Noah (21 page)

“And there was evening. And morning. A Fifth Day.”

Noah paused, looked around at his family. Japheth smiled at him. Noah smiled back. He continued.

“Now the whole world was full of living beings, each after its kind. Every thing that creeps. And every thing that crawls. And every beast that makes its way upon the ground.

“And it was good. It was
all
good. There was light and air and water and soil. All clean and unspoiled. There were plants and fish, fowl and beast. Each after their kind, all part of the greater whole. All in their place, and all was in balance. It was paradise. A jewel in the Creator’s crown.”

Noah paused. His face turned from rapturous to grim in an instant.

“And then came Man.”

In his mind, Japheth, who had heard this story many times, saw the first man. He knew that the first man’s name was Adam, and that the first woman’s
name was Eve, and that they had walked in a garden called Eden.

As his father continued, Japheth barely heard the words. He knew the tale so well that he retreated into himself, and simply watched it unfold in his head.

He saw Adam and Eve walk side by side, their skin shimmering with a magical, internal light, a pure glow that obscured their features and concealed their nakedness from each other. He saw them walk toward the Tree of Knowledge and the Tree of Life, both of which spread their branches into the world, and both of which glowed, too.

He saw Adam pick something up from the ground. A snakeskin. The same snakeskin given to Methuselah and passed down to his son, Lamech. The same snakeskin that Japheth knew would now belong to his own father if the warrior king, Tubal-cain, had not killed Lamech and taken it.

He saw the snakeskin crawl up Adam’s arm, saw Adam stare at it in awe. Jaspeth watched the snake that had shed the skin, black with four red eyes and a forked tongue, slither up the Tree. Saw Eve watch the snake as it coiled along a branch toward the apple.

“The Creator gave us a choice,” Noah said. “Follow the temptation of darkness. Or hold on to the blessing of light. Our birthright.”

The apple hung upon a quivering twig. It began to glow with life, with vitality, with promise. Japheth saw that Eve was drawn to it.

He saw Eve’s hand reach up and pluck the forbidden fruit from the Tree. He saw the twig recoil. Saw Eve bring the apple to her mouth…

And the world slipped into darkness.

Japheth blinked. Looked up at his father. Noah
was still talking, his voice a low, soothing rumble.

“They ate from the forbidden fruit,” he said. “Their innocence was extinguished.”

Noah’s voice became serious, almost dull with grief. He spoke of two brothers, Cain and Abel. Of how Cain killed his brother, striking him down with a rock.

And from that act, violence begat violence, and soon two mighty armies were thundering toward one another, racing into battle across a war-torn plain.

“And so for the ten generations since Adam, sin has walked within us.” Noah’s voice was bitter now. “Brother against brother. Nation against nation. Man against Creation.”

He slumped forward, as if defeated. “We murdered each other. We sucked the world dry.
We
did this.
Man
did it. All that was beautiful, all that was good,
we
destroyed.”

His family stared at him. Noah sighed, and looked up.

“Now it begins again. Earth, air, water, plant, fish, bird, and beast. Paradise returns. But this time… this time there must be no men. If we were to re-enter the garden, it would only be to destroy it once more. No. The Creator has judged us… Mankind must end.”

Japheth’s gaze flickered from his father’s face. He looked at the rest of his family. His mother had tears in her eyes. Shem and Ila were holding hands. Ham’s face was cold.

He looked back at his father.

His father was looking at Ham.

“Shem and Ila will bury me and your mother,” he said gently. “Ham, you will bury them. Then Japheth will lay
you
to rest.”

Now Noah turned his attention to Japheth. The boy stared up at him with wide eyes.

“You, Japheth, will be the last man. Until in time you, too, will return to the dust. And Creation will be left alone. Safe. Beautiful…”

His voice dwindled to silence. For a long moment no one spoke.

* * *

Then Noah sighed, stirred himself. He raised a conciliatory hand toward Ham.

“I’m sorry for that girl,” he said. “Truly I am.”

Ham’s response was curt, his voice tight.

“She had a name.”

