that He does.”
“So are you saying that it’s just a feeling you have? You feel like God’s real?”
“No, it’s more than that.” Noah looked up as he searched for the right words. “It’s a deep conviction of my soul. Somehow, deep down, I just know. That probably sounds a little weird, although not as weird as finding true wisdom within yourself.” Noah laughed.
“Fair enough.” Aterre took a small cloth out and dipped it into the water before wiping sweat from his forehead. “I’m not trying to be obnoxious, but with all I’ve been through, I don’t see how I can believe the same way you do. Do you know any way to show me that your view is true?”
“If my great grandfather were still around, I’m sure he could tell you. The Creator spoke with him.” Noah stared off into the distance. “I wish I could hear directly from the Most High.”
Aterre gave a nervous laugh. “No, thanks. That would scare me too much.”
“Why?”
“Think about it. If the old stories are true — that the Creator banished the first two people because they ate a certain fruit, then I don’t even want to think about what He’d do to me.”
Finished with his washing, Noah smiled as he returned the bucket to its place. “You sure have a way of seeing things from a different perspective than I do. The way my father tells it is that they did the one thing God told them not to do. It was their fault. They rebelled against Him and brought death and the Curse into this world. Then He banished them so they wouldn’t eat from the tree of life and live forever.”
“Doesn’t that seem harsh to you?”
“I guess it depends on how you look at it. It seems merciful to me.”
Aterre’s eyes widened as he cocked his head. “Merciful?”
“Yeah, can you imagine how miserable it would be to live forever in the world they broke? We work hard for our food. People commit all sorts of atrocities. If you could never die, then there wouldn’t be any hope of being free from pain. It would eventually become an awful existence. And imagine how much worse the wicked would become with no fear of death.”
“Hmm, I never thought of it like that.”
As they neared the door of the house, Misha peeped her head out. “Noah, Mother wants you to bring some water in.” With both hands, she thrust out a large clay container.
“Alright. Thanks, Meesh.” Noah grinned at Aterre as they retraced their steps. He stepped back over to the waist-high, circular rock wall and once again lowered a bucket down the middle of the pit.
Aterre leaned against the well. “So how do you know your great grandfather told the truth about hearing from the Creator?”
Noah filled the jar as he spoke. “I trust him. I wasn’t there to hear the Creator speak to him, but according to everyone who knew him, he was a very honest and upright man. So I don’t believe he would lie about the most important issues.”
“I guess when you have people you trust, it helps. Your family is becoming that to me.” He grinned at Noah and slapped him on the back. “Well, except for you.” Aterre grabbed onto one of the attached braided leather handles. “This place and your mother’s baking — maybe I really did reach Eden after all.”
Chapter 4
Iri Sana — Noah’s 39th year
Noah reached over the side of the wooden cart to stabilize the baskets and clay pots that jostled against each other. The large wagon was filled with a variety of produce grown on the farm to be sold or exchanged at the weekly market in Iri Sana.
His father placed a steadying hand on the front corner of the cart. “Whoa. Easy, Meru,” Lamech said as he used his other hand to tug lightly on the reins to slow the lunker through the rough terrain. The large, gawky beast stood a head taller than Noah at its shoulders and stretched about six cubits from the tip of the proboscis above its mouth to the end of its unimpressive tail. The short brown and white fur around its torso rippled above muscles as the creature towed the fully loaded wagon with ease.
Noah glanced up to the top of the hill and spotted more deep ruts cut into the path. “That rainstorm really tore up the trail.”
Lamech nodded. “It sure did.”
The early morning air carried the fresh, sweet aroma that lingered after it rained. His father said the smell came from oils produced by the plants, which, when mixed with rainwater, gave the earth
a pleasant scent. He was probably right. This particular stretch of the trail smelled the best and it boasted the most vegetation. Massive trees lined both sides of the route. Early in the year, before they budded, these trees would be tapped to extract their sap, which Noah’s mother would convert into syrup or sugar.
Long strands of gray fibers and green ivy draped themselves across random branches. Low-lying ferns and a colorful assortment of weeds, grasses, and flowers threatened to overtake the trail heading north from Lamech’s farm to Iri Sana’s main thoroughfare.
