People of the Ark (Ark Chronicles 1) (23 page)

13.

Noah, Shem, Ham and Japheth grunted and strained as they lowered the cable-thick rope. Outside the Ark, the massive drogue stone, attached by this rope, thumped lower and lower along the wooden side.

When they were done, twenty giant-sized drogue stones to a side would help stabilize the vessel
. Box-shaped, it would be almost impossible to tip over the Ark.

Done lowering this stone, each of them collapsed onto the flooring, panting, with their hands burning and sore.

“We have three more to do,” Noah said, struggling to his feet.

Ham also pushed up, weary, his limbs quivering
. It seemed as if he hadn’t stopped working ever since his father had finished his prayer to Jehovah. Work, snatch a bit of food and a catnap: a grinding routine that might finally settle down to something normal. None of them steered the Ark. His father said an angel did that, or at least made sure they didn’t smash into anything. Ham hoped his father was right. For now, they no longer sat upon the earth. They moved; sliding upon the swirling waters as rain constantly lashed them.

“
Shem,” Noah said. “Shem.”

Ham turned as his father shook Shem by the shoulder
. His longhaired, slender brother hadn’t gotten up. He sat staring at nothing, silent and trance-like.

“
What’s going on?” whispered Ham.

Japheth shrugged
. His older brother seemed as perplexed as he did.

“
Father?” Ham asked.

Noah stepped back, plucking at his beard and with his brow creased
. He squatted beside Shem. “We’ll wait.”

“
What about the other three drogue stones?” Ham said.

Noah shook his head.

“Do you know what’s wrong?” Japheth asked.

“
I think he’s having a vision,” Noah said.

14.

Shem’s Vision

To the shining glory of the throne of Jehovah—intensely brighter than the noonday sun—came seven hoary angels, ancient with might and cunning in the arts of war. They were terrible and menacing, with snow-white faces and vast of limb. In movement, they clanked, armored in bitter links of frost and bearing helmets that seemed like snowy, mountain peaks. These seven bore icicle spears and rimed shields, and low they bowed before Him on the throne, in adoration worshiping, waiting for the Holy One to speak.

“
Doom to man and woe to the angels who did not keep their positions of authority. For tents of flesh and bone they abandoned their own home; and offspring hideous and profane did they sire. Woe and anguish, bitterness and loathing: let this be their lot until the Judgment. Gather me these
bene elohim
, and then to Tartarus they must go.”

Cloaked thus in authority most high, the seven avengers arose
. Clanking, and seeming to leave a trail of frost, these grim warriors departed the Holy Hill and descended from Heaven.

As they approached the Earth, a piercing cry rent the ethereal sphere:
“Do not let them pass!”

Out of the dark recesses and from behind every stormy cloud, as if from under slimy rocks and rotting logs and in obedience to the foul cry, poured forth the monstrous Legion of the Damned
. Black, with coal-red eyes, snarling and snapping and with strangely flapping capes, the fallen ones wielded death blades and fiery darts and shields that yawned like pits to the abyss. They assembled before the great dragon, the Prince of the Power of the Air, he who did bid his legions come.

Satan said
, “These are the seven of Doom, the avengers of Him on the throne. See! They bear chains, to bind our brothers and thus lessen our ranks. Gather your courage, my devils! Bar to these the path and dare say: ‘This and no farther shall ye go!’”

With the gnashing of teeth
, the dark legions howled agreement.

The captain of the seven, with eyes that could freeze, saw the might raised against him
. He thus lifted his hoary hand to stop his brethren. Cloaked in the authority of the Almighty, he raised an icy trumpet and like thunder sounded his peal.

The Hosts of Heaven gave heed
. From on high did they respond with a rumble. Led by Michael the Archangel, General of Heaven, they came in flaming chariots of fire, drawn by glorious horses of flame, and to the fray they did fly.

Bitter and proud and unrelenting, these beings most celestial warred for mastery
. Sword stroke matched spear thrust. Arrow against fiery dart. Terror faced awe. Until at last a shout from the Holy Hill like lightning fell and struck fear and consternation into the ranks of the damned.

Now Michael roared like a lion and none could face him
. He hewed and smote Principalities and Powers so they fled wounded from the field. Gabriel, Jehovah’s Messenger, gave chase, arrows flying from his bow. And to the Four Corners of the Earth, the fallen ones scattered. They were beaten again, but cursing, they plotted anew, vowing vengeance on all that was good.

