A NOTE TO THE READER

WHEN I was asked to write a book on Noah, I had no idea that I would be opening
myself up to a world of mystery and adventure such as is found on the following pages.

Many who have read my previous works, Song of Abraham, John—Son of

Thunder, and Mary Magdalene, have responded favorably to the fact that I have always
endeavored to maintain accuracy in my research and faithfulness to the Scriptures. When it
came to recreating the time of Noah—the pre-Flood world—I entered into an arena of
investigation which was at once exhilarating and baffling.

Much has been written in recent years by scientists regarding what the earth may
have been like before the Deluge, an event to which nearly every culture on the globe
testifies in myth and legend, and which the planet itself confirms in its catastrophic
evidence. I owe much of Noah to the findings and theories of geologists, hydraulic
engineers, explorers, archaeologists, and zoologists whose insights I have gleaned.

But scientific questions about the pre-Flood earth are only one aspect of the
intrigue which surrounds the period. Far more important for the understanding of human
and spiritual history are questions regarding the world system of the day—its
government, its technology, its decline. When we investigate this realm we are confronted
with a dilemma: should we limit ourselves to the very vague and sketchy clues which
are given in Genesis, or should we look to extrabiblical speculations?

The historical novelist does well to use whatever sources are available to shed
light on a period. Specifically, I needed to know the identity of the "sons of God" in Genesis
6:1, 2, and of the "giants" or "Nephilim" in Genesis 6:4. My treatment of this much-debated
issue would lay the foundation for the entire story, and so I tried to investigate every theory,
no matter how bizarre, before I drew my own conclusions. The reader may be surprised at the
direction I chose; but my interpretation is based on the best thinking of reputable scholars,
historians, and theologians, from Josephus to Unger, from Plato to Albright.

And I did not shy away from writings of more eccentric theorists, such as those
which suggest that colossal works of architecture and advanced technology are evidence of a
highly advanced ancient society. The legend of Atlantis certainly required my attention, as
did extrabiblical Jewish tradition, and the countless folktales and legends of a pre-Flood
world in societies across time and around the globe. Many details of my story are the result
of these studies, as I tried to include whatever could be consistently meshed with
Scripture, to the benefit of the plot.

Whenever one writes about ancient human history, the potential for
misunderstanding is always a threat, especially when dealing with the roots of nations
and groups of people. A word needs to be said regarding my treatment of the so-called
"curse of Ham," an interpretation of a passage which has led to countless injustices and
tragedies throughout the history of black/white interaction. In dealing with this very volatile
subject, I present the "curse" not as a punishment, but as an admonition applied to the
entire human family. I believe that it is not a racial indictment, but a tracing of the
consequences of one man's choices on generations of his descendants. I believe this
story highlights man's free will—whether or not he will choose God's way—and it is a
lesson for people of every color and time.

Also, regarding the genealogy of Noah, I have opted to use the "gap" theory,
propounded by many of the best historians and scholars.

Our modern,' Western civilization tends to draw a distinct line between the
physical and the spiritual. However, one cannot do this and bring an open mind to the story
of Noah. To grasp this is to grasp the underlying premise of this book.

In conclusion, if you should find within these pages a discussion of your favorite
unsolved mystery, don't be surprised. I encountered several of my favorites as I delved into
the time of Noah, and came away amazed at how many unexplained phenomena may well
be solved if we ever find a detailed chronicle of the period.

Likewise, if the society presented here, in its manifestation of good and evil, strikes
you as familiar, that is because history repeats itself. This is a story, not only of Noah's
time, but in many ways of our own.

Meanwhile, until the ark is found (and I believe we will find it) this is my version of
the captain's log.

May Jesus, the Ark of Salvation, guide your journey.

Ellen Gunderson Traylor Spokane, Washington-

P A R T I
GIANTS IN THE EARTH

Remember the days of old… When the Most High gave to the nations their
inheritance, when he separated the sons of men, he fixed the bounds of the peoples
according to the number of the sons of God [the overseeing Angels).
Deuteronomy 32:7, 8, RSV

And it came to pass, when men began to multiply on the face of the earth,
and daughters were born unto them, that the sons of God saw the daughters of
men that they were fair ; and they took them wives of all which they chose,
Genesis 6:1, 2, Kjv

The Nephilim [or giants) were on the earth in those days, and also afterward,
when the sons of God came in to the daughters of men, and they bore children to
them. These were the mighty men that were of old, the men of renown.
Genesis 6:4, RSV

ONE

No breeze had parted the lush bank of undergrowth all morning, and no upstart bird
or animal's alarm had revealed the Spectator lurking at the meadow's hem. Even the
secluded pond below had seen no activity since early dawn when forest creatures had
taken their morning drinks. But now it was full of life, and it was upon this life that the
Watcher feasted his gaze.

The four daughters of Moricahn had come to the waters to bathe. There was not one
with whom the Watcher could not be pleased. The reports of his hirelings had been quite
accurate—indeed, understatements! The damsels rivaled any who had been brought to him
in the City of Sun. It had been a wise decision on his part to go forth and spy out the fields
himself.

The Watcher took a deep breath and smiled, self-satisfied. City women wearied him
with their pallid skin, their insipid wiles. Here was the essence of human vitality, sporting
before him. Female flesh as it was designed to be, he reasoned, when the Master of the
Air had first brought it forth from Eden.

The young women were dark, their olive skin deepened to a ruddy glow by outdoor
life. Their bare arms and legs glistened, long and sinewy in the water's sheen. Four fawns,
he mused. Gazelles! Such a difficult choice the maidens presented, each with her black-
brown hair and supple innocence. But he need not choose just yet. Let him revel in the
moment, if he never made a choice. Unexpectedly, however, his attention was drawn to the
far bank, against the hill, separating the pond from Moricahn's little farm.
Another young woman was approaching the waters, and the Watcher's breath
came in a splinter. My lady! he groaned, but not so much as to be heard. This one was
older than the others, as evidenced by her more graceful carriage and rounded figure. Her
legs, too, were long, her arms burnished by the Light of Heaven.

Though a skimming tunic concealed her body, he could see where the fabric was
drawn in to her waist that she was a woman, not a girl. And he wondered who she was, what
human male might call her his own.

The Watcher raised a hand and carefully pulled back the branches of his bower to
get a better view He thought on the legends of these mountain females. He did not know
how much to believe of what he had heard: that they had the senses of wild deer, that
they could discern the crack of a twig and see as well as a bird of prey at a hundred cubits,
that their ability to flee, their uncanny adeptness in the forest would have them up and gone
at an instant's warning. He did not know how much to believe, but he knew he must not
risk the loss of this moment.

"Lady" he whispered, his heart skipping erratically.

Were she to join her sisters in the bath, were she to disrobe before him as they
unwittingly had done, he feared he could not maintain his secret vigil. He was not certain he
could remain silent. But his hand, where it grasped the branch, was clammy with the
hope that she would do so—and it suddenly slid down the slippery tree limb in an anxious
motion.

Had the, young girls in the water not been busy greeting the newcomer with giddy
laughter at that instant, the Watcher knew she would have perceived his inept rustling in the
bushes. His muscles tensed, and he steadied himself.

It soon became clear that the woman would not be joining the swimmers, but was
bent on some other purpose. The Spectator's disappointment was mixed with curiosity as
to her mood and intentions. She gave only a fleeting response to the greetings of her fellow
females and seemed most concerned for the shadows along the bank and the hidden
depths of the forest. Frequently she scanned the treetops and the sky just above them, and
the Watcher wondered if she knew.

Suddenly, one of the maidens dashed a cold handful of pond water across the lady's
bare legs, and then pushed quickly back through the shallows, laughing and teasing, "Come
in, Adala! Why do you linger?" The young woman on the shore smiled obligingly, then knelt
down, her light brown hair falling across her torso like the mane of a wild unicorn. She
dipped her hand into the sun-flecked waters and returned the gesture, appeasing her
antagonist with a half-hearted splash.
"I have not come to play, cousin," she called. "I have come to bring you back."
The pond-sprite was crestfallen. "But Papa said it was a safe day! He said we
could stay till noon. Surely he has not changed his mind!"

