People of the Flood (Ark Chronicles 2) (21 page)

3.

Incense warred against a rotting stench. Soft footfalls told of movement. Muted whispers bespoke of fear, worry and dread concern.

Amongst that
, the now silent guard captain pushed Ham onto a chair. Hot bread stung his hands. Ham tore into the softness, gumming the steaming food, swallowing, gaining strength.

“
There’s nothing wrong with your appetite,” Pharaoh wheezed.

“
No, my lord,” Ham said with a full mouth, surprised he’d been the center of focus. That was one of the problems with being blind. You didn’t know when everyone was staring at you.

“
Give him wine,” whispered a dying Pharaoh.

“
Only water, if it pleases your majesty.”

“
But you’ve told us how fond you are of wine,” Pharaoh said.

“
That was once true, my lord. But these years in bed…I have at last been cured of drunkenness. It happened in Babel.”

“
Babel. Strange you should speak that name.” Pharaoh’s hoarse whisper changed into dreadful coughing. He spat into the physician’s bowl.

“
You must sleep, Pharaoh,” the high priest of Sekhmet said.

“
How can I sleep?” wheezed Pharaoh. “The dream, the dream. It haunts me.”

Ham first thanked whoever handed him the glass and then slaked his thirst
. Yesterday’s talk and his dream this night had left him famished. Eating and drinking here revived him. It was time now to stave off Pharaoh’s death—and perhaps save his own life.

“
Sire,” Ham said.

“
Shhh,” someone hissed.

“
He’s sleeping at last,” another man said.

“
No,” another said, gravely. “Pharaoh has stopped breathing.”

Mutterers moved into a clump
. The whispers grew agitated. Finally, one man raised his voice. “Guard Captain, take the old one away. He’s no longer needed.”

“
Back to his room?” the guard captain asked.

“
…No. Kill him. Those were Pharaoh’s last orders.”

“
Throttle him, or use a dagger?”

“
Kill him! You decide how. Use your expertise.”

“
I obey, Lord Chamberlain,” the guard captain said.

“
Wait,” Ham said.

“
Don’t make a mess of it,” the guard captain said, gripping Ham’s arm.

“
Pharaoh!” Ham shouted. “Pharaoh.”

“
He’s dead, you fool.”

“
No. Pharaoh!”

A loud wheeze stilled everyone
. Ugly coughing punctuated the quiet. Then, “Why is everyone staring at me?”

Silence ruled.

“Chamberlain, what is the meaning of this?”

“
Pharaoh, we thought…”

“
They thought you had died,” Ham said.

Groaning told of the struggle, and when next Pharaoh spoke
, his voice came from higher up, as if he sat.

“
I had a dream,” Pharaoh said. “A most strange—Guard Captain, why do you clutch Ham by the arm? Put him on the chair as I ordered.”

“Yes, Pharaoh.”

Guided, Ham stumbled onto the chair, his knees giving way as he realized how near he had been to death
. He tried to gather his wits, but failed. He heard voices and a snapping finger.

“
Shake him,” Pharaoh said.

The hard grip hurt his arm
, and his head jerked back and forth.

“
Gently, Guard Captain,” Pharaoh whispered. “Ham? Can you hear me?”

“
Yes, Sire.”

“
You prattled endlessly yesterday. Now you wear a witless look.”

“
I… forgive me, Sire.”

“
Your words yesterday… They have made me dream strangely tonight. My seers could not interpret the dream, and the priests? They are fools. Only Sarai’s singing brought me peace. But now, the dream torments me again, and I wonder. Can you interpret the dream?”

“
I am not a seer,” Ham said.

“
Then you’re useless, a burden I will no longer tolerate. Guard Captain!”

“
Pharaoh, you may yet live,” Ham said.

“
No more of your mockery, old one. I’m dying. These fools thought I had already died.”

“
Listen to me, Sire. I know why you are dying.”

“
You speak like a honey-tongued charlatan,” Pharaoh said. “And I will not listen to more of your prattle, not when I lie on the threshold of death.”

“
What is your dream, Pharaoh?” Ham asked.

“
Are you suddenly a seer, old one?”

“
I will not know until I hear the dream.”

A wheezing chuckle brought on coughing and more spitting
. Until: “See how he clings to life. Oh, he is a serpent in his guile. If only I had your tenacity, old man. But then, maybe you are right. Maybe you should hear my dream after all.”

“
You must rest, Pharaoh,” the high priest of Sekhmet said.

