Wives of the Flood

by Vaughn Heppner

  “But how does that teach man?” Laban asked in agony. “If you destroy him he can’t possibly learn from it.”

  “It punishes almost the entire majority of mankind,” Noah said. “For after a time a man’s heart becomes hardened to Jehovah’s entries. So, too, does a society sometimes reach this terrible state. Once that point or state is reached Jehovah’s love seems to change; at least to that man it seems to. Then the Creator’s love becomes as a burning flame that destroys instead of purifies. Repent, Laban, and turn to Jehovah while you can. So that you may be among the few who survive the coming wrath.”

  “Yes,” Laban said. “Yes, what you say makes sense.” He closed his eyes, thinking deeply, nodding shortly as he peered at Noah and Gaea. “I will speak with my wife tomorrow when I go home. I will tell her… I will tell her that we must move out to your Keep. I will tell her that we must escape the coming wrath of Jehovah by finding room on the Ark.”

  “A wise decision,” Gaea said.

  “Ah,” whispered Ham. “At last.”

  Heads swiveled as the door opened, Ruth coming through. “She’s coming,” Ruth said breathlessly. “The bride approaches.”

  7.

  With his hand on his sword hilt, Laban mulled over his decision as he hurried home in the darkness. The stars blazed overhead like diamonds as he trod Methuselah’s Lane.

  Growing fog soon dampened his clothes and made him long for his warm bed and for his even warmer wife. Oh, they didn’t always get along, not as they had when they were young. She nagged him too much and sometimes she wielded her favors like a weapon, saying yes or no in bed depending on whether he had done as she had nagged. But after weeks away… he grinned, increasing his pace.

  Thus in the middle of the night when the fog was thickest he arrived at the clan compound. He cupped his hands and shouted for the night watchman. Soon a sleepy-voiced man querulously asked what he wanted.

  “It’s Laban. Let me in.”

  “Laban? Your brother Ebal said you were staying at Noah’s Keep tonight.”

  “Well, I’m back early. So open up—and be quick about it.”

  After a little more argument, his third cousin did just that.

  Laban rubbed his shoulders, wanting to get out of his sodden clothes and into bed. His wife had better be in the mood tonight, he thought sourly. As he slipped into his house, he decided to give her a little surprise. So he tiptoed through the hallways so not even their dogs stirred. Then he eased open his bedroom door, and he was shocked to hear a man’s voice.

  “Mara? Mara? Are you awake?”

  “Oh, not again, Ebal,” whispered Laban’s wife. “You’ve tired me out. You’re like a bull—not anything like Laban. All I have to do is say no to him and he stops. But you won’t let me say no, will you?”

  “Get over here, woman,” Ebal growled.

  Laban’s shock was complete. He gave it away with only a soft intake of breath. He almost stumbled backward out of his bedroom. Surely then he would have kept on stumbling, hot tears falling down his cheeks as he staggered from his house in defeat. Instead, he held himself perfectly still. In the darkness, upon the threshold of his own bedroom, he listened. He didn’t know at what moment it occurred, but suddenly rage overcame him.

  “Shhh,” Mara said.

  “What’s wrong?” Ebal grunted.

  “Did you hear that?” Mara asked, with fear in her voice.

  Laban froze, with his sword in hand.

  “I don’t hear anything,” Ebal said.

  “I could have sworn I heard the floorboard creak,” Mara said.

  “You’re imagining things,” Ebal said. “Now where were we?”

  Those were Ebal’s last words, for Laban went berserk.

  8.

  They buried Lamech on a hill a quarter league from the Ark and under a lone cedar tree. He had been 777 years old. Fresh dirt lay before the tombstone. On the stone was chiseled 874—1651 A.C. (After Creation)

  Methuselah called him the best of all his sons. Noah attributed his godly upbringing to a Jehovah-fearing father. They would miss Lamech, yet they had the glorious hope of seeing him again someday in heaven. Toward the end of the ceremony, Ham saw sunlight flash in the distance as if from shields and polished lance tips. He counted five chariots speeding toward them, coming over the Mounds.

  Eagle-eyed Shem took several steps down the hill. “They fly Ymir’s standard.”

  “Ymir?” Japheth asked. “What does he want now?”

  Shem squinted. “No, I don’t see the giant, just charioteers.”