Adala braced herself on one hand where she knelt and scanned the banks of the
pond once again. She pushed back her heavy fall of sun-streaked hair and peered warily
over her shoulder. The Watcher across the way studied her perfect features and his eyes
traveled down her graceful neck where she had exposed it, and fell down to the round
suggestion of her bosom.

Instantly, Adala stood, her quick green eyes flashing on the distant bower with cat-
like intuition. Her hand went to her throat and she lightly gathered the slack- at the neck
of her tunic. "Quick!" she called to her friends in a low but urgent voice. "You must return
now!"

The nymph who had baited her for play was most indignant. "You go back, Adala!" She
shrugged, turning to her sisters. "We do not need to leave till Papa himself sends for us!"

The other bathers had nodded their agreement and turned to further sport, when
the branches were parted. On the instant, all five females were poised like alerted does. And
when the Watcher stepped forward the ones in the water leaped for the bank on which
Adala stood, scrambling for the short linen garments they had stashed among the bushes.

The four daughters of Moricahn need not have been so alarmed, however. Their
native beauty had ceased to jeopardize them. For since their cousin had arrived, she alone
was the Watcher's focus.

Adala studied the Being on the distant shore with rigid terror. He was, indeed, more
than a man. She knew it on the instant and had, in fact, sensed his super-human presence
the moment she had entered the little vale. Her father, Lamech, had sent her to stay with
Uncle Moricahn to protect her from just such an encounter. She could scarcely believe that
an Overseer would have traveled this far from the cities on such an errand.

Her four cousins were crowded at her back now, their wet skin goose-prickled beneath
clinging gowns, and their hair streaming rivulets down their arms as they held tight to her in
speechless fear.

At last the eldest whispered, "Can it be, Adala? Is this one of them?"
Adala's mouth was dry, but she managed, "It can be nothing else."

He stood nearly seven feet tall, there on the far shore, his wine-red garment
contrasting splendidly against the jungle greenery which framed him. The short garb fit the
legends told of the magnificent fabric the Overlords were accustomed to donning. It was not
of wool or linen. It was soft in appearance, yet glinted like myriad overlapping scales. It
shimmered in the morning light, refracting and casting off crimson sparkles when he moved.
However, the Daemon which she concluded him to be, hardly moved. The glints off his
clothing were cast from the mere rise and fall of his chest as he tried to steady his
breathing and his stubbornly racing heart.

For he, too, was afraid. Not with the same fear Adala and her cousins
experienced--not fear of danger ; rather it was fear of his own emotions, of the beauty of
the woman before him, and of her power to reject him.

He knew she could not violate his will if he chose to take her. Her strength could not
match his, nor could her fleetness of foot outrun the sky-chariot which even now hummed
patiently in the forest depths behind him.

But he did not want her to go with him against her will. He wished for her to feel as
he felt—to succumb to his glory as he had already fallen to her primal charms.

How long the two stood in silent confrontation neither could have guessed. It was only
when another voice behind her spoke, that Adala shook herself from the Being's riveting gaze.
It was the young girl who had splashed her with pond water who gave words to what all the
women thought: "It is a god, Adala! A god stands before us!"

The daughter of Lamech turned burning eyes to her cousin. "But what is his
nature?" she warned. "Remember our sisters who were deceived!"

There was no time for analysis, however. The Overlord had stepped forward again,
this time into the shallow water of the pond. Where the women would have stood knee-
deep, the man's calves were not yet wet. The four daughters of Moricahn clung together and
to Adala in breathless awe. But more than wonder filled them, and the youngest held her
cousin's hand tightly.

"How grand he is!" she whispered. "The strength of his arms—the breadth...of his
shoulders!" "Quiet!" Adala insisted. "Do not think such thoughts."

"But, cousin, my sister only marks what is before her," the eldest defended. "No man in
our valley was ever so glorious!"

Adala resisted the impetuous observations, but inwardly she struggled with the
same stirrings. The Being who had arisen from the dark jungle like the Sun itself, whose ruby
sheen shouted against the quiet green of the vale, had not taken his eyes from her since he
appeared. And when he once more took a step toward her, her gaze was caught by the iron
rippling of his thighs.
The Serpent, too, was beautiful, she told herself. Lucifer was the Morning Star!
"Adala...."
His voice stunned her. How did he know her name? And why had he chosen
her? But then, as he drew yet nearer, she remembered. Of course—he had heard the
cousins call to her. He could not read her soul or her mind, though her heart raced with the
fear that he might.

"Lucifer was the Son of Morning," she repeated beneath her breath. "Remember our
Mother Eve, and all our sisters who were deceived. . . ."

But, what was this in his dark eyes? The shyness of a boy? The need of a man?
And did she see tenderness in his beckoning hand? She had been told that the Watchers
took women by force. But this was not force.

The daughter of Lamech drew back, turning her head and trying to recall her father's
words and the warnings he had given. But her mind was swimming with the vision of this
Prince; and even as she closed her eyes against him, his raven hair—the curls of it—the
shine of his beard and the strength of his brow beguiled her.

"No—this is not a good thing ... ," she whispered.

Now he was at her side. She could hear the waters subside behind him and feel
her sisters' silent desire.
"Adala," he said, "whose woman are you?"
The voice was winsome and broke her heart.
At last she looked into his face, so far above her. He could have overwhelmed her,
terrified her with his might; but she seemed to see love in his night-dark gaze. "I am
betrothed, my lord," she replied faintly. "Has the Master told you this?" he
questioned. Adala was shaken. "My father has told me this." "Whose woman are you,
Adala?" The female was inextricably captivated. "No man's, lord," she whispered. The
Prince slid his encompassing hand down her slender arm until his fingers entwined her
own. She studied the power of his wrist and a tear slipped over her cheek.

As the Being led her from the garden, his lips drew up in a smile. He, among his
fellows, was most to be envied. For he had won his lady's heart and not her body alone.

It was a five-days' journey from the rustic habitat of Moricahn to the industrious
hamlet of Lamech, famed for its white oaks and flint-hard cedars. But the time and distance
passed much too quickly for Lamech's brother. He had been requested to give his niece,
Adala, safekeeping on his remote little farm until the arrival of her betrothed from Cronos, at
which time she would have been married. Now it was his sad mission to inform Lamech of
the abduction—to tell him that not only had an Overlord gone to the unusual trouble to seek a
woman in the outback, but he had done the unthinkable, and had chosen a betrothed
damsel, seducing her without thought to her family or to tradition.

Though Moricahn could have taken his manservant with him, he had chosen to
make the journey alone, not wishing to expose himself in his sorrow, and hoping in this
solitude to find a way to phrase the bitter news—to prepare some consoling word for
Lamech.

But the hamlet was now only hours away. The mountain roads were gentle, as were
the streams which flowed beside them; and the hills were not difficult to traverse except
where they had been specially created for rugged beauty. For the earth's terrain did not
speak of cataclysm. It had not been formed by upheaval or eruption, but by sculpture and
design. And for the most part, hills and valleys, heights and plains had buckled at the
Designer's will and under direct supervision.

Moricahn looked above to the humid white of the low-hung sky and located the great
Golden Orb which commanded all life. As he studied its angle and determined that the cool
of evening would be fast upon him, he wondered how his brother could question its deity.
Surely that great Force on which all existence depended, and which sustained all motive
power on earth, had created all life. It was only reasonable to believe so.

But he had debated the issue with his strong-willed kinsman more times than he
cared to remember. On this visit he would purpose not to do so. He must be single-minded
enough to honor his brother's mourning and to help him plot whatever steps he might take
to find his daughter.

It was difficult for Moricahn to view the world without philosophy. It was his supernal
weakness never to see anything simply. Even now as he pulled his cloak over his
shoulders in preparation for the rising of the dew, he studied the smooth road ahead and
marveled at its construction. How many generations ago had it been laid down?
Hundreds? And yet it required no upkeep. The seams between its slabs were so fine a
man's knife blade could barely fit between. Only where the perpetual encroaching of the
broad-leafed forest threatened to overrun it, were work crews ever needed. And the wonder
of the roadways was only one of many gifts bestowed by the Overlords.