“
Should I summon the nobles, Pharaoh?” the chamberlain asked.

“
I am Pharaoh,” whispered the dying man. “Interrupt me again and the guard captain shall have two to slay this night, or maybe more. And you, old one, if you interpret my dream correctly, I may yet rescind your death sentence.”

“
I will do my best, Sire,” Ham said.

“
Of that, I have no doubt. Now listen—listen. I dreamt first of a cheetah. It raced across a plain gobbling hares and antelopes, and it grew until it devoured lions, and then it sprouted a horn. With the horn, it became the king of beasts. Then… oh no, my dream fades and I cannot remember more. But it was important. Oh, it, it seemed—I must remember the dream!”

“
I can unravel it,” Ham said.

“
How?” asked Pharaoh. “You are no seer. Or does your Jehovah grant you this knowledge?”

“
The cheetah speaks of that which I had already determined to tell you today.”

“
Give me no riddles, old man.”

“
No riddle, Sire. The cheetah speaks of Nimrod the Mighty Hunter and what occurred when we first came to the plain of Shinar.”

“
Nimrod, Shinar, Babel, those words… They were in my dream,” Pharaoh said.

“
You must listen to the rest of my tale, Sire. That is what your dream says.”

“
May I have permission to speak, Pharaoh?” the chamberlain asked.

“
Speak, Lord Chamberlain.”

“
He is a cunning—”

“
But know, Chamberlain, that if your advice displeases me that I shall have you slain here, by the guard captain, and your head placed on a pole.”

“
By your leave, Pharaoh, I withdraw my advice.”

“
You are wise, Chamberlain. Old one, you may speak. Tell me the meaning of my dream.”

“
It will be long in the telling, Sire.”

“
This I know and accept. But you must be willing to accept that if I die before you finish, then you, too, will die.”

“
Yes, Sire.”

“
Then begin,” Pharaoh said. “We waste precious time.”

The Vision

1.

Nimrod plundered the dragon
’s corpse. As the chief dragon-slayer, it was considered his right. He pried out the longest teeth, saving them in a basket. And with a sharp knife and over the course of two days, he flayed the hide from the carcass. The bloody meat he threw to the dogs.

“
Maybe it will give them courage,” he said.

The dragon-heart, the size of an ox
’s head, Nimrod roasted over a fire, letting the flames char it until it was black. He then sat on a rock and carved the bloody meat with his knife. He ate the slices one by one, pausing to swill wine as he gorged himself. He claimed later that the dragon’s heart changed him, made him more aware and able to see better the devices of others. Most people laughed at that. Although years later, they recalled his words and wondered if that wasn’t the source of his strength.

Kush and Deborah
, meanwhile, talked the other elders into the idea that perhaps, after all these years, it was finally safe to trek into the lowlands.

“
It has been over eighty years since the Ark landed in the New World,” Kush said. “In that time, no new floods have swept the Earth. Our fear of moving to the plains, to good soil where we can grow rich crops, seems like cowardice. Perhaps now that we’ve defeated the dragon, it is time to face this other fear and conquer it as well.”

To that end
, Nimrod decided the tribe needed another band like the Scouts, which had been devastated by the dragon. He was the youngest of the sons of Kush, more the age of his father’s grandchildren. Nimrod had many nephews ten, twenty or even thirty years older than he was. So the young men he urged to join his band were generally of the generation after his.

“
Here’s my goal,” he told them.

Four youths stood under a pine, one of them a brute compared to the others
. They listened, with the settlement’s log walls in the distance. Nimrod rested his right foot on a rock and leaned a forearm on his up-thrust leg.

“
I’m a hunter. From childhood on, all know that I’ve practiced the arts of the chase. I know the sling, the spear, the bow and the dagger. What’s more, I’ve learned to inure myself to cold, heat, thirst, hunger. Most of all, to fatigue. And I’ve trained myself to be courageous. When facing the dragon I wasn’t witless. Eel and I kept it from the settlement for as long as we could. Without us, Zidon would never have had the time to make his onager, nor Ham been able to fashion brimstone.

“
Beor was a mighty hunter, the mightiest and greatest among us. He led the Scouts and taught them many skills. Alas, although it pains me to say this, Rosh, Geba and the Twins lost their lives through lack of courage. I say these things not to defame their memory or their deeds, but because it is on hunters that the survival of mankind rests. So, we must view the facts without mercy, without pity, relentlessly until the truth is known.”

