People of the Tower (Ark Chronicles 4) (28 page)

16.

Ham watched Noah strike the Tower as his father intoned an awful curse
. It seemed as if Noah tried to dash the gopher-wood staff to pieces against the baked bricks. The ancient patriarch who had built the Ark rolled out the heavy words, each time punctuating it with a loud crack of his staff.

“
Look,” Rahab said, with her arms around Ham’s waist. “Look at the people.”

Ham
’s hand ached from clutching his cudgel for so long and so hard.

Whack
! Noah cursed the Tower more.

“
Ham,” said his wife. “Look at the people.”

His eyebrows creased together.

“The crowd, Ham. Look at the crowd.”

Ham tore his gaze from Noah
. The singing had become discordant. Nonsense words rose all around him. It seemed as if in their drunken revelry the people had forgotten how to talk. That slowed their dancing and twirling and shouting and laughing and the throwing up of their arms and the grabbing and kissing of any that pranced past them. Some grew red-faced; others frowned, while a few jabbered in seeming shock.

“
What’s wrong with them?” whispered Rahab.

Ham shrugged, and he clutched his cudgel even tighter.

Whack
! His father’s staff hit again.

Ham turned toward his father, wondering what Noah had just said.

The old patriarch roared out garbled words, strange and foreign, making not a bit of sense.

Ham feared to interrupt his father
. So he bent his head, listening to Noah.

Whack
! More nonsense words, meaningless, like monkey chatter.

“
Rahab,” Ham said. “What’s Noah saying?”

Her arms tightened around his waist as she peered into his face.

“Listen to Noah,” shouted Ham.

She did
. Then she looked at him. “I don’t understand him.”

Terror hit like a kick to the stomach
. Hadn’t the angel said something about one language? An awful foreboding caused Ham to turn back to the crowd. The singing had stopped. The people shouted at one another. He stepped to the nearest man, a Japhethite, Scyth by name. The man shouted at Zidon, who shouted back. Neither made any sense. Both spoke gibberish.

“
What’s going on?” Rahab asked. “I don’t understand anybody.”

“
I understand you.”

Rahab
’s eyes grew wide. “Yes! That’s right.”

Noah stepped back from the Tower, closer to Ham
. The white-bearded patriarch wiped sweat from his brow. Great weariness filled his blue eyes. Noah spoke gibberish.

“
I don’t understand you, Father.”

Noah spoke again, making no sense.

“Is this part of the curse of Jehovah?” Ham asked. “Does no one understand each other?”

Noah shouted at him.

“That’s not going to help,” Ham said.

Noah paled
. Understanding, shock and something like awe filled his leathery face. The old patriarch gazed upon the crowd.

So did Ham and Rahab.

Fights broke out. People shouted. A few of the folk ran screaming from the plaza.

Ham felt a heavy hand on his shoulder
. He and his father looked upon one another. Noah spoke. Ham said, “You must be speaking another language.”

“
Or we are?” Rahab said.

As soon as she said
, it made grim sense. Noah, as the righteous man of Jehovah, probably spoke the original language. He, Ham, as a formerly great drunkard, no doubt was the one who spoke a new and strange tongue.

Noah held out his hand.

Ham took it so they shook hands.

Then Noah pointed north
. He slapped his chest and pointed north again.

Tears welled in Rahab
’s eyes.

Noah smiled sadly, and he hugged Ham
. He squeezed the breath out of him. Ham hugged back. Did this mean that he and his father could never speak to one another again? The dreadfulness of it filled Ham with sadness and sorrow.

Noah let go
. He hugged Rahab.

By now
, shouting, raving and dangerous fistfights had broken out around them.

Noah lifted his staff, and he nodded at Ham and Rahab.

“We’d better follow him,” Ham said.

“
Yes,” Rahab said.

The three of them waded into the screaming crowd, with Noah
’s gopher-wood staff licking at any who tried to bar the way. Ham fought as the rear-guard, twice cudgeling a spit-foaming man raving out of his wits. It felt as if the world had gone mad, drunken on sin-fueled insanity.

17.

Hilda stirred on the temple floor. Every time she blinked, it felt as if spikes had been driven into her brain. An awful sense of doom filled her, a terrible certainty that this place was about to be destroyed.

She sat up, and she groaned, holding her hurting, throbbing head
. She crawled to Odin sprawled on the red tiled floor. Tears dripped from her. “Please don’t let him be dead. Please, Jehovah.”