There seemed to be no accounting for their duplicity, these brilliant Guardians to

whom the affairs of the world had been entrusted. Though they were wise, and generous with
their wisdQm—though they maintained a strict justice, punishing crime and rewarding noble
choice—they sometimes used their might to cruel ends, and fell prey to the self-deception
of their own pride. And the disparity of their behavior was a continual source of confusion to
their subjects—to mankind, the Sons of Adam. For not only was their essential nature
unpredictable, but the inhabitants of their various dominions bore fierce loyalty toward
them: citizens of each realm claimed that their Lord, their Prince, was the greatest, the
most admirable, and the most deserving of worship. That is to say—all citizens but the
eccentric sort, of whom Lamech was a type and an example.

Men like Moricahn's brother did not fit the mold. They claimed a truth "higher" and
"older" than the wisdom of the gods. The foot-weary traveler kicked at a pebble in the
path. His brow was furrowed and he shook his head. He could agree that the Overlords had
not created the world, but had succeeded to the administration of a world already existing.
But he could not go so far as Lamech and their own father, Ishna, had gone. He could not
believe that the government of the planet was evil at its core, nor could he imagine that
the gods were essentially corrupt.

But though he could not imagine it, the very idea troubled him. And so much had it
troubled him that he had left home at an early age rather than be exposed daily to the
preaching of his kinsmen. The simple life would shield him, he had reasoned. And so he had
abandoned the conveniences of the hamlet, and had chosen the rural life. Though he often
wished more advanced ways were available, that the tools of the townsmen were at his
fingertips —he had found a measure of peace in his valley, freedom from the hum of activity
and the drone of conflict.

The Abductor had intruded into his quiet acreage and had not only seduced his
favorite niece, ripping at Moricahn's heart, but had badly shaken his mind. He could
not accuse the Overlord of trespass, for Prince had the right to go wherever he chose; but
the incident had violated Moricahn's property—and had stirred his spirit. It had brought him
face to face with the issue from which he had runas a young man—the issue of good and
evil, of who could be believed and what could be trusted. And now it was forcing him
back into the world of other men. For around the next bend lay the Valley of the Turtles,
marking the last wild outpost before Lamech's village.

As Moricahn came upon the valley, he was, as always, filled with awe. He knew of no
other place on earth where so many different species had taken up abode. It was true that
the Prince of Sun City had attempted to stock his gardens with as many animal types as
were known to walk the earth; but the Valley of the Turtles was a natural reservoir, not man-
made, and none of the varieties present here had been genetically manipulated.

The bend in the road at the entrance to the valley also marked the end of the last
steep trek of mountain trail. Moricahn lowered his satchel sleeve. He sat beside the road
and removed his cloak, drinking from the skin flask he carried on his belt.

"Eden must have been like this," he marveled, taking in the valley with a sweep of
his gray eyes. There were many such green pockets of wilderness on earth, where a variety
of creatures lived in remarkable harmony. While the preserve was not devoid of predators,
its meat-eating inhabitants seemed to pick off the weak or the very old, and thus nature
was kept in perfect balance.
Even now he watched with a smile as an ostrich and her chick passed fearlessly
before the den of the great bear which mastered the vale. He remembered having seen
the bruin once when he was a lad. It had shown itself against the far side of the valley's
lake early one spring day when Moricahn and his brother had come to fish. It had not been
the exaggeration of childish eyes which told the boys it stood three times the height of a man.
Though they had no reason to expect danger, they were glad he was on the distant shore
and not close by.

But the ostrich had even less reason to fear the bear. Her mighty legs could carry
her swiftly from his reach, though it was unlikely he would go after poultry which stood tall
as a giraffe.

Moricahn recalled fondly the days spent with his brother. Lamech was the
eldest son, but he had taken much interest in his younger brother, and their hours
together were a storehouse of priceless memories.

He studied the lazy islands in the little valley lake, the shining, sun-glinted backs of
twelve-foot turtles, and he remembered the day Lamech swam between them, climbing
aboard the shell of one and hailing Moricahn from atop the patient raft. The brave lad
was no more than nine years old at the time, but that day he became a man in his smaller
brother's eyes. "This is my earth!" Lamech had cried, straddling the giant's back. "And this
my sea!" he called, looking proudly at the pond.

He had gone on to master a mountainside, and to tame its forests—and thus had
never lost his brother's admiration. But Moricahn had failed him. For Adala was Lamech's
chief joy, and now she was gone. Adala had been Moricahn's charge, and he had
lost her. The sound of great whirring roused the man from self-pity. Turning around, he saw
that a dragonfly had settled on a branch nearby—its wings, the span of a man's arm, folding
like giant fans from its flight.

"Yes," he nodded, reaching up and caressing the huge insect's blue-green body.
"Your turn to rest, my friend. As for me, my journey is almost done, but its misery just
beginning." Lamech's house sat at the far side of the village which bore his name. It
commanded a fine view of the little wall-less town, and while not a pretentious home, its
sprawl of whitewashed rock was prominent against the green hill which rose behind it.
Moricahn and his brother had grown up in a much more modest domicile in another distant
hamlet from the Valley of the Turtles. But it had always been Lamech's dream to bring
wealth out of the hills. So when he had failed to find ore for mining, he had turned,
dauntless, to the wild resource which covered the mountains. He had made the trees his
livelihood.

Lamech had put off marriage and family until his business had been established. He
had begun with a one-saw shop which had grown to be one of the largest mills in the coast
highlands. It now employed 312 workmen, and had been a successful operation since the
start, bringing prosperity not only to its founder, but to the little town which quartered it. The
cedar and oak lumber of Lamechtown was in demand worldwide, and, indeed, a whole
arm of the business was devoted to the export trade.

One product in particular had won Lamech his reputation. He had managed, with the
development of a special saw blade, to find a way to mass-produce lumber from the
gopher tree—an 'Unusually dense hardwood—which, until he had turned his mind to
conquer it, had gone unmastered. While the wood was not so heavy as to lose its
buoyancy in water, it was, due to natural oils, incredibly impervious to the penetration of
liquid. It was, therefore, extremely popular with shipbuilders as far away as the ports of Nod,
around the horn of the continent.

As Moricahn took the last few steps toward the gate of the house, he surveyed
the town again. No wonder Lamech loves it here, he mused. This village with its
peaceful wealth. And no wonder the town had adopted his name, for he had made it
prosper. Had Moricahn had more tolerance for bustle and business, he might have stayed
on himself. The small garden which flanked the path to the front door had always pleased
Moricahn's horticultural instincts. His own farm was bordered and bedded with a profusion
of flowering plants. And he had a keen eye for the art of ornamental gardening. But today, as
he passed through the welcoming color, he was oblivious to it.

It was not until his nephew, Jaseth, greeted him that he was jerked into the
moment. The studious formulizing of just what to say to Lamech was brought short. "I said,
'Welcome, sir!' " the lad repeated. "Oh—Jaseth!" Moricahn smiled as the young man led
him into the parlor. "Forgive my preoccupation. I thought you were the doorman."

"And you are an unexpected surprise!" the youngster laughed. "My father will be
most pleased that you have come." Of Lamech's two sons, Jaseth, the younger, had always
been closest to Moricahn. They shared the same philosophical bent, and though it
peeved the lad's father, the boy always enjoyed his uncle's questioning nature.

Moricahn sensed that his nephew awaited an explanation of his sudden and
unannounced visit. But he chose to keep that for Lamech's ears.

"Your father is home, then?" Moricahn asked, studying the fine furnishings and
pristine interior of the elder's domain. He was suddenly more aware of the grime and
sweat of his journey and the homespun rudeness of his attire. "He is." The lad nodded. "He
did not go to the mill today, but is working with my brother on the accounts."

"Very well." The uncle smiled, trying to be congenial despite growing uneasiness.
"I will tell them you are here," Jaseth offered, perplexed by Moricahn's stiffness.
He directed the visitor to a divan, but Moricahn shook his head as he eyed the soft
white linen of the piece. Running his hand over his dusty cloak, he declined. "I'll just wait
here," he said, standing at the edge of the room.

Jaseth deferred kindly and headed for the hallway which led to Lamech's home
office. Suddenly, however, Moricahn called him back. "Please!" he interjected. And then,
catching himself, he said more softly, "Please, do not bring Noah out. Lamech is the one
with whom I need to speak. I cannot bear for your brother to hear my news."

Lamech stood at the balcony door of his parlor watching the traffic on the village
streets below. The jubilant greeting he had given Moricahn had been replaced by anger
and despair.

