Noah (25 page)

“So?” Shem asked anxiously.

Naameh’s shoulders slumped. The color drained from her face. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Shem looked stunned. His mouth moved, but at first nothing emerged. Then he forced out a single rusty word.

“Both?”

Naameh looked distraught. Her eyes shone with tears, which over-spilled her lower lids, trickling down her cheeks. “Sisters,” she whispered.

“No,” wept Ila. She threw back her head, and dug her clawed fingers into the bedding beneath her. “No… oh, no…”

Tears were running down Shem’s face now, too. He looked at Ila, anguished, bereft, sobs tearing out of her, and then he looked at his newborn daughters.

He came to a decision. He wiped the tears angrily from his face, straightened up, and squared his shoulders.

“No,” he growled. “No, he will not touch our daughters.”

He stepped purposefully out of the tent. On the far side of the Hearth, leaning almost forgotten in the corner, was the spear that Noah had used to defend the Ark from the invaders, many months ago. A dark smear of long-dried blood still stained its tip.

Shem crossed the room and snatched it up.

“Shem!” Ila called from inside the tent.

“He will not have our daughters,” Shem said. “I will die before they do.”

And with that he swept from the room.

* * *

As Ham watched, Noah and Tubal-cain reeled and staggered and spun among the sleeping beasts as they fought for possession of the knife. They slammed against wooden columns, stumbled over the backs of spotted tigers and the outstretched legs of horses and camels. At one point they fell headlong on to a massive, double-horned rhinoceros, which twitched an ear in its sleep, as if bothered by nothing more than a pair of troublesome flies.

The fight between the two men was long and fierce, and at first it seemed that, despite their disparity in size, theirs was a perfectly even match. Tubal-cain was heavier and more muscular, yet Noah was the younger by almost two decades.

Neither would relinquish so much as an inch.

Eventually, however, something had to give, and it was Tubal-cain who managed to gain the upper hand. Freeing the arm that wasn’t holding the knife, he swung his fist like a club and slammed it into the side of Noah’s head.

It was the first solid blow that either of them had managed to land, and it sent Noah reeling. Dazed, he relaxed his grip on the knife by just a fraction—which enabled Tubal-cain to wrench it free and jab it savagely upward. The broad, flat side of the knife connected with Noah’s nose, which broke with a crunch.

Noah staggered back, his arms flailing, blood
pouring in a red ribbon from his broken nose. His heels connected with the solid, clawed feet of a silver bear and he fell backward into its warm, furry, sleeping mass.

Seizing the advantage, Tubal-cain rushed forward, and stood astride him. Noah stretched out an imploring hand as Tubal-cain raised the knife high above his head.

Standing a dozen steps away, Ham’s eyes widened. Though he knew it was hopeless, his muscles tensed as he prepared to rush forward in an attempt to stop what for months he had been convinced was his greatest desire, but which he now—too late—realized was his greatest mistake.

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and saw Shem arrive, carrying a long, thin object. But then his attention returned to the combatants.

Tubal-cain’s knife had already begun its downward arc when suddenly there was a deafening tearing, grinding, crashing sound. At the same time the mighty Ark, which had been plowing remorselessly through the waves for so many months, abruptly
stopped
.

* * *

The result was immediate and devastating. One moment Tubal-cain was standing astride Noah about to deliver a killing blow, and the next he, Noah, Ham, and hundreds of sleeping animals were tumbling through the air.

The tearing sound continued, and as Ham was swept up off his feet and hurled across the room, bodies of all shapes and sizes sailing through the air above and below and beside him, he caught a flashing
glimpse of the wall of the Ark caving inward. In the next second, what looked to him like a gigantic stone fist, surrounded by gouting jets of water, smashed its way through the hull.

* * *

Naameh and Japheth were huddled around Ila in the tent, attempting to comfort her, when the Ark crashed to a stop. Instantly the three of them were sent spinning and sliding across the floor of the tent and out of the open flap into the Hearth beyond.

Naameh, still holding the newborn twins, one in each hand, instinctively curled her body protectively around them as she was hurled across the room. Squeezing her eyes tight shut, she clutched the babies to her bosom and braced herself for impact.