Noah inclined his head, acknowledging it. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “For her and for you. But we have been entrusted with a task much greater than our own desires. We must—”

But Ham didn’t wait around to hear any more. He jumped to his feet, ran across the room to the door, and disappeared into the darkness.

No one said anything. Shem and Ila averted their gaze. Naameh lowered her head into her outstretched hand. Only Japheth continued to stare at his father.

Noah sat back with a weary grunt. He closed his eyes.

Then, but for the endless rain, there was silence.

H
am peered around the reptile deck. All was as it should be. Sleeping snakes were entwined together like sleek coils of rope, or were draped across the branches of the artificial trees like jungle vines. In the wooden compartments that had been especially designed for them slept lizards and turtles of all shapes and sizes. The larger creatures—the crocodiles and alligators, the jungle dragons—slumbered wherever they could find a space, their great ridged backs rising and falling gently.

There was no evidence to suggest that anything had been disturbed, nothing to indicate that their unofficial passenger, their stowaway, had yet woken. Ham wondered if Tubal-cain was dead, whether the injury to his leg had proved too much for him. He wondered how he would feel if that turned out to be the case. Angry? Disappointed?

Relieved?

He stepped off the main walkway and picked his way between the masses of sleeping reptiles, toward the huge hive-like construction against the inner wall. He made his way over to it, following an unerring path. It had taken Ham a long time to drag Tubal-cain’s body far enough out of sight that he was at least reasonably confident that it would not be found. The hole in the wall of the Ark had bothered him a little, but he had done his best to patch it up, in the hope that neither Shem nor his father would notice it.

Finally he reached Tubal-cain. The great warrior king lay motionless, his body in shadow. A fist of dread clenched in Ham’s belly.

Is he dead?

Ham leaned over him and was relieved to hear him breathing. He looked down at Tubal-cain’s wound and grimaced. The bandage around his leg was drenched with pus and blood.

Opening the satchel at his hip he took out a number of items and laid them beside the prone figure one by one—some small cloth bags full of herbs, some food, some fresh bandages. He was bending over to place the last item on the floor when the man’s eyes snapped open. Ham jerked backward, but not quickly enough. Tubal-cain’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, clamping it in an iron grip.

Ham stared at him in terror, his mouth so dry he was unable to speak.

Tubal-cain opened his mouth. His voice was a croak.

“Noah. Your father. Does he know I’m here?”

Ham shook his head rapidly, and managed to find his voice. “No. I haven’t told him.”

Tubal-cain’s eyes narrowed.

“Why are you helping me?”

Ham didn’t answer at first. He averted his eyes from Tubal-cain’s burning gaze.

“There was a girl…” he muttered. “I wanted to bring her to the Ark… I
tried
to bring her…”

“And he stopped you…” Tubal-cain’s words came in a low rasp.

Ham looked up. He saw understanding, perhaps even compassion, in the warrior’s eyes. He nodded.

“And now you want revenge,” Tubal-cain said.

Ham thought about it.
Was
that what he wanted? Revenge against his father? At last, almost against his will, he gave a single curt nod.

Tubal-cain smiled and relaxed his grip on Ham’s wrist.

“Then you shall have it,” he said.

* * *

Within the Hearth, Shem entered the tent that he shared with Ila, to find her huddled, knees up to her chin, her arms wrapped around her legs. Tears shone in her eyes and glimmered on her cheeks. He dropped to his knees beside her and wrapped her in an embrace.

“What’s the matter?”

Ila drew a deep, shuddering breath. Her voice wavered. “Do you think it’s true? That deep down we are all wicked?”

Shem took his time before answering. Finally he said, “I don’t know. But I do think that you and I are blessed.”

She clung to him, pressed herself against him. “I love you so much,” she whispered. “Are we really to
be the last ones to ever feel this?”

There was such sadness in her voice. The prospect was almost too unbearable to contemplate. Avoiding the question, Shem said, “I’m just thankful I will have you with me for the rest of my life.”

He leaned down and kissed her on the lips.

“Isn’t that enough?”

“I hope so,” Ila whispered, wrapping her arms around him and holding on tight, as if she never wanted to let him go. “I truly hope so.”