When he had first heard the farmer's news, he had wanted to fling him over the
balcony rail. But that impulse would have arisen from the old nature he had long ago learned
to suppress—the "wild man" aspect of his character which his father had foreseen when he
had named him.

"He shall be called 'Lamech,' " Ishna had pronounced at his birth, "for his nature
shall be as the wild horse who rules the plain, or the headstrong bull who thunders through
the valleys. And it shall be his task to tame himself, before he tames anything else."

How true that prophecy had been! Moricahn could not have known the struggle his
brother had endured, pulled by the two -sides of his own personality. The elder looked across
to the hills where he had years ago watched the younger son of Ishna take his leave. It had
been Lamech's oppressiveness which had driven Moricahn away. The younger had never
seen it quite that way. His admiration for Lamech had prevented him from laying blame.
But the elder had known in his heart that he had made it impossible for Moricahn to stay
—that his need to dominate had put the wedge between them. And he knew that Moricahn
was blind to his failures, thinking that success had come easily to him.

But their father's words had been true. Lamech had been required to bring himself
under control before he had been capable of mastering life, the mountains, the trees—or
"anything." And just now, when his impulse had been to vindicate himself on his
kinsman, he had been reminded of his weakness.

"My anger should be turned on the Overlords!" he muttered. "What?" Moricahn

asked, stepping up behind him. Lamech had not meant to speak out loud, and he turned
troubled eyes to his brother. "The Overlords," he replied, his fists clenched. "They are the
ones who have victimized Adala! Brother, forgive my bitterness toward you."

Moricahn had always felt small next to his brother. Though in their adult height
they were nearly even, he had never outgrown that sensation. He studied the beloved
face of the one he admired above all others and shook his head.

"No, Lamech. I failed you. And I shall never forgive myself. But surely you cannot hope
to go against an Overlord!" Moricahn exclaimed. Joining his host on the balcony he looked
in the direction of the coast, four days south. "Besides, Lamech, did you not tell me, when
you brought Adala to the farm, that Obad the Sethite would be arriving this week?"

"My daughter's betrothed. . . ."

"Yes."

"They were to be married when he arrived," Lamech whispered, his heart heavy
with regret. "Indeed," Moricahn reasoned, "should we not wait for him to lend whatever
support he can?"

"Support?" Lamech muttered. "What do you think I can tell the man if I have not
even attempted to find his betrothed, my own daughter, by myself?" And with the mention
of Obad, the elder brother was caught away in thought.

"A Sethite, Moricahn. Obad is one of us—of the line of Seth. Do you know how
hard it was to find a Sethite for Adala? And not only a Sethite, but one whose family has
kept the genealogies and the old ways?"

Moricahn sensed a sermon coming and looked sideways, hoping it would be short-
lived. "The Sons of Seth know that the day of the Overlords is drawing to an end!" the elder
warned, speaking not so much to Moricahn as to the sky. "Our Father Adam prophesied
as much, saying that the world will be destroyed by force of fire and by violence of
water!" he exclaimed, his head now thrown back and arms stretched across the balcony rail.

Moricahn grew more uneasy by the moment and reached out apprehensively to
tug on Lamech's sleeve. "Brother," he said softly, "yes—I know. I have heard it all before."

"Indeed!" Lamech cried. "And it cannot hurt any of us to hear it again!"

"Perhaps, but. . . ."
"No 'perhaps'! Even Enoch. . . .//
"… 'the seventh patriarch from Adam . . . " Moricahn interrupted, picking up the oft-
repeated tale as it had been rehearsed again and again by his elders.

"Yes!" Lamech declared, his eyes full of storm, and the wild man within bursting
forth in righteous zeal.
…the seveflth from Adam prophesied as much, saying, "Woe to them! For they have
gone the way of Cain! Behold, the Lord came with many thousands of his holy ones, to
execute judgment upon all, and to convict all the ungodly of all their ungodly deeds which
they have done in an ungodly way, and of all the harsh things which ungodly sinners have
spoken against him." ' ”

With these repetitive cadences Lamech's face was radiant with triumph, his
chest heaving in spasms of ecstatic emotion. Moricahn had promised himself he would
not get into a dispute on this visit. But as he observed his brother's fanatic rapture, he had
to take himself firmly in hand.

"Truly, brother," he managed with great control. "So what does all this mean for our
present crisis?" Lamech did not respond immediately. His eyes were full of believer's
tears, and he had to calm himself to deal with the emergent issue.

But in the intervening silence another voice gave answer.

"Adala is my sister," it was saying, "and Obad my trusted friend."
It was Lamech's elder son, whom Moricahn had requested Jaseth not to summon.
He stood in the shadow of the hallway which led to the accounting room, and he had been
there since Moricahn had given his dreadful news.

"Noah!" Lamech called. "So you have overheard?" "Yes, Father," the young man
replied, stepping into the parlor. A striking figure, he stood well over six feet tall, and his
olive skin, coarse black hair, and heavy beard matched his father's when he was young.
While the fair-complexioned Jaseth reminded one of Lamech's wife, Noah was the picture
of Lamech, Moricahn had always thought. At each stage of Noah's growth, from childhood
until now, he had resembled the elder brother, and more so today than ever.

Moricahn went forth and embraced him warmly "Nephew! I had not wanted you
to know just yet."

The young man bristled. "So Jaseth told me! And when would I have been
informed?" Then, softening, he returned the embrace. "Good uncle, I am sorry this burden
fell to you."

He studied Moricahn's ruddy face. He knew the man had seen 670 years, yet his
brow was still smooth, his countenance barely marked by time. Only the hoary streaks
at his temples and the fine silver threads of his beard revealed his venerable age. Noah
clutched his hand firmly and then, releasing it, turned to Lamech.

"It is I who shall see what can be done," he insisted. "Since Obad is already on his
way, I shall meet him between here and the coast, and together we shall find Adala."
"But you cannot go alone," his father objected.

Noah chose his words carefully. He did not wish to threaten his aging father's
pride by reference to his own youth and strength for the journey. "It is better that I do so,"
he reasoned. "You must stay with the mill. It cannot run without you." And then, clasping
his kinsmen to him, he swore, "I will return as swiftly as possible, and ask only for your
prayers."