Nimrod straightened
. “You know about the fear of man that beasts are supposed to have. Jehovah, it is said, put this fear in them. Perhaps it is so. I saw little fear in the dragon, but then I don’t understand fear as well as I could, and maybe I didn’t know what to look for. Courage is what I seek, and the dragon had that, let me tell you.”

“
You’re right,” one of the listeners said, a bearded brute with apelike arms, huge shoulders, stomach and oak-like thighs. His name was Uruk, and he was bigger than Nimrod.

“
If the great beasts lack fear of man, what shall become of us?” Nimrod struck his chest. “My answer is simple. I’m a hunter. I hunt. Only now, instead of game, I propose to hunt the dangerous beasts. I’ll stalk the wolf, the leopard, the cave bear and the lion. Any beast that poses a threat to mankind, I’ll destroy. However, there are more beasts than I alone can slay. There is work here for others that also crave mighty deeds. But I don’t want just anyone to join. I wish for comrades, for fellow hunters brave and bold and skilled in the chase, for those who worship valor as much as I do.”

“
We hunt,” Uruk said.

“
Deer occasionally,” Nimrod said, “rabbits and antelopes if they happen across your path.”

“
I’ve hunted wolves before,” a thin youth named Ramses said, a grandson of Menes. He was bony and fine-featured rather than muscular, although quick in his movements.

“
You’ve
hunted wolves?” Uruk asked, sneering at the smaller youth, sidling his bulky shoulders closer as if to compare them.

“
I’m not an ape,” Ramses said, who stepped back with distaste. “I don’t wet myself whenever wolves howl.”

Uruk raised a big fist, with coarse hairs sprouting from the knuckles
. “But you’d scream if I hit you.”

Ramses scooped up a rock
. “The trouble is, before you touched me, you’d be laid out under this tree.”

Uruk hesitated, glancing at the others, before he snarled and lurched at Ramses
. Nimrod grabbed Uruk’s arm, surprising them all by spinning the heavier man around. Nimrod shook his head at Ramses, who had made ready to swing the rock.

“
Hear me out,” Nimrod said.

Uruk scowled, jerking his arm
free, squinting at Nimrod. The dragon-slayer stood as tall, but not nearly as thick or heavy. “Tell him to drop his rock,” Uruk said.

“
I will,” Ramses said, “when you cut off your fist.”

“
Listen,” Nimrod said.

They looked at him.

“What about you others?” Nimrod asked. “Ever hunted wolves or bears?”

The others shook their heads, one of them a scrawny lad who kept coughing
. He was the youngest.

“
It’s like I thought,” Nimrod said. “A few shepherds are forced into chasing wolves, but that’s it.”

“
I’m not a shepherd,” Ramses said.

“
His father lives in the wilds,” Uruk said with a sneer. “They think they’re too good for the rest of us here in the settlement.”

“
It doesn’t matter,” Nimrod said. “How many of you have pulled the tail of a lion?”

“
Why would we do that?” Ramses asked.

“
To test yourself,” Nimrod said, “and to build your courage. I mean to train a band of bravoes that poets will chant about for ages. And don’t think the maidens won’t notice who is brave and who isn’t. Throw down a lion-skin and see a girl’s eyes shine. I’m a hunter. I will hunt and, by it, I will make the world safe for humanity. Who will join me?”

Uruk did
. Ramses said he’d have to think about it. The scrawny, coughing lad, a youth named Gilgamesh, also said he wished to join.

With other such speeches
, Nimrod gathered fourteen fellows. So, for the next several weeks, Nimrod led them in a trek deep into the wilderness. Every morning, they arose at dawn to run up the slopes and climb cliffs. After drinking at a stream at noon, Nimrod taught them the finer points of javelin throwing, slinging and the spear. He took them on afternoon hunts. In the evening, over a roaring fire, they ate their kills. Next morning, they did it all over again.

After three weeks
, Seba brought out shields in a wagon. The shields were constructed from the dragon’s hide. They were almost as long as a man was tall and narrow in width. The outer facing was bumpy like a crocodile’s skin and very tough. Five layers gave the shield its thickness, yet it was light, easy to use. Twin leather straps on the inside allowed the hunter to hold it. Seba, the oldest son of Kush, here at his father’s orders, also handed out spears with razor-sharp bronze points and thin daggers with bone handles.