* * *

As the Ark halted with a massive shuddering crunch, Shem was hurled through the air. The spear he had been carrying flew from his hand. Tumbling end over end, it fell with him.

* * *

Dazed, Noah sat up, groaning, and peered around. For several moments he couldn’t even begin to comprehend what had happened.

When he had found himself hurtling through the air, his vision confused by a rushing mass of meaningless colors and shapes, his first thought was that Tubal-cain had struck him dead. That the sensation he was experiencing was of his immortal spirit departing its earthly body, prior to beginning its ascent to join the Creator.

He had felt no joy at this prospect, however. To the contrary, he experienced a fleeting though acute sense of dismay, certain that he had failed to complete the mission that he had been given.

Then he felt himself floundering in darkness, and wondered whether this was his punishment—an eternity of darkness in which to contemplate his failure.

But now he was awake again. Bruised, battered and bleeding, but undeniably alive.

Noah’s mind worked furiously as he tried to make sense of the chaos around him. Animals were lying in an unholy jumble, some of them injured, or worse. What looked like a jagged, rocky mountain had torn a huge hole through the hull of the Ark, scattering timber debris everywhere. Though the protruding mass of rock had mostly sealed the breach it had created, water was still spraying around it and into the Ark.

Looking up, Noah saw that many of the walkways and ladders, constructed to pass from one level to the next, were now hanging down, having been ripped apart upon impact. The damage was extensive, and irreparable. Even from his initial, groggy assessment, Noah was certain that the Ark would never sail again.

He clambered to his feet, chunks and shards of shattered wood falling from him. Head still ringing, he stumbled over to the towering jag of gray-green rock jutting through the hull, and placed his hand upon it.

It was real. Cold.

The contact cleared his head a little. He realized what the rock signified.

“Land,” he croaked, as if to confirm it to himself. “We’ve reached land.”

He turned slowly. His body ached all over.

Then he froze.

Tubal-cain was lying on his back, arms outspread, less than a dozen steps away. He was sprawled across the body of a ram, his head resting on its haunches. A wolf was lying beside him, huddled up against his leg like a faithful pet beside its master.

Slowly, dragging his left leg a little, Noah shuffled closer to him.

Was Tubal-cain dead? Certainly Noah could see no signs of life. He stared at the warrior king’s huge barrel chest, but it didn’t seem to be moving.

He shuffled a little closer, and then closer still. Close enough to lean over Tubal-cain, to stare into his upturned face. Wondering if he should make
certain
that the man was dead, slash his throat or ram a wooden spar into his heart.

“The evils of mankind will not live in this new Eden,” he muttered.

He glanced to his right, looking for something suitable among the debris.

The instant he turned his head, Tubal-cain’s eyes sprang open. With startling speed, he whipped a small knife from his belt and stabbed it upward toward Noah’s throat. Just moments earlier, the blade might have hit home.

But Noah’s head had almost cleared, and he reacted quickly. Rearing back, he flung his arm out in a defensive parry. The back of his hand whacked against the underside of the warrior king’s forearm, connecting with such force that it not only deflected the blow, but jerked the knife from Tubal-cain’s hand.

Before his opponent could recover, Noah lunged forward, thrusting out his arms and closing his hands around Tubal-cain’s throat. The last few months might not have been kind to him, but he still retained a sinewy strength. Without hesitation, he pressed his thumbs as hard as he could into his opponent’s larynx.

Quickly Tubal-cain’s scarred face turned purple and his eyes bulged alarmingly. His mouth opened wide, his tongue lolled and he started to make awful choking noises as he fought for breath. His huge arms flailed and his body bucked, trying to dislodge his foe. But Noah clung on for grim life, as a poisonous spider will cling to larger prey once it has bitten it.

Slowly the whites of Tubal-cain’s eyes began to turn pink and his pupils began to roll upward into his head, as Noah throttled the life out of him.

* * *

At first, when he came round, Shem thought that he had broken his left ankle. The pain pulsing up from it, expanding out into his entire body, was so great that he thought he might pass out again.