The terrain which led from the mountain hamlet downward toward the sea became
gradually plain-like, Noah discovered, after a day of traveling a winding and sometimes
precarious highway. This route was not the same one Moricahn had traveled on his way
to Lamechtown, for then he had come across the highlands from the west, and had only
entered low land at the Valley of the Turtles.
Since the trail leading from Moricahn's farm was rugged and squeezed through mountain
passes, the farmer had been forced to make his journey on foot. But Noah was more
fortunate. His trip was on horseback, along the smooth path of the Overlord's Highway, and
he was therefore able to cover much more ground in two days than his uncle had
managed in five.
So far he had passed few other travelers on this trek. Mountain folk rarely made trips to
the coast cities, and city folk hardly ever journeyed inland, making it even more surprising
that an Overlord would go to such lengths to procure a wife.
"Wife!" Noah smirked, spitting on the ground. "This is a spurious thing, indeed! That a
Son of God should marry a human woman! A betrothed woman!"
His dark eyes flashed angrily as he contemplated the horror, and when scenes leaped to
mind of his beautiful sister in some fallen monster's embrace, he nudged his horse's flank
shalply, and the steed carried him more swiftly over the empty road.
43
N O A H
"My friend!" he shouted to the wind as it whistled through his hair. "Obad! Where are
you?" His stormy gaze studied the stretch before him, checking out each stop-off, each
resting place along the pike. His heart ached for the grief his old companion would feel when
he told him—at the rage he would experience at that thought that Adala had been touched
. . . had lain . . . with such a Being.
For, indeed, she would have done so by now. Even if she had been taken against her will,
she would have been defiled by now.
Noah suppressed his own fury at the images which flashed before him. "Was it against
your will, Adala?" he cried through clenched teeth. "Or were you easily seduced?"
He slapped his whip rudely against the horse's heaving side and fought the demons of
his own imagination.
Stinging tears forced their way through hot lashes, and he bit his tongue. "No—
sister . . . not my sister!"
But he wondered. The doubt was strong. Not because Adala was unusually weak, but
because the Overlords were so powerful.
Nevertheless, the thought of her succumbing enraged him, and the anger which would
best have been directed at the Enemy, he turned on her. "Did you enjoy it, Adala?" he
muttered. "Was it delicious—as the apple of Eve?"
He had lost track of time. He wondered how long he had forced his steed to endure his
compelling indignation. It was only when the horse suddenly stumbled, nearly throwing him
to the ground, that he came to his senses.
"Whoa!" he commanded. "Easy!" He reached forth and stroked the horse's mane, until the
animal slowed to a canter. "It is I who am driven," he said in a breathless tone. "Yet I
inflict my torment on you."
He drew the creature to the side of the road, and dismounted. The cinch of the crimson
saddle had loosened from the run, and the horse's flesh beneath the intricate
44
G I A N T S
harness tapestry was almost raw. A light foam covered the smooth white coat. Noah took
off his own cloak, rubbing the heavy perspiration from the animal's glistening body.
"I am no better than the madmen who experiment with your brothers and sisters," he
apologized. "Forgive me, friend."
Noah knelt down and checked the knees and hooves for distress. "At least your legs are
long." He smiled, massaging them firmly. "And you stand on hooves, instead of toes!"
Then, rising up, he stroked the horse's shoulder. "It is good you are taller than I, and not
the size of a sheep." He winked. "At least you have your dignity, and have not been pared
to a sliver of God's original design!"
The horse nudged him with its velvet nose and then threw its head back. Noah thought
he heard it laugh.
The vegetation had changed from heavy mountain foliage, with its broad-leaved
forests—to the denser, spongy growth of low-lying sea-hills, before Noah spied Obad.
The bridegroom had begun his journey a day before the mountain man, but was only now
entering the plain which led to the highlands because travel through populated areas had
slowed him.
In fact, as Noah had come closer to sea level, traffic had picked up on the highway
leading to the coast. He had found it necessary to keep a careful eye on passing clusters
of pedestrians and riders so as not to miss his friend.
He had ignored the humming contraptions which occasionally used the road. There were
not many of these with which to be concerned. The city travelers usually limited such
transports to town use, preferring the sky chariots or land skimmers for longer journeys.
Besides, Obad, like Noah, simply preferred the horse.
When the two men came upon one another, no casual onlooker would have seen much
else in common between
.45
N O A H
them. While Noah was dressed austerely in garb befitting his mountain home, Obad was
clearly a city dweller. Noah's robes were road dirty, and Obad was dressed in shining
raiment, embroidered and tooled, gilded and tailored. At some point in the journey, Noah
had tied his cloak about his waist like a great bandana, and his tunic was gathered up
between his thighs in a knot, revealing sweat and dust-streaked legs. Obad's short-skirted
toga met smooth thighs, and his calves sported the crisscross strapping of high-laced
sandals, their crafted leather polished and gleaming. Noah's long, dark hair, wild from
travel, and his collar-length beard, disheveled by the wind, contrasted crazily with Obad's
barbered, blond head and shaven chin.
But Obad's appearance was deceiving. Both men were ruddy, in love with the sky and the
earth. Though one dwelt inside city walls, and one on the open side of a hill, they were
more alike than not.
"Aha! Obad!" Noah had cried when he first spied him. "Look at you!" Laughing, the
mountain man had clapped him on the thigh as their horses drew near.
"Noah!" Obad had responded, surprised and perplexed. "But, what . . . ? "
"I will explain in a moment," Noah had nodded, soberness overtaking him. "Where is the
nearest wayside?"
Obad had said no more, but with a shake of the head had turned his company around
and bid Noah follow him back toward the city a little way.
The Sethite's companions guarded several wagonloads of gifts which he was taking to
Lamech in exchange for his bride. When they drew into a palm grove a few feet down the
road, they dismounted and rested gratefully.
As Noah confronted his old friend, he remembered the day Lamech had taken him to the
city to find a man for Adala. His sister had been but a girl then, and he a mere adolescent;
but he had felt the grave importance of the journey. He remembered how he had watched
his father's
46
GI A N T S
searching eyes, listened to his inquisitions of men in the market and families in their homes.
And he recalled when the young Sethite had been found.
Noah and Obad were the same age. Though one had been raised in Cronos and one in
the country, the two had struck up an instant friendship, and as Lamech and Obad's father
had counseled together, Obad had shown Noah the wonders of the coast and its mighty
ships.
For Obad's father was a merchant, and the lad had enjoyed access to the interiors of his
vessels. That day Obad had taken Noah down to the wharves, and from ship to mighty ship,
the mountain boy had run his hands wonderingly over the curves and laminates of their
water-resistant woods. From that hour, Noah's blood had been deeply stirred for the
mysteries of sailing.
The connection between the families had been mutually beneficial ever since. For
Obad's father had been the first to contract a boat-building package from Lamech's mill,
and Noah's world had been broadened to include the sea.
Over the years, as they had all waited for the consummation of the betrothal, Noah and
Obad had visited many times—Obad sharing in the peace of the hills, and Noah in the
exhilaration of the sea. But the Obad who stood before him today was a figure of finery, and
Noah could not help but contrast him with the carefree, casually groomed lad who had
introduced him to sand-filled shoes and salt water.
Obad read the twinkle in Noah's eye. "Wedding garb," was all the Sethite would say. "The
women of the house packed my clothes, and not a worthy thread is among them!"
Noah felt for thy man who, he knew, would have preferred sailcloth, and the two laughed
together.
"But—now—to what do I owe this surprise?" Obad insisted. "Has Lamech sent you to
tell me Adala has run off with another man?"
47
N O A H
The Sethite's voice was full of merriment at the supposed bit of humor. But Noah's breath
caught in his throat.
And he wished he had not volunteered for this assignment.
FIVE
The surf had always intrigued Noah. Its churning, its power to break down anything left
long in its way, its always-changing yet never-changing form. It amazed him to consider
that he would never see the same wave twice, that every one was unique, yet all together
formed a pattern, a whole design which was consistent, persistent, reliable.
His upbringing had conditioned him to see all things in relation to the Creator—and so
he saw the sea. It was, to him, the Designer's greatest achievement, and was symbolic of
Yahweh's orderly mind.
"You are the one thing they can never alter," he whispered toward the water as he
followed Obad down the shore.
"What?" the Sethite interrupted.
"Oh, just talking to myself." Noah shrugged. "I was just telling the sea that it is the one
thing no man . . . or Overlord . . . can ever change."
Obad studied Noah suspiciously. "As long as I've known you, you've had a habit of letting
your thoughts tumble out as though you are in dialogue."
"A sign of a weak mind," Noah said smiling.
"Not a weak mind, friend. Quite the opposite! . In fact, a mind so deep it runs in channels
I can barely fathom. But, I do wish it could hold its tongue."
Noah laughed. "I am too much like my father. He has the same idiosyncrasy."
49
N O A H
"Well," Obad chuckled, "I admire both of you immeasurably, but you know what they
say about those who speak to themselves."
"Yes—'lunatic."'
"Perhaps. But they also say such people speak with the gods. And I know you would not
consider that a compliment."
Noah's brow furrowed and he shook his head. "You know me well. But," he grew