  “It’s Laban,” Methuselah said. The old patriarch wore a long white robe and leaned on a gnarled staff, a silver ring winking on one of his big fingers. For murdering Ebal and Mara, Methuselah had banished Laban. It had been an unpopular decision, and six weeks later while Methuselah had visited Noah’s new menagerie a clan mob had rampaged through his mansion, looting what had taken him nine hundred years to collect. His wife divorced him and Methuselah had moved into the Keep. That had almost been a year ago.

  “How can you be sure it’s Laban?” Europa asked.

  “I released a pigeon yesterday,” Methuselah said. “I sent him word of Lamech’s death.”

  Noah frowned. “I fear that Laban is beyond our reach now. He made his choice when he returned to Chemosh.”

  “He was ready to move here,” Gaea said, “ready to join us building the Ark.”

  “Why are my offspring so stubborn?” Methuselah cried. “Why do they persist in resisting Jehovah?”

  “Because the end of everything is near,” Noah said. “Evil grows and consumes those who should know better, driving them to deeds of increasing darkness. I fear that every inclination of the thoughts of their hearts are only evil all the time.”

  “We should return to the Keep,” Europa said.

  “I’m staying,” Ham said.

  His father eyed him.

  “Take Rahab,” Ham said. “I-I wish to speak with Laban alone.”

  “Are you certain this is wise?” Gaea asked, in a tone that said it wasn’t.

  Ham didn’t know when he’d ever done anything that was wise, except for marrying Rahab. “I killed Jubal and thus in a sense I drove Laban away the first time. I owe him.”

  Noah gave him a shrewd glance before starting down the hill with Shem and Methuselah. Japheth and Europa followed.

  “Why does he come with four other chariots?” Rahab asked. “Husband, please, come home with me.”

  “Soon,” Ham said. “Now go with the others.”

  She fled down the hill with Ruth.

  Gaea remained. His mother had been watching the chariots. “Remember one thing, my son, Naamah is poison.”

  “What does she have to do with this?”

  Gaea studied her youngest son, then turned and hurried after Noah.

  Ham seemed to deflate as he limped to the lone cedar tree. His hip hurt. He needed wine. He waited, thinking upon a woman that had once bathed in a river.

  Later, the rattle of chariots and the snorts of horses broke Ham’s reveries. He limped to the grave to wait.

  A terse word of command stilled the rattle of unseen chariots. Horses whinnied from the bottom of the hill. In a clatter and clank of his panoply, a chariot-warrior climbed the hill. They were a grim addition to the soldiers of Kedorlaomer and his sons, to the forces of Queen Naamah. These warriors, picked heroes or champions, wore full armor such as the man approaching Ham did. Bronze greaves protected his legs, a breastplate guarded his torso and a massive bronze helmet covered his head. The helmet was all of one piece, elegant workmanship and a stifling five pounds in weight. Arrows caromed off such a helmet, while swords banged off ineffectually. Even direct thrusts by spears found it difficult to penetrate to the face. The carefully beaten bronze—forged and created by a master smith, extended all the way back to the warrior’s neck, and its cheek pieces and nose guard swept in to form just a Y-opening, hiding the warrior’s identity and fully protecting hi
s face to all but lucky or supremely forceful blows. A special bronze holder rose like a crest on the helmet’s top, and to that was attached flowing horsehair, adding to the warrior’s martial appearance and during battle deflecting sword swings or blocking descending arrows. The man bore a heavy shield on his left arm, with a carrying sling wound across his neck, while in his right he held a long, ash lance with a length of razor-sharp bronze on the end.

  These champions were shock troops, heavy infantry, bursting through enemy lines and creating terror and confusion. In their chariots, wielding heavy lances, they seemed invincible. Since the addition of the heavy chariots, and whenever they appeared en masse, the queen’s armies had won sweeping victories, unchecked by anyone.

  “Is that you, Laban?”

  The warrior halted, and he looked to the right and to the left. “Where are the others?”

  “Gone,” Ham said.

  The eyes within the shadow of the Y seemed to harden. Then a grim chuckle emerged as from a hollow place—an effect of the cavernous helmet. “Scurry to your holes, for Laban the Killer approaches. So why didn’t you run?”

  Ham shrugged. What had happened to his cousin during this long year?