“Aterre and I will fill in the ruts before next week.”
“Good.” Lamech glanced back at Noah. “You two work well together. He’s already like one of the family.”
“Yeah.” In a little over a year, Aterre had helped Lamech’s farm thrive. The barn had been expanded again. They prepared and planted three new fields, which meant they painstakingly removed dozens of stumps. Noah thought about how sore his shoulders had been from the time spent hacking at roots so the stumps could be pulled away. Of course, a hard day’s work in the heat was often capped off by a refreshing swim with Aterre and Jerah in the Hiddekel. Noah smiled. Those swims usually turned into some sort of crazy contest between the three of them.
“I’m proud of you boys,” Lamech said. “You’ve really done some great work.”
“Thanks.” Aterre had made life on the farm more enjoyable, but his stories and descriptions of other parts of the world made Noah’s heart grow even more restless. He had to see it for himself. He swallowed hard. Creator, please give me the right words, and help my father understand.
They crested the hill. In harvest season, after the leaves fell from the trees, parts of Iri Sana could be seen, but the lushness of the forest prevented any such view at this time. The path leading down appeared to be in better shape. Lamech eased the rein and Meru resumed her lumbering gait. It would not be long before they joined the main road.
“Father, with my 40th birthday coming up next whole moon, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”
Lamech took a deep breath and let it out slowly. His face showed a hint of sadness. “What is it?”
Noah looked down and kicked at the packed dirt inside one of the ruts, leveling the rough ground. The silence stretched. Finally, he looked up and held his father’s gaze. “I know you prefer it when we get straight to the point, so here goes. I’d like to become a carpenter’s apprentice.”
Lamech pursed his lips and nodded. “I feared this day would come. You have a knack for woodworking, and it’s easy to see how much you like it. But, Son, what’s so wrong with farming?”
“Nothing.” Noah shrugged. “I don’t mind working the fields, but carpentry is different. There’s a certain. ” He paused, eyes on the canopy above, searching for the right word. “A certain satisfaction I gain whenever I get a chance to build something. I just love doing it.”
“I know you do, and you do great work. Why don’t you continue working the farm? I could cut back some of your responsibilities to give you more time to build things.”
“Maybe Jerah would have to pull his weight then.” Noah chuckled, and his father rolled his eyes. “In all seriousness, I’m not looking for a lighter workload.”
“But haven’t things been better since Aterre arrived?”
“Oh, no doubt about it. The three of us have a great time.” Noah stared at the trail. How can I help him understand? “I believe that the Creator has given me this passion for a reason. Maybe I’m supposed to pursue something different than you did. And I’ve learned all I can on my own. I want to study with a master.”
“Have you sought the Creator about this matter?” Lamech asked.
“Yes. Almost every night I pray for guidance.”
“And has He responded?”
Noah held up his hands. “I’m not sure. He hasn’t spoken aloud to me, but it seems that the more I pray about it the more certain I become that this is what I want to pursue.”
Looking down the road, Lamech scratched Meru’s shoulder. They walked in silence until they reached the bottom of the hill. A hint of shame nagged at Noah for disappointing his father. However, Noah realized, there was a blend of some relief at finally broaching the topic. He straightened his shoulders.
Lamech halted the beast and turned to face his son. “Do you know what my prayer was when you were born? And why I named you Noah?”
Noah nodded and watched as his father’s eyes welled up.
“Of course you do, I’ve told you before that I prayed you’d be the one to bring us rest from the Curse on the ground that our greatfather brought about when he sinned.” Lamech reached down and picked up a fist-sized rock from the path and then whipped it into the undergrowth to their left. “How can you do that if you aren’t a farmer?”
Noah let the question hang for a few moments. “What if that’s your plan but not the Creator’s? And how can I possibly bring rest to ground that the Almighty has cursed?”
Lamech hung his head and shook it. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s just the wishful thinking of a proud father.” He looked Noah straight in the eyes. “I’m still proud to be your father, always.” He coaxed the lunker forward again.