contemplative, "I do speak of the 'gods,' the Overseers of this world. Of their abuses of
nature and their desecration of the way things were meant to be."
Obad listened respectfully. He knew that Noah had given such matters much thought
and believed fervently in his conclusions.
"Do you see the churning waves? How they grind at the shore, but never destroy it?"
Noah directed. "I believe the Almighty's ways are like that. I believe he breaks things
down as only one part of his life-giving process. Death, therefore, is not destruction, but
ongoing life."
"You speak of very high things."
"Yes--but there are other kinds of breaking down. Such as the Overlords have done. In
their manipulations of nature they destroy the divinely established orders of created
things."
"You refer to their great exploits?" Obad inquired.
"Not all attempts at betterment are evil," Noah assured him. "Yahweh gave us minds and
material things to be used to our advantage. But when man begins to alter the very
foundations of the life order—the given arrangement of God's original designs—he authors
chaos."
Obad was silent with thought. "I think I have observed such things in the city " he said,
reflecting uneasily on the sport which the citizens of his town derived from the hemi-bodies—
creatures which had been contrived from genetic gimmickry. The potential variety of such
pathetic beings seemed infinite. And the proportionate percentage
50
GI A N T S
of creature to creature within any one being was a perpetual game of experimentation.
It had begun with the lust for immortality. "To be like the gods!" had been the cry of the
people. And the "gods" had not withheld their assistance to the projects. In their own lust to
control Yahweh's creation, they encouraged any move on man's part in that direction. And
so from the crudest beginnings—surgical transplantation of body parts from one creature to
another, the exchange of limbs, brains, and even whole heads—to the finer reaches of
cellular manipulation—they had tampered with restructuring the very stuff of life.
But all of this had involved centuries of trial and error, and in the wake of the progressive
push were left countless tragedies of thoughtless accident.
And so minotaurs were sent into the circus ring to do gladiatorial battle with mighty men ;
centaurs and satyrs became garden spectacles and objects of adornment at the
Overlords' parties, or were shunted off into the back-country where they roamed lonely and
purposeless in supposed freedom. Numberless were the forms the experiments took, and due
to the cleverness of the gods, people were convinced to see the odd beings as "wondrous,"
"legendary," and "mystical."
"The deception of Lucifer," Noah sighed, his mind running to the same subjects as Obad's.
"Yes," the Sethite nodded, realizing that he had not voiced his thoughts, but accepting
Noah's empathy. "You are fortunate you live in the hills where life goes on as it was
meant to."
Noah glanced over his shoulder to the distant highlands which marked his home. They were
shrouded in the filmy white veil of the low-hanging sky, and his eyes clouded.
"Not so protected, Obad. Adala was victimized in the very depths of hill country."
The young bridegroom, the Sethite who would soon have been Adala's husband, had
not forgotten. For a few
51
NO A H
moments he had been able to set his mind to other things. But with the reminder, anger
and vengeance flashed across his face.
With a mighty heave he spurred his brown stallion and the sleek creature responded
with a snort. Instantly it was racing down the coast, its hooves kicking up sand and its
great head pointed arrowlike toward a just-nowvisible skyline. Obad stared straight toward
the towers of Sun City, his heartbeat matching the thunder of the chase.
52
SIX
The City of the Sun stood on the shore of the white-blue sea like a set of gleaming blocks
erected by a giant child. It had grown up along the beach, spawning off itself in all
directions, carelessly ambling, but strangely appealing in its free form. The town walls had
been pushed back numerous times over the generations, and were now, in fact, obsolete.
There was no reason to wall a town today. The state of military art had outgrown the
necessity of fortresses and gates. A city was protected not by walls, but by higher forms
of intelligence.
Private homes, however, were another matter. Rather then forego gates, walls, and
bars, citizens of the town had been obliged of late to increase their home protection. Front
doors were now several inches thick on new construction, and owners of older residences
were remodeling their entryways to accommodate such additions. And the doors were not
swung open for guests, but had to be unbarred and then slid into wall pockets through
small trenches.
Such was the evidence of growing violence in this city, as Noah and Obad rode
wonderingly through the streets. But the mountainQer would never have thought to search
this place first.
It was only after Obad reminded him of the rumors concerning its Overlord that Noah
had seen the reason for starting here. For word had it that Poseidon, the god
53
NOAH
of this capital, had been neglecting his duties of late. Lust for human females had begun to
distract and preoccupy him.
Appetite for erotic adventure had become commonplace among the Overseers of earth.
Legends and tales of old were replete with such references. But Poseidon had been
especially overcome by the lure as his quest for the perfect female had led him to send out
search parties of underlings into distant territories.
Was it not possible, then, that it would have been Poseidon whom Moricahn's
daughters had reported seeing at the pond, and who, they swore, had captured Adala's
soul? Could he not have taken the search upon himself since he had been frustrated in his
pleasures for so long?
It was reasonable to assume so.
And, therefore, Obad had chosen the City of the Sun.
A conspicuous pair they made as they rode through town: Obad in his wedding
garments, windblown and perspiration-soaked; Noah in his backcountry habit, wild and
disheveled beneath a homespun hood. But the city dwellers, who were used to seeing
peculiar folk about the streets, gave them little mind.
And so they were not detained as they made their way straight toward the temple
compound, where all affairs of government were managed, and wherein were hid the secret
counsels of the Overlords.
For Sun City was the capital of earth, and the halls of the Nephilim home of earth's
mightiest men.
Noah had seen a giant only once. He had been just a boy when he and his father had spied
one during a hunting trip in the high country behind their village. But that giant had been
but a distant and inferior kin to the giant Nephilim who inhabited this city.
In fact it was still a mystery whether that hairy mountain dweller had been more animal
or human. Not that the Nephilim were entirely human themselves. Certainly
54
G I A N T S
not. While the worshipers of the Overlords called their unnatural offspring "demi-gods," Noah
called them "half-breeds." For they were half human and half. . . .
//
. . . monster," Noah snarled beneath his breath.
Obad followed his friend's gaze to the turret which marked a corner of the temple
compound. His eyes traced it to the very pinnacle, where a powerful Being watched them
with suspicion. The two newcomers would be free, like any citizen, to enter the outer courts;
but the warning stance of the fellow stationed high above reminded them that they would
be under scrutiny, and that they could not go further without a pass.
"The people of my country call these Beings 'Meteors,"' Obad commented, as they passed
under the guard's searing observation.
"Fitting," said Noah. "'The Fallen Ones."
"But they are mighty " Obad replied. "They are the stuff of legends. Are they not
redeemable?"
Noah stared at the mammoth walls of the compound and studied the architectural
marvels of the great halls. "I do not know, Obad. I do not know how much of the earth is
redeemable, and how much is fit only for Yahweh's wrath."
55
SEVEN
Noah was somewhat in awe of the ways of the Overlords, though his awe was not translated
into worship. The Temple to the Sun was one of their most wondrous achievements.
A gigantic cone of rock, it rose up from the court like a mammoth fingertip. Whether its
four triangular sides rested their broad bases on the pavement, or sunk far beneath it,
one could not easily tell. There seemed to be no fissure about the foundation, but it blended
imperceptibly with the floor. And the tips of each triangle met at the top, so that the sides
were sloping. But the triangular walls were not, in themselves, a whole. They were the
result of colossal blocks resting one atop the other and forming the pyramidal design.
It was said that the building itself possessed power or could capture and store the
power of the Sun. It was reported that this solar energy fed all the works of the Overlords,
and that they knew how to tap into the bank whenever they chose.
All this Noah could believe. Even now, as they drew near the central grounds of the
compound where the granite marvel sat, he could sense its pulsations and perceive the
Rum of its charge.
But he did not, as did so many, deify the structure or consider it sacred. Neither did
Obad. For both men were
N O A H
of an older tradition. Their fathers' fathers had taught each generation that the religion of
the Overlords was a lie, and worship of the gods an affront to Yahweh.
The gods had made it attractive to follow the Way of the Sun. "Exchanging worship of the
Creator for worship of created things," Lamech had said. And so had his father understood—
and his father before him, back to Seth, the son of Adam, father of them all. Always the
truth had existed, though men and the Deceivers sought to pervert it.
But the lie was delicious. As the two Sethites walked through the grounds, it was clear
how appealing it could be. For the gods had shared their knowledge with mankind, and the
court was full of the results. Mankind could have come to wheels and gears on its own. But it
never could have raised a pyramid or honed a seamless pavement without the power of the
Sun. Mankind could have gone from horse to horseless carriage on his own, but he never
could have captured a ray and cauterized a wound without the gift of godly wisdom. Yet upon
this floor was laid a seamless path, and in that corner a surgeon mended limbs, and