  “Well, no matter. I’m glad one of you waited.”

  Cold entered Ham’s bowels.

  Laban shrugged off his shield, laying it on the grass. Across it, he set the lance. With both hands, he lifted the helmet. It indeed was Laban, an older, almost mirror image of Ham. Only… the eyes were harder, colder, and a scar deformed the left cheek.

  “It’s good to see you, Laban.” Ham limped near and held out his hand.

  Laban grinned, flashing strong white teeth. They clasped hands. Each was a powerful man.

  “Yes, it’s been too long,” Laban said. “Now tell me, without lies, why did the others leave?”

  Ham dropped his gaze.

  “They’re not really afraid of me, are they?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Good. I’m still the same Laban. Maybe I wear armor and have gained a scar in Queen Naamah’s service, but I was a swordsman before, yes?”

  Ham nodded.

  Laban slapped his armored chest. “But I’m more than a simple swordsman these days. I’m a heavy charioteer, a commander.”

  “A commander?” Ham couldn’t keep the amazement out of his voice. To be a heavy chariot-warrior in the queen’s host was to be a champion. To then be a commander of champions…

  Laban flashed his grin. “I could tell you stories, Ham. Ymir is mad for glory. When someone says to him, ‘It would be impossible to face that crowd, let us retreat,’ that’s when Ymir orders us to form ranks and charge. Dust flies everywhere. Arrows flash past you. Lances dip and tear flesh. Oh, then you know whether you have courage or whether it’s merely water in your veins. Well, I fought a battle or two on foot and someone must have noticed my abilities. A lifetime of practice finally paid off. They made me a captain of fifty. It was a fantastic ceremony, Ham, held in the Temple of Love. Queen Naamah herself…”

  Laban laughed and slapped Ham on the shoulder. “You don’t want to hear all that. It would offend your Jehovah-sensitive sensibilities. Although… I’ve heard how you once found Queen Naamah alone in a river. You acted the part of a man, eh?”

  “Where did you hear about that?”

  Laban winked. “From the queen, no less. Ham, she’s still fond of you.”

  “That…that can’t be true.”

  “Why not?”

  Ham groped for words, and he told himself he was married now.

  Laban laughed. “The truth, Ham, is that you helped me with your little escapade. Set the stage for me, as it were.”

  “How did I do that?”

  “You and I look more alike than any other of our brothers or cousins. I suspect that’s why she first noticed me. Why she sent Kedorlaomer and then Ymir to convince me to fight rather than cut lumber all my life. Men like us, Ham…What good is building something when men of war simply take it? Let others break their backs hewing trees, adzing and hammering. Let others beat gold into jewelry or harvest the crops. Let the dupes and simpletons bow and scrape and wake up early each day to stumble off to work. That’s no longer for me. Now I march where I will and take what I can win. It’s all about sharp bronze blades and about wine and women. To live, to taste life on the edge, so each moment is cherished and valued. Ah, that’s what I’ve learned. Come through a battle where you follow Ymir into the thickest fray, hear the screams of the slain, the grunts of warriors and spears as they screech across armor. When you see swords flash before you, men bellowing like stricken oxen, trying to hold in their gory stomachs, ah, when you experience all that and come out alive, then you understand how precious your life is. That’s when you learn to truly live and only then.”

  Ham nodded.

  “But enough of that. It all probably sounds rather sordid to you. You probably still look at everything through Noah’s blinders.”

  “You mean the Ark?”

  “The Ark, Jehovah and this insane idea of the end of the world. I’m amazed I actually used to half believe it.”

  “You… You don’t believe in Jehovah anymore?”

  “What I can carve with my blade, the glory I can gain, those are things I believe in.”

  “Then why did you return?”

  Laban pursed his lips. “A man should pay his respects. I… Did any of them from the clan compound come?”

  Ham shook his head.

  Laban turned away. “They’re afraid, you know.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  “Noah. Jehovah.”

  “And you’re not?”

  “Me?” Laban snorted. “I fear nothing, not since…” His dark eyes smoldered. Then he moved to the grave, his armor clanking as he bent to one knee and bowed his head.

  Ham limped near.

  “Did he have any last words?” Laban asked.

  Ham thought about the ancient prophecy. He decided it wasn’t something his cousin wanted to hear.