The seven
elder angels, ancient with might and cunning in the arts of war, thus resumed their march. To the Earth they went, to the
bene elohim
—wicked, vile and blasphemous spirits—who upon the first crack of thunder had found it impossible to leave their occupied bodies of flesh and bone. One by one, the seven searched and found them. They thrust icy spears and lay heavy hands upon each, ripping them from their hosts and binding them in chains of unbreakable adamant. Soon a captive train of broken, snarling, beaten foes they did lead. With Azel taken last—torn out of a former king of men—the Seven drove the fiends to Sheol, to the lowest pit called Tartarus. There in swirling darkness, in chambers most foul and gloomy, they bound the fallen. Each alone, wrapped in adamant chains, secure, unmoving and tormented by pain, the fallen angels awaited their ultimate fate that will only be known on that Day.

See
! The wild waves of the sea are stopped; those who foamed up their shame are no more. The wandering stars are encased in blackest darkness, and their worm shall never die, for in torment will they suffer forever and ever.

O, do not be deceived, the Lord
Jehovah shall not be mocked.

Whatever ye sow
, thus shall ye also reap.

Glory to
God in the Highest. Amen.

15.

Laban wept bitterly when Azel was torn from him. He crawled below deck, to the water-soaked ballast sand. Rats squealed in the bottom hold, scampering from him, and long, slithering shapes slid further back.

The merchant ship of Pishon tossed this way and that as Laban grabbed fistfuls of sand and as he pounded his knuckles into the wet grit
. Gone, gone, all gone. Even the demon Azel had been taken from him, so no longer could he gain guidance from the spirit. What had it gained him to win the world? He had sold his soul, bargained awfully, all for momentary power. Tears welled and dripped onto the mud. His son Ben-Hadad, slain on the altar by his own hand—and for what?

Laban hurled sand at the groaning beams above
. He cursed Jehovah. He shook his fists. “Why did You allow this? Why? If You’re so powerful, so good, why have You allowed evil to reign for so long?”

He paused, sobbing
. “No answer, eh? Is that because You don’t have one?”

“
Laban.”

He turned in the murk, his hand dropping to the hilt of his short sword.

Naamah, her clothes soaked and water dripping from her shorn locks, crawled on hands and knees. She searched his face. “He’s gone, isn’t he?”

The witch saw things others couldn
’t. “Does that matter?” he said.

“
Will he come back?”

He eyed her
. Perhaps it would be justice to slay her. But if that were true, he wanted to take his time doing it.

“
Don’t look at me like that,” she said.

“
I’ll look at you however I want.”

Her
sultry smile gave her a whorish beauty.

He was stirred, and he felt his resolve weakening
. Then his eyes narrowed as he remembered Ben-Hadad right at the end. Ghastly! With a snarl, he slapped her.

“
Why did you do that?” she wept, no longer smiling and no longer looking at him.

Suddenly the hatch above slammed shut and the bolt slid into place.

“Can you hear me, King Laban?”

In the foul hold, with its creaking timbers only inches above his head
—the king was already on his hands and knees—and with wet sand and sloshing water Laban paled as a cold knot formed in his gut. He ignored the awful stench and the scratching of rats and slithering serpents as he regarded the closed hatch with its rays of light peeking through warped wood. “What do you want, Ikkesh?”

“
Your death,” Ikkesh said. “I want you to die horribly.”

“
Don’t be rash, Ambassador. You and I need each other.”

No answer came.

“What will we do?” Naamah moaned.

“
Wait him out,” Laban said. “He can’t sail the ship alone.”

“
But…”

Laban drew his sword
. Naamah shrank from him. He ignored her as he crawled on his hands and knees, hunting for rats, for something to eat.

For countless days, weeks, they suffered in the belly of the ship, living atop the ballast sand
. They were always damp, always swaying this way and that. They ate the rats raw and drank the brackish, foul water. At times Ikkesh spoke to them, unmoved by their pleas. Sometimes Laban used Naamah, but in his weariness and despair, he tired of even that.

A long time later Ikkesh pounded on the boards
. “Land!” he shouted. “I’ve spotted land!”

“
So what?” Naamah whispered.