over there the instruments of war were condensed to a bank of flashing lights.
Mankind could not have achieved this without the godly gifts. Not so early on—not
without a primitive beginning.
But there was no "primitive" stage, and never had been to that point. This civilization had
never known a "dark age." Rather, all was golden with the grace of the Master Star. And all
power belonged to the Son of Morning, men were told—to Lucifer, Prince of the Air, for he
and the Sun were one, an Angel of Light, an Orb of Wisdom.
How could a human being deny such preaching unless he had been taught at his father's
knee to think otherwise? When he saw the mighty works of man, and when all his needs
were met in an instant—how could he not believe?
G I A N T S
And who among men possessed more knowledge than the Nephilim—the offspring of
the gods?
He was one of the grandest ever born. He was a youthful thousand years, and he stood
nearly eight feet tall in his glittering garb. He was a son of an Overlord and was
positioned as gatekeeper of the temple.
· Neither Noah nor Obad had ever been so near one of the Nephilim. As they approached
his doorway they could
· not help but be awed by his stature, and by the look in his eyes. With wordless and
scornful scrutiny he warned them. Yet they might have been flies for all the heed he gave
them.
Each Sethite had his own thoughts as they came upon this giant. For Obad, the
Colossus was a dismal reminder of Adala's seducer. If this Being was so grand, what
must the god have been like who wooed her away? The young suitor shrank inwardly,
and his mind was filled with doubts. What did he think to accomplish here? If he were to
find the woman, what hope was there that she would turn from such glory?
But for Noah, the significance of the gatekeeper was more far-reaching. Instantly he
perceived the spiritual contest between the "Meteor," the "Fallen One," and the Sons of
Seth. For Obad and Noah were of untainted lineage, "perfect in their generations," and
they were as alien to this monster as he to them.
The millenia of the Overlords' earthy government had allowed sufficient time for their
prurient lusts to so corrupt the line of Adam, that it was a rare family indeed which had
no blood of the gods in its veins. Especially on the side of Cain, the murderer, had the
human family been invaded. And it was a violent strain which emerged, the deceptive
spirit of the Overlords mingling with the outcast, wandering, and marked breed of Cain.
But the line of Seth had not been above seduction. The Overlords had not preferred the
daughters of Cain, but had been
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NOAH
indiscriminate in their tastes. The daughters of mankind had so often been vulnerable to
seduction, that even among the Sethites, it was extremely rare to find an unblemished
line.
Noah sensed the conflict instantly. He knew it was a spiritual thing, but he was only
more aware than Obad because his training had been more intense.
"State your mission," the giant demanded, his mighty voice filling the court. As it died out
in long echoes, Noah steadied a trembling hand upon his staff.
"We seek the human woman Adala, daughter of Lamech. We are her brothers,
Obad and Noah, and we bear her wedding gifts."
The Titan leered at his little visitor. "Wedding? Your weddings, son of Lamech, are a
quaint tradition. The gods have no weddings."
Obad turned fleetingly to Noah, a spark of hope flashing in his eyes. But just as soon,
it was doused. "When a god takes a wife, he simply takes her!" the giant roared, his face
full of angry mirth. "If your sister was brought here, it was without a wedding!"
Noah looked uneasily at the ground, and then cleared his throat. "We are ignorant of
your ways," he offered. "We only wished to bring to our sister her family's ... kind
wishes."
"And you have brought them. I will relay the message." Obad's anxiety rushed forward.
"But—the gifts . . . ," he repeated.
"I see no gifts," the Titan replied.
"At the front gate," Obad stammered. "We left them there."
"Then go your way. If your sister is here, the gifts will be delivered."
Neither of the Sethites had actually expected to gain entrance without a struggle.
Their intent to this point had been simply to gain what knowledge they could of the
fortress' layout. Should they be able to do more, they
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G I A N T S
would be far more successful than they had hoped.
But Obad was not about to turn away just yet. "You have a human mother?" he
asked.
The Titan studied him suspiciously. "You know I do," he replied. "Or . . . I did."
"Of course, she would have been long dead," Obad acknowledged.
The giant stared away with a wistful silence, and then countered quickly "Why do you
speak of my mother?"
"Because, if you have memory of her, you will understand our feelings. For our mother
would be greatly saddened if we could not bring her tidings of our sister. We have come a
great distance for that purpose," Obad pleaded.
Noah wondered at his friend's gift for melodrama, and stifled the grin which worked at
his own lips. And now, as Obad sensed the giant's softening, he proceeded quickly.
"Here," he said, reaching into the pouch of his broad girdle. "My mother sends this. If
only you will see to it that my sister receives this directly, we will be satisfied."
The Titan surveyed his outstretched hand carefully. "What do you have?" he asked.
"A flask of perfume, our mother's favorite. It will bring delight to Adala and her Lord . . . and
to the linens of his bed."
The gatekeeper grew less wary with Obad's smooth persuasion.
"Well—I suppose no harm will be done," the Titan assented, reaching down and
opening the great spread of his palm to receive the little vial.
"Your kindness will be blessed by the Master." Obad smiled, and placing the glass
bottle in the giant's hand, he made a sudden thrust, driving the container's tiny but
incisive needle into the meaty palm.
The Colossus sunk to his knees, his dazed eyes angry and helpless.
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NO A H
Noah looked on in amazement.
"I never take a journey without a weapon," Obad explained, pulling the slender prick
from its fleshy target. "What will kill a road bandit, will at least stun a Nephil."
Noah glanced over his shoulder incredulously as he passed through the gate and
followed Obad down the temple hall. The Titan did not stir, but lay limp upon the pavement,
his contemptuous eyes now glazed and vacant.
EIGHT
The Hall of the Nephilim was not a place for secrets. Every footstep echoed as Obad and
Noah made their way further into the interior of the temple compound. Every whisper was
amplified, for this marble corridor had no carpets, no tapestries to muffle a sound. It was in
fact an entirely masculine place, a museum of military marvels. And the lack of direction
the two felt, the ignorance of just how to get about in a building foreign to them, made
every reverberation a fearsome thing.
There were no onlookers—no one around to question them—but they felt surrounded by
spectators, for all along the walls were displayed the armor and helmets of a thousand
mighty warriors. Men of renown, whose deeds had lived on in legend—their memories
were captured here for the wondering eyes of posterity.
And all the armored suits, pillared in rows along the hall, towered above the heads of
the Sethites. For these were coats of war which had been worn by the Nephilim, the giant
offspring of mortal women and immortal gods—begotten by the Angels of Lucifer.
"Fallen Angels," Lamech had called them, when he had first trained Noah in such
matters. "And the Nephilim are fallen from their birth, the offspring of illegitimate union."
Noah could, still remember the first talk on the history of the race, when Lamech, his
father, and Ishna, his grand-
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N 0 A H
father, had comforted him after his initiation into manhood. The pain of circumcision,
inflicted when he had become of age, would have been unbearable, having been given at
his father's hand, had the elders not stayed with him for two days following.
He smiled now as he recalled the patience with which the men had answered his
elementary questions. It was a night he would never forget, as the three of them had
huddled about a low fire in the center of a forest cave behind their home. It was to this
retreat that Noah had been taken for this rite of manhood, and it was in that sacred grotto
that he had learned his first lessons in the origin of earth and the tale of mankind.
"But, Father," he had inquired, "humanity is fallen as well. Since the Garden we have
all been born in a fallen state. If we are redeemable, why not the Fallen Angels—and the
Nephilim?"
"The angels were not deceived." Ishna had taken over, his old eyes tempered with the
wisdom of 800 years. Noah recalled how the firelight had transfigured the elder patriach
that night. Always the sage had been an awesome figure to his grandson, but this night
the coral glow upon his pale, aged skin, the golden sheen of flame reflected off his
fleece-white hair and chest-length beard burned into the young man's heart. Noah would
always remember how the leaping tongues of fire reproduced themselves in the pupils
of Ishna's eyes.
"They followed the Prince of This World despite full knowledge of the truth," he had
explained. "When Lucifer rebelled against the Creator, saying, 'I will raise my throne above
the star of God; I will make myself like the Most High,' his denizens rejoiced. And in their
foolish pride, they thought to dethrone Yahweh!" At that point Ishna had flung a faggot
onto the fire, punctuating his disgust.
"I see, Grandfather," Noah hld conceded. "The angels were not deceived, but Adam was
—and so Yahweh gives him a second chance."
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G I A N T S
"Exactly!" Lamech had confirmed, his own zeal rising for the topic.
"But, what of the Nephilim?" Noah had repeated, returning to the question which had
been debated among the Sons of Adam for thousands of years.
The two elders glanced at one another, as if to ask which had the courage to tackle
this matter. It was appropriate that Ishna should do so, and he cleared his throat as he
rubbed the palms of his hands upon his knees.
"We have no scrolls dealing with these traditions," he began. "All our knowledge is