They ran f
urther and faster each day, becoming accustomed to fatigue, thirst and hunger. Nimrod took them to a valley swamp, and they waded through the slimy waters, spearing turtles and catfish. A few of the lads sickened. Nimrod pushed them regardless. Most revived, although one youth they carried home on a litter. Two weeks later, he returned, burning with shame and determined never to fall sick again. His name was Gilgamesh, and he was forever coughing. A slight, scrawny lad with a scraggly beard and soft hands that stayed soft no matter how hard he tried to toughen them, Gilgamesh had burning eyes. But whether that was from a fever—he always seemed to be sick—or real intensity, no one seemed to know.

Day after day, week after week
, Nimrod’s hunters penetrated deep into the woods and climbed to the tops of mountains. They inured themselves by hard exercise. Finally, Nimrod thought them ready to hunt deer, elk and auroch. They brought great quantities of meat back to the palisade or they stopped at lonely cabins to visit their fellow tribesman and leave gifts of skins and provisions.

Once, however, the exchange went differently.

Uruk and Gilgamesh hunted together as a pair, the hairy, mammoth-sized hunter with forward sloping shoulders like a gorilla together with the slightest hunter. They stalked deer through the upland forest, having trudged without spotting game.

“
Are you tired again?” Uruk asked.

“
I’m fine,” whispered Gilgamesh, who had a sheen of sweat across his upper lip.

Huge Uruk, at twenty-four the oldest hunter
, and with a bristling beard, critically eyed small Gilgamesh. They crept past pines, eyes alert and with bows in hand. Brown pine needles crumpled beneath their sandals.

“
You look pale,” Uruk said, “like you’re going to vomit again.”

“
Lower your voice,” whispered Gilgamesh. “You’ll scare the deer otherwise.” Then just as he said that, Gilgamesh clapped a hand over his mouth as his body shook. He tried to suppress his constant cough.

“
Oh, that’s wonderful,” Uruk said. “Just don’t faint on me, okay? You’re not much, I admit—you probably weigh less than any of my sisters—but I still don’t want to carry you like we had to do before.”

Gilgamesh did feel like vomiting
. The long days of training seemed to be killing him. He had returned before fully well. He yearned to slay a dragon, to be a hunter. The dragon had slain his father. He wanted to be brave, to be valorous, like Nimrod. His body shook once more as he suppressed his coughing. Why did he have to be so sickly?

Then Gilgamesh
’s eyes widened. “Look,” he said, and because he opened his mouth, he coughed.

Uruk followed Gilgamesh
’s finger. “Well, well,” said the beetle-browed Uruk. “I like this.”

A girl younger than either of them walked through the forest with a basket
. She was a pretty, dark-haired thing with two pigtails tied with ribbons. She seemed to be following a butterfly.

“
Hey!” Uruk yelled.

The girl whirled around
. She had dirty legs, although they were tanned and lithe.

Uruk swaggered out of the trees.

“Remember to be polite,” Gilgamesh said, hurrying to keep up, coughing.

Uruk chuckled
. “I’ll be polite, all right. Say. Isn’t that Ramses’ sister?”

Gilgamesh brushed his hot eyes
. “I think so.”

“
Even better,” Uruk said.

The girl smiled shyly at Gilgamesh.

“It’s Opis, isn’t it?” Gilgamesh asked.

She nodded, seeming pleased that he knew her name.

“What’s wrong?” Uruk asked. “Can’t you talk?”

“
If I’ve got something to say,” said Opis, surely no older than twelve or thirteen.

“
I’m Uruk. We’re hunters.”

“
So is my father,” Opis said. “Whenever he’s not carving wood or making jewelry.”

“
No, stupid,” Uruk said. “We’re
the
Hunters. Like the Scouts used to be.”

Opis narrowed her pretty eyes and cocked her head in a similar way as her brother Ramses
. “You’re stupid for talking to me like that. Don’t you know who my father is?”

Smiling, revealing peg-like teeth, Uruk took two steps
nearer and pushed her to the pine needles. Her basket flew from her fingers and berries scattered.

“
What are you doing?” shouted Gilgamesh.

Uruk ignored him and advanced on Opis.

She scrambled to her feet.

As he coughed
, Gilgamesh grabbed Uruk’s elbow. “You can’t do that.”

Uruk shoved Gilgamesh to the pine needles
. “You touch me again and I’ll beat you black and blue. You won’t be in any shape to return to us after that.”

Opis screamed as Uruk grabbed her by the shoulders
. She was tiny compared to him. “Quit your yelling,” he said, shaking her, making her pigtails flop.

Gilgamesh jumped up
. His eyes were wild and his face was pale and sweaty.

“
Stay out of this,” Uruk warned over his shoulder.