By the time he had dragged himself, inch by agonizing inch, across the floor to the wall, however, the pain had started to ebb to such an extent that he was hoping it was no more than a bad sprain. Using the wall as support he clambered painfully to his feet. Once he was upright and his head had stopped spinning, he assessed the damage to his body.

Aside from his ankle, his left shoulder felt as though the stone fist of a Watcher had punched it hard, and the left side of his ribs were so bruised that it hurt every time he breathed. The fact that his left
elbow was throbbing too was ample confirmation that it was this side of his body that had taken the brunt of the impact.

He shuffled forward to pick up his spear, which had landed on the ground close to where he had fallen. As he straightened up, wincing, he peered hard into the chaotic gloom of the vast space ahead of him, and his mouth opened in shock.

Animals were lying in sprawled and disordered heaps all over the deck. Some were sleeping, while others, almost certainly, were dead.

It was as if the Ark had been picked up like a toy and tipped to one side, dislodging its contents. What looked like half a mountain had penetrated one side of the hull, causing a huge amount of destruction. The floor was awash with water, which was still leaking in. A great deal of wooden debris floated in it.

Because many of the lamps had been destroyed or extinguished, the vast space was mostly in shadow. It was the suggestion of movement, therefore, among the jumble of animals, which drew Shem’s eye.

Peering hard, he could just make out the back of what appeared to be a kneeling figure, leaning forward in the gloom. He couldn’t tell what the figure was doing—tending to an injured animal perhaps?—but he immediately recognized who it was from the torn and dirty robe that it was wearing.

It was Noah, his father. The man who had sentenced his newly born granddaughters to death. The man Shem had come here to kill. What had just happened had not changed Shem’s mind, nor dampened his resolve. To the contrary, if the Ark had finally struck land, as the protruding rock face seemed to suggest, then he was more determined than
ever that his daughters be given a chance to start a new life in a new world.

Hefting the spear in his right hand, its point aimed at his father’s back, Shem hobbled forward. He was afraid that he would be heard, but Noah seemed intent on whatever it was he was doing.

Drawing close, Shem turned the spear around, and drew it back.

Although his father’s back presented him with a wide and easy target, Shem hesitated. He began to remember, thinking of how he and his father had worked tirelessly on the Ark, of family evenings sitting in the Hearth, bathed in the warmth of the furnace. Of the stories with which Noah would regale them.

His father had taught him all about herbs and plants, what was good to eat and what could be used for medicine. Had loved animals because they were innocent, without rancor.

But weren’t Shem and Ila’s daughters innocent, too?

Perhaps Shem could convince him of this fact. Perhaps Noah could become a teacher to his newborn granddaughters. Perhaps they could be the first children of the new world born free of man’s wickedness.

An involuntary sob escaped him. In front of him Shem saw his father’s shoulders stiffen. Noah half-turned, which caused Shem’s heart to flutter with panic.

“Leave us alone,” he shouted. Suddenly, instinctively, he rammed the handle with all of his might into the back of his father’s head, where it connected with a sickening
crack
. Noah collapsed sideways like a tree, blood flying from his temple.

Aghast at what he had done, Shem hurried forward, just as Noah rolled limply onto his back. Dazed and confused, his eyelids fluttering, Noah gazed up at his eldest son.

Shem opened his mouth to apologize, to explain—but the words dried in his throat as a huge black shape suddenly rose from the shadows beyond them.

“Who are—” Shem began, but with frightening speed the shape leaped forward, filling his vision. The spear was wrenched from his grasp as something hard and black shot from the darkness and smashed into his face. There was a crunch, a vivid white flash of pain, and a gush of blood down both his chin and his throat. The pain was so massive that it seemed to suck every bit of warmth and awareness and mobility out of the rest of his body.

Shem’s face suddenly felt like a burning sun, and he was spinning backward into darkness.

* * *

Tubal-cain swung around, brandishing the spear he had snatched from the boy’s hand. Noah, blood seeping from a lump on his temple and still gushing from his broken nose, struggled to sit up. Tubal-cain took two steps forward and kicked him hard in the face. Noah went down again, the back of his head hitting the wooden floor with a crunch.