passed down as we are handing it to you, Noah—by word of mouth. In this way it is better
retained, for our memories are forced to store at great effort. All our sons learn the
mysteries we are sharing with you in the depths of forest caves or in the hollows along the
rivers at the time of their initiation, where the affairs of life and the troubles of this world
cannot interfere." His venerable eyes gazed deep into the night sky beyond the cave's
mouth, and he seemed a little wistful. "I recall asking the same question you have asked,
when my father and his father waited with me in my soreness, and I find that I will repeat
their words as my own."
He leaned toward the fire, prodding the embers with the tip of his walking stick. "It is
my opinion that the Nephilim are redeemable. Any son of a human mother is a man.
But redemption is not easily accepted by such Beings. The blood of rebellion and
deception runs thick in their veins. And the pride inherent in their own greatness makes it
hard for them to bow the knee."
Lamech nodded his agreement and then turned to Noah. "Such matters are indeed a
conundrum, son. They deal with the line between the physical and the spiritual—
a line which only Yahweh fully discerns. But your grandfather speaks well. Any degree
of humanity necessitates the existence of a soul. And the Nephilim arc part human,
being a life form conceived in a woman's womb, dependent upon her fertility for its
conception,
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N O A H
borne by her, delivered by her to the world."
Noah remembered all this as he and Obad passed beneath the hollow gaze of great
metal helmets, and as they skirted the iron husks which had protected the lives of giants.
He shook his head and a chill went up his back. How could such monstrosities be
human? Marvels they were, indeed, and awe-provoking to the offspring of Adam. But
redeemable?
Again, Noah envisioned his sister in the arms of her lover-lord and he imagined his
father's lineage spoiled by an infant demi-god. His racial spirit sprang up fresh and soon
he was running ahead of Obad.
He sensed that the gate at the end of the corridor would lead to Poseidon's chamber.
NINE
The City of the Sun, being a port metropolis, bore a marine flavor throughout.
Poseidon, its lord, was known as "god of the sea." His penchant for all things nautical
had not been ignored when the temple had been designed. As Noah and Obad drew near
the doorway which marked the end of the compound corridor, the sound of water, spilling
and splashing, testified that they had reached the heart of Poseidon's lair.
The chambers of the sea god were, in fact, designed to resemble ocean caverns, and
it was upon a gigantic aquarium that Obad and Noah came to marvel as they crept
through the last gate of the hall.
The two Sethites knew that at any moment temple guards would be seeking them.
By now the stunned Titan at the entry to the corridor would have been discovered, and
undoubtedly there was already a team of searchers combing the Hall of the Nephilim. The
fact that Poseidon had not felt it necessary to station a sentry at the gate of his own
quarters only testified to the arrogance of the Overlord. It was apparently presumed that
no one could get past that glorious giant who protected the military museum, so there
was no reason to erect further barriers.
But even now the intruders could hear the footsteps of their pursuers echoing against
the cold marble pavement of the gallery. They scrambled for the shadows of a fabricated
cave—one of many which ranged the walls of the
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N O A H
"sea chamber." Each cavern, fitted with low benches and floor pillows, provided a different
view of the numerous illumined windows of the aquarium, and each window looked onto a
different scene of aquarian life, from mollusks to octopuses.
Noah was too preoccupied with his own safety to appreciate the wonders of this nautical
world, but as he hid himself against the back wall of the cave, his eyes were caught by the
sulphuric light of the window just across the way. He shook his head to be sure his
nerves were not betraying him, and yet he still saw what he had feared. There was a
woman in the tank across the aisle—half woman, half ... fish. Yes—the torso, the arms,
and the head were that of a human female, and the rest of the body, that of a fish.
Obad, who was also most concerned with survival, noticed his friend's alarm, and he
empathized. "Pathetic creature, isn't she?"
Noah studied her with horror. "What is it?" he whispered.
"My people call her a 'seamaid,' or 'mermaid.' It is more often women who are
mutated to this form. But the Overlords have played with men to a similar fate."
The creature had seen them enter the chamber and was pressed now directly
against the glass of her tank, where she seemed to be pleading with them to help her.
Her eyes were round and anxious, and with her hands she beat against the pane, as if
begging them to set her free. With the great fin on which she supported herself, she
jumped repeatedly, knocking her body vainly against the barrier, and Noah's heart ached
for her.
"But," he stammered, "how does she breathe in there? How Can she survive at all?"
"The manipulators worked with her life matter to produce gills. They are hidden baieath
her hair, so as not to spoil her beauty."
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G I A N T S
As Noah watched her helpless gyrations, another figure advanced toward the window from
the depths of the tank. "I suppose you call this a . ."
". . 'merman,"' Obad agreed.
The handsome fellow had a dignity which belied his state. He cast a quick glance
toward the two onlookers and quickly went to the female. Embracing her, he pulled her
from the glass and tried to calm her. At first she resisted, but at last he was able to
escort her toward the shadows from which he had emerged. As the couple swam away the
merman looked at Noah over his shoulder. The expression in his eyes would haunt the
Sethite for years to come. Anger and despair were dominant, but beneath was the cold
death of resignation.
It was an irony that the god they had come to challenge should save the Sethites' lives.
Noah and Obad had just been blinded by the searchers' flares. They had just been
grasped by titanic hands and were being taken to detention when the Overlord inter-
vened.
What proceeded from that point happened so quickly that the Sethites were barely
able to comprehend it, but it seemed Poseidon, having heard of their escapade, was
intrigued by their daring; that no human had ever before attempted to invade the
premises; and that, hence, he must have an interview with these "fools."
However it happened, within the hour of their entrance to the temple, Obad and Noah
found themselves at the very throne of Adala's captor. And it was announced that within
moments Poseidon himself would stand before them.
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TEN
Lamech did not realize the extent to which his elder son was a record keeper. He had hired
Noah to keep the books for the family business because from boyhood the lad had shown a bent
toward the meticulous. And Noah had never failed to perform admirable service in the
capacity of accountant.
But Lamech did not know that his son had kept voluminous journals from the time he was
old enough to master literacy. The journals had covered all kinds of subjects—anything
which had ever struck Noah as interesting, curious, important, mysterious, or noteworthy
had been written down and tucked in the chests and trunks which formed part of the
furnishings of his room.
Noah's mother had known about his writing. She had often come across entries on
scraps of paper and in little booklets and scrolls left in his small-boy clutter. She had
sometimes spoken to him about his diaries, encouraging him in his eccentric activity. But
she had never bothered Lamech with it, for she knew her all-business husband would
see little of value in such dallyings.
But even Noah's mother had not known that he had written down the oral traditions—
the secret knowledge to which only the men of the Sethitic line were privy. The words
of Adam and Seth, of Methusaleh and Enoch had been captured on Noah's own
parchment, as he had followed his compulsion to record even against the verbal custom of
his ancestors.
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"If I ever have sons," he had told himself, "they will receive the written word." Much as
he saw the logic in the argument for oral transmission, he believed the children of Adam
could not be trusted with it. The luciferic power to confuse was becoming far too insidious,
however great a man's strength of conviction. And Noah did not wish for his sons to have
to rely on word of mouth. "If it is written down," he reasoned, "the power to twist it will
not be so strong."
Noah's mother was dead now. She had left him when he was still a boy, giving birth to a
twin son and daughter who lived only a few days. No one else knew of his hidden volumes,
not even his closest kin, Jaseth.
As he stood now beside Obad on the narrow carpet which led to Poseidon's throne,
he thought about the little scroll in which he had recorded his first memories and
impressions of the sea and ships—subjects which his friend had first introduced to him.
Someday—if they survived this adventure—he would show the diary to Obad.
As they waited now for the sea deity to enter his chamber, Noah considered the
history of Poseidon's deeds. The Overlords and their descendants were as interested in
record-keeping as any Sethite. And Poseidon was near the very top of the Adlandian
King List. Not far below the Master Lucifer himself, this mighty lord found his slot in the
hierarchy of earth's government.
Poseidon was best known for the formulation of the lengthy Adlandian legal code, and
for the execution of that basically humane set of regulations. It was taken for granted that
all matters nautical, from the protection of sailors to the might of the shipping industry,
and all that related to the sea (which tied all the continent together) were in his hands.
But his mastery of parliament and justice and his keen mind for government were his
greate s t p r a i s e . -
It was no surprise, when Poseidon did finally appear,
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G I A N T S
that he was a most magnificent Being. Noah had no difficulty understanding how
Moricahn's daughters—and, yes