“And I’m grateful to be your son.” Knowing his father’s dissatisfaction, Noah remained silent for many steps. Yet he’d finally brought up the subject, and he wanted an answer. “Father, I know this is hard for you. Will you give me your blessing to become a carpenter’s apprentice?”
“Where will you go? Who do you know that would be willing to train you?”
Noah held his palms up. “I don’t know. I’d really like to see the world, but if there is someone nearby, then I’d settle for that.”
“What about Darge? I’m sure he’d train you.”
“I thought about that, and I’d love working with him. But Darge only does fine carving. He doesn’t build large items like I want to.”
The lush vegetation on the trail thinned and the road to Iri Sana came into view. A short, white-haired man, plodding next to a small cart towed by a spotted brown pack animal, crossed the intersection.
“Looks like Nuca and his load of roasted beans is going to beat us into market today.” Lamech cracked a smile. “He must’ve had two helpings of his famous brew this morning.”
Noah laughed and sensed that his father was happy for the subject to change. “Yeah, he moves pretty well for someone in his 800s. We’d better not forget to buy a pot of beans from him, or you’ll be sleeping in the barn ’til next week.”
Lamech snorted. “Your mother certainly takes her morning brew seriously. Don’t let me forget.”
The storm had carved another large groove just before the intersection. Lamech carefully guided Meru around the short, but now difficult turn. With her considerable strength and size, Meru had little trouble negotiating it. The problem Lamech faced was slowing the beast down enough to keep the goods safe in the wagon behind. Once again, Noah steadied the cart to the best of his ability until they reached the smooth, well-traveled road. Nuca and his cherished beans were now even farther ahead. Far behind them, Noah spotted two more farmers toting their produce to the market.
The damp coolness from all the shade and vegetation on the path had given way to a warmer, drier air. The sun stood about a fourth of the way to its peak and bathed the earth in a soft morning light. Multiple fields with crops at varying stages of growth stretched to their left, while to their right, the grass and weed-covered uneven ground gradually descended to the river.
Iri Sana stood directly in front of them. Initially established on the banks of the lazy Hiddekel a century earlier as an outpost for adventurers, the town gradually grew into the economic hub of the entire farming region. Quiet and slow every other day of the week, the town bustled with activity on the sixth day as nearly every farmer within walking distance gathered to buy, sell, or trade.
More than a dozen shops lined either side of the main street, each offering unique goods or s
ervices. At the end of the row, the road veered right and led down to the dock. The first building ahead to their left was Noah’s favorite store — Darge’s Crafts. The quaint wooden building outdated the town itself and was originally just Darge’s home before he transformed the front room into a shop, selling various wood-carved toys, puzzles, and trinkets. He had farmed many of the nearby fields until, a decade before Noah was born, a falling tree crushed his right leg, which had to be amputated below the knee. Armed with an odd sense of humor and a kind spirit, Darge carved a variety of peg legs designed to look like animals from the region — he even used wood from the tree that injured him to make several of the artificial legs. At first, he made them to ward off the bitterness of losing a limb, but he soon found children flocking to his front door every market day to see what animal his leg sported that week and to hear the corresponding tale he would tell. He began carving other items, everything from toys and puzzles for the children to bowls and utensils for their parents.
Years ago, Noah had been one of those children. One day, the peg was in the shape of a fish, complete with detailed scales and fins, and Noah couldn’t keep his eyes off it. His hands itched to try to imitate Darge’s craft. He begged his father to buy him a set of woodcarving knives — a decision Lamech probably questioned several times and especially regretted after this morning’s conversation. After some brief instructions from Darge, Noah honed his craft and before long could whittle anything he set his mind to.
As Meru lumbered near Darge’s door, Noah reached into the wagon and withdrew a wooden limb he had carved to look like a fish, similar to the one he remembered from so long ago. He’d made it as a gift for the man whose imaginative carvings had made such an impact on him. Noah held the fish up for his father to see. “You think he’ll like this?”
“I’m sure he’ll love it.” Lamech winked. “As long as he isn’t envious of your work.”