Laban motioned her to silence.

“Did you hear me? I’ve spotted land. I haven’t seen land for… For a long time.”

“
That’s impossible,” Naamah whispered. “It couldn’t have flooded that much.”

Laban glared at her, and he meaningfully tapped the hilt of his short sword.

“We’ve got to steer for the land,” Ikkesh said. “I’m sick of swaying, of riding the giant waves. Do you hear me?”

Laban crab-walked to underneath the hatch.

“Why won’t you answer me?” Ikkesh asked.

Naamah crawled beside Laban, her eyes wild and terrified.

“Are you dead?” Ikkesh asked. “Is that it?”

Laban licked his lips, easing the sword from its scabbard.

“You can’t be dead,” Ikkesh said. “Then I would be alone—and then you could no longer suffer.”

The bolt clicked
. Creaking, the hatch rose. Laban shouted in bestial fury as he saw Ikkesh’s beady eye peering down at him.

“
Noooo,” Ikkesh said, throwing himself onto the hatch.

Laban drove his sword through the crack
. Blood spilled. The hatch closed and snapped the blade. Above, Ikkesh shrieked, thrashing about. Laban shoved the hatch so the lid banged against the deck. He grasped the sides and heaved himself out of the hold. Ikkesh bled profusely as he rolled across the planks, clutching his gory stomach.

“
You’ve killed me!” Ikkesh howled.

Laban took two short steps and drove his boot into the dying man
’s belly. Ikkesh shrieked. Laban drew back to kick again, when the merchant ship of Pishon crashed upon land with a grinding roar of splintering timber. Laban flew off his feet, striking wood and rolling. Naamah screamed.

Shaking his head, lifting himself as wood splintered, groaned and snapped
, Laban peered about. Naamah lay with her neck broken. Ikkesh gaped at the upper deck with dead eyes.

Laban scrambled and half-crawled for the outer hatch as the ship shook and trembled
. The roar of waves was deafening. He climbed out of the hatch to a dreadful sight. The merchant ship of Pishon lay at an angle on a huge boulder on the side of a mountain. Waves pounded the boat to pieces as black clouds roiled overhead and jagged lightning flashed in sickening brightness. Laban crawled for the boulder. A cold wave picked him up and hurled him off the ship and over the boulder, slamming him against the side of the mountain, snapping an arm.

Although dazed and with his head ringing, Laban scrambled to his feet
. He refused to die. Huffing and puffing, with his left arm dangling at his side, he ran up the mountain and out of reach of the waves. Unfortunately, it wasn’t far to the top.

The rain yet poured, lashing, hurting and mocking him as the shrieking winds hurled the icy sleet into his face
. Huddled atop the mountain, with his broken arm throbbing, Laban squatted in misery like some primitive. Below him, the waves pounded the merchant ship, breaking it apart, wood splinters flying like axe-hewn chips. In less than an hour, the vessel was gone, and in that time the seas rose a little higher.

As Laban endured the rain and cold and howling winds, he peered at the broad and shoreless ocean
. Dark storm clouds billowed across the sky, lightning flashing in awful majesty. The sea, the endless sea that perhaps covered the entire planet, boiled with white-capped waves. Was he the last man, the last of an evil race, the last of the Antediluvians?

As the freezing rain drenched him
endlessly, he thought about a day long ago when Noah had offered him a berth on the Ark. If only he had believed. If only he had taken Noah up on the offer. Then he wouldn’t be here, alone on this last mountain, awaiting a watery death as his stomach ached in futility. And if Noah had been right about the Flood, was Noah right about Jehovah judging everyone after death? He peered at the rain.

Thus
, he didn’t see the wave in the distance. The wave that had been built up by the moon’s gravitational pull. The same pull would produce the tides. The bulge of water, the wave, was gigantic and grotesquely powerful. No shores hindered it. There was only a vast, worldwide ocean where it built up size. The velocity of the mighty wave brought it toward the lone mountain at a sickening speed.

At the last moment, as the howling wind stilled, Laban turned
. His mouth fell agape. The wave, a wall looming over him, picked him up before he could utter a word.

Later, after the wave
—the bulge of water created by the new thing called a tide—passed, the solitary peak was again devoid of life. It continued to rain, and soon there was no longer a mountain. Only water covered the Earth.