She stroked his red hair
. “You came for me,” she whispered. “You saved me from Nimrod. Oh, Odin, if you’re alive let us be man and wife. Let us be as one this instant.”

As if he heard her
—perhaps her words woke him—Odin stirred.

“
Lie still,” she warned. “Let me check your wounds.”

“
Hilda?”

“
I’m here, my love. I’m here.”

As he turned over onto his back, she saw that Nimrod
’s knife-cut hadn’t slashed anything vital. Using a cloth, she bound his side and helped him sit up.

“
Can you walk?” she asked.

“
I think so. But my vision is blurry.”

She peered into his eye as she recalled Nimrod
’s vicious kick. “I’ll guide you down.”

“
How’s Gilgamesh?”

She crawled to him
. Her own head yet throbbed. The governor of Erech’s wound was worse. A lot of Gilgamesh’s blood had pooled around him. Then the terrible sense of urgency returned, squeezing her, compelling her. They had to get out here, out of the temple now!

“
Gilgamesh,” she said, touching him.

He groaned.

She gulped, and she tried to bind his wounds, to stop the leaking of his life-fluids. Odin was beside her, his thick fingers checking the wound.

“
It’s bad,” Odin said. “It’s soaked half his tunic.”

Gilgamesh opened his eyes
. He whispered.

Hilda bent near.

“What’s he saying?” Odin asked.

She wanted to shake her head, but that would hurt too much
. “I don’t understand him. He must be groggy, disoriented.”

Odin
looked down at Gilgamesh. “We have to go,” he said, slowly, as if for a child. “Can you walk?”

Gilgamesh frowned, almost as if he couldn
’t understand them.

“
We can’t stay,” Hilda said.

“
Agreed,” Odin said. “Nimrod will send killers after us.”

She hadn
’t thought of that. She was more worried that something dreadful, something unexplainable was about to happen—soon!

They eased Gilgamesh to a sitting position
. He croaked words that made no sense.

“
Save it,” Odin said.

Gilgamesh lifted a shaky hand, clutching
Odin’s wrist. He spoke again, seemingly more clearly, without slurring. It still made no sense.

“
Later,” Odin said. To Hilda, “Help me get him to his feet.”

He was heavy for such a lean man.

“Let’s get out of here,” Odin said.

“
We must hurry,” she said. The sense of impending, sudden and certain destruction had become close to unbearable.

18.

The hair on the back of Shem’s neck rose as terror coursed through him. All was dark in his cell under the palace. Yet it felt as if a presence was with him, a majestic and awful being, dangerous beyond words.

“
Hello?” he asked.

Nothing
. Dreadful, hideous silence, as if he stood in a midnight swamp with a monstrous crocodile ready to devour him.

Shem trembled and couldn
’t stop, and he no longer had the will to speak. He bent his head and pressed his clenched fists against his mouth. He fought for self-control and his shaking had become paralyzing. Majesty beyond words, power and presence—Shem slid onto his belly, his trembling worse than if he lay naked on a glacier.

In an instant
, it was gone! The wretched feeling passed.

Shem lay gasping
. He wondered if his internment into this present and continual darkness had affected his senses, warped his judgment and slowly turned him crazy. Sweat drenched him.

He rose to his knees, deciding to fall onto his mat and sleep this off
. But the terror of seconds ago had disoriented him. Which way was the mat? The darkness in his cell was absolute. So he crawled, feeling with his hands, shuffling on his knees. One shuffle, two, three, four. Was he simply imagining moving as he stayed in one spot? His cell was five strides by five. He should have bumped into the wall by now.

He straightened as he kept shuffling his knees, feeling out with his hands
. Terror crept back as he kept shuffling, shuffling—his left knee struck the wall and he fell forward. Which was impossible. In that moment, he knew that he had gone insane. Then his hands landed hard, surprising him, shocking him back to reality at the jolt to his shoulders. He felt…he frowned severely. Confusion filled him. Until he realized—

These were steps!
Then…

He turned, feeling around with his hands, swinging them until his hand knocked against… He felt what had to be an open door
. Yes! Yes! The cell door was open.

But…
a chill swept through him. Who had opened the door? The imagined presence of a moment ago? Imagination doesn’t open doors.

Shem
gulped, realizing now that his feelings were similar as to when he had visions. This had to be of Jehovah. He was certain of it. Had an angel been in his cell? He scowled, berating himself as he began to crawl up the stairs.