  While still on his knee, Laban looked up. “Well, did he or didn’t he?”

  “He did.”

  “Out with it, man! What did he say?”

  Ham hesitated, thinking about the chariots and their occupants at the bottom of the hill.

  “Are you afraid?” Laban asked.

  Ham stiffened. “You want to hear his last words?”

  “Do you think I’m a prince’s fool? That I bandy words to make men laugh?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  Laban looked back to the grave before Ham could be certain whether he saw fear. “Everyone knows that at death, at the door to the other side, that sometimes a man sees visions of… of…”

  “The future?”

  “Yes,” whispered Laban.

  Doubts fill him, Ham realized. Could someone still reach Laban? “I sat beside him as he died, just Grandfather Lamech and me. He said, ‘Everything is so beautiful.’”

  “Nothing else?” Laban asked.

  “Yes. ‘Sovereign Lord Most High.’”

  Laban squinted. “Was he delirious?”

  “No.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “We spoke together. He spoke. Lamech was lucid to the very end.”

  “What did he speak about?”

  Ham hesitated.

  “Ah, this is what you fear to tell me. Yes, I read it in your eyes. Naamah has taught me much.”

  “Naamah?” Ham asked. “You speak to her?”

  Laban laughed as he jangled to his feet. “Speak? Oh, Ham, I do much more than just speak. How do you think I’ve risen so high so quickly?”

  The jealousy flared before Ham knew it was there and before he could control it. “Do you wish to hear grandfather’s warning? Is that why you’ve come? It’s a reiteration of Enoch’s old prophecy. ‘See, the Lord is coming with thousands upon thousands of his holy ones to judge everyone, and to convict all the ungodly of all the ungodly acts they have
done in the ungodly way, and of all the harsh words ungodly sinners have spoken against him.’”

  The smile drained from Laban’s face. “She said you would try to weaken me.” He rested his hand on his sword hilt. “Tell me. What has your father been saying about me?”

  Ham glanced at the sword. He knew how good Laban was. But he said, “That you’ve hardened your heart.”

  “Yes! I’ve become strong, fearless, a warrior.”

  “And you sleep with Naamah?”

  Once more, a magnetic grin flashed across the scarred face. “I’ll let you in on a secret, Ham. I’ll rule Chemosh someday. I’ll ascend the throne and command giants. Naamah thinks to use me, but I will use her.”

  “Why did you come back, really?”

  Laban’s eyes flashed. “There’s strength in Clan Methuselah, a power. You can see it when you’re among others. At first, I didn’t understand that, but I do now. If Clan Methuselah could unite, could combine its people into one military unit.”

  “Under you?”

  “Why not me?” Laban asked. “The things I’ve learned this past year, the tactics and the strategies. I could lead us to glory, Ham. We could make a name for ourselves that will blaze throughout the ages. For I have learned secrets, paths to power. Ham, join me. Become my strong right arm. You won’t regret it. I can honestly tell you that I haven’t.”

  “But the Flood, Laban, you’re forgetting about the coming Flood.”

  “Flood! Ham, there isn’t going to be any flood. Any fool can see that.”

  “You’re wrong,” Ham said, thinking about the angel he’d seen on the night Ymir had almost killed him.

  “Philosopher’s are fools,” Laban said, “at least for the most part. But Par Alexander understands one simple truth.”

  “What’s that?”

  “For as long as you can remember there has never been this thing called rain. Fog lifts from the ground at night, but never drops of water out of the sky. Since as long as any man remembers, for as long as the records go back, rain has never fallen. There has never been a flood. Water bubbles out of the ground and flows downstream to the oceans. The rivers neither overflow their banks nor do the oceans rise to swamp the land. A limit has been placed upon each. Thus, the cycle of life goes on and on and on. What has been will continue to be. Jehovah…suppose He did exist. Where is the proof? No one worships Him anymore, except for a handful of fanatics like your father and brothers. But I know you’re smarter than that. You once understood as I did. So you can see that if Jehovah existed He would have acted by now. No deity would tolerate the world turning against Him. It’s self-evident that if He does exist that other powers are just as strong as He is. But that’s not even the point. Nature itself is stronger than Jehovah is. The uniformity of things as they’ve always been proves the thesis.”