But she didn’t look sure.

* * *

Japheth woke. He listened to the rain.

He reached under his pillow for the sliver of blade, used it to make another scratch on the floor beside his bed.

He counted the scratches as he did every morning.

Day thirteen.

* * *

The rain, mixed with sleet now, was relentless, unceasing, the gray, rolling skin of the sea dancing and twitching with thick, glutinous, icy droplets which battered against it.

Noah stood at the top of the ramp, just outside the hatchway door, silent and unsmiling. He stared out over the gray ocean as if its terrible beauty both fascinated and appalled him.

Naameh slipped through the gap between door and frame and stood beside her husband. She shivered as the icy wind plucked at her, and pulled her layers of clothing more tightly around her body.

For a while neither of them spoke. And then Noah
said, “No more land. Even the tallest mountains are covered now.”

He paused, sighed.

“They all must be dead.”

Naameh tossed a sidelong glance at her husband. His face was grim, stoical, his eyes as gray and impenetrable as the ocean. And yet she knew that deep down he was not as resolute as he appeared. He was a compassionate man, a man who valued life above all things. What he had been forced to do in order to carry out the Creator’s wishes had been a terrible burden for him.

“Did it really have to be this way?” she asked gently.

His eyes met hers, and she could see how troubled and sad they were.

“It is what He wanted, Naameh. Creation will be the better for it. You do see that, don’t you?”

There was a desperate appeal in his voice, a yearning need for her to understand and support his deeds and motivations.

She felt pity for him, and with it a great deal of love and admiration, and yet even now she found that she couldn’t whole-heartedly subscribe to the single-minded commitment of his cause.

“What I see is how hard this was for you to do,” she said. “As a man who respects life. A man who loves his children. I could not have borne the burden. Not like you.”

She reached out, took his hand in hers.

“You have been strong. But it’s done now, husband. It’s done. You can put that burden down.”

He looked at her, and suddenly, shockingly, now that it
was
truly over, now that all human life beyond
the Ark was dead, the mask of icy determination that he had been wearing for so long cracked, and then crumbled. Noah sagged against his wife, and he wept and wept, his sobs echoing out across the ocean, his great shoulders heaving.

* * *

Ila was wrenched from sleep.

She felt horribly ill. Waves of nausea rolled through her body. The darkness pressed in from all sides, stifling her. She groaned and scrambled out from beneath Shem’s embrace, thinking that if she could get a little cool air she would feel better. But sitting up made her feel worse. She groaned, retched, pressed a hand to her mouth.

In the darkness behind her, Shem stirred. He reached out and placed a hand on her back. Ila’s skin was so tender that although his touch was light, it felt heavy and hot and made her feel worse. She shrugged him off.

“Ila?” His voice was puzzled, sleepy.

* * *

Ham stood and watched as Tubal-cain, his back propped against the wall, toyed with his knife. His teeth were clenched in a savage grin. Although the warrior king was injured, and could move only slowly, Ham was nervous all the same. Tubal-cain had never done him any harm, but he seemed unpredictable, like a wild animal that would appear to have been tamed for only as long as it was fed and looked after.

Tubal-cain held up the blade, watching it flash as it caught the light.

“Good,” he said.

A little hesitantly Ham handed over a bag, which Tubal-cain emptied on to the floor. A number of tools spilled out—a hammer, a metal spike for punching holes in wood—which made Tubal-cain grin.

“They are only for him,” Ham said hastily, realizing as he did so that he was in no position to give orders.

Tubal-cain, however, nodded. “I will not harm your family, Ham. Only him.”

Ham guessed that Tubal-cain’s leg wound must be causing him considerable pain, but the warrior king, though his face was damp with sweat from the fevers that still shuddered occasionally through his body, refused to show it. Dragging the leg behind him, he shuffled across to one of the wooden, hive-like compartments, reached in and pulled out a horned chameleon. The lizard hung from his fist, a dead weight, completely acquiescent. Before Ham could say anything, Tubal-cain bit the creature’s head off, chewing as its blood ran down his arm.

Ham’s eyes widened in horror.

“What are you doing?” he exclaimed.