A cold, hard feeling grew in his gut
. Something grim was going to be demanded of him soon. His smile was cold. His stay in the damp black cell had readied him for hard tasks. His head bumped against the ceiling. He fumbled for the trapdoor and hissed in elation as he pushed it upward.

19.

Hilda and Odin dragged Gilgamesh down the long ramp. Below a scene of madness greeted them. People fought in the plaza. Many lay as if dead, killed, bludgeoned to death. Frenzied shouts filled the night.

“
Look at the sky,” Odin said.

Hilda craned her head
. The stars were blotted out. That almost caused her to miss her step and plunge to her death down the stairs. No, no, not blotted out. A cloud hung over the city.

“
It feels like rain,” Odin said.

Hilda gobbled silently
. “Not rain,” she hissed, “lightning.”

“
What?”

“
Oh, Odin,” she sobbed. “It’s going to thunder and lightning.”

“
How do you know?”

“
That isn’t just a cloud,” she said, no longer daring to stare upward.

They resumed the march down the ramp, Gilgamesh
’s feet thumping at each step.

“
What do you mean that isn’t a cloud?” Odin asked.

She huffed at the heavy load of Gilgamesh
. “Don’t you remember the story of the Ark? How right at the end, a cloud appeared to shut the Ark’s door?”

“
That wasn’t just a cloud,” Odin said, “but the presence of Jehovah.”

“
Right!”

All the blood drained out of
Odin’s already pale face. He looked inhuman and his features stark.

“
Hurry,” Hilda said.

Odin
did.

20.

Uruk swore in rage, with his leaden mace clubbing down another fool. The man’s skull cracked, the body thumped onto the plaza bricks and gore oozed. The mace, a ball of lead, was his badge of office as War Chief. Beside him were his wine-besotted brothers, and a cousin, the only people left he could understand. They too bore weapons.

Order had to be restored.

“Uruk, look at that,” his younger brother said.

Uruk grunted
. Odin and Hilda bearing a bleeding Gilgamesh stepped off the bottom stair of the Tower.

“
That doesn’t seem right,” his brother said.

Bloodthirsty joy filled Uruk
. He hated Gilgamesh, the one who had stolen Opis from him. He winced inwardly. That day on Gilgamesh’s bed with Opis, he should have enjoyed it. The shame of it haunted him every day of his life. He hated himself for what he had done to Opis, and he blamed that on Gilgamesh.

People scattered, fleeing out of his way.

“You!” roared Uruk.

Odin
looked up, and so did Hilda.

Uruk
’s eyes narrowed. Why had they been in the temple and how had they been bloodied? He had seen Nimrod racing down the steps before.

His brothers and cousin, bearing knives, surrounded these traitors.

“Who freed you?” Uruk asked.

Odin
shook his head.

“
So you won’t answer?” Uruk said, raising his gore-spattered mace.

He gave
Odin this. The Spear Slayer didn’t flinch. Odin opened his mouth and barked like a dog. At least it made as much sense as a dog barking or a wolf snarling. Had everyone but his brothers gone mad?

Knives from his brothers and cousin poked
Odin and Hilda. They weren’t going anywhere. That was certain.

Uruk grabbed Gilgamesh
’s sweaty hair and jerked his head up. He almost leapt back. Gilgamesh glared at him like a berserk, a dread smile spreading across his bloody lips.

“
Forgive me,” whispered Gilgamesh.

“
Eh?” said Uruk. “You want my forgiveness?”

Gilgamesh
’s eyes seemed to look right through him. “I have sinned against your wife,” said the delirious governor of Erech.

“
You fool,” Uruk shouted.

Gilgamesh
’s wild eyes cleared, and his bloody smile became hideous. He took a hand from his side. It held a knife.

For Uruk time slowed down
. The razor-sharp knife punctured his stomach. The blade slid into him, biting inner organs. He roared, stepping back, pulling the hilt out of Gilgamesh’s grasp.

Uruk
’s knees buckled. He crashed to the plaza. What was wrong with him? Oh yes, there was a knife in his guts. His head drooped as his brothers shouted at him.

A terrible boom like the end of the world forced
Uruk to look up. Lighting, pure and shining, cracked into the blue temple on top of the Tower. The bolt jagged down from that dreadful cloud that blotted out the stars.

The temple exploded
. Bricks, in his slow motion sense, flew into the night sky.

Uruk
’s head drooped. The bricks would rain down soon. He didn’t think it would matter to him. No. He slumped, chest-first onto the plaza, grunting as the dagger pushed deeper into him. He sighed, his final sound, and his soul departed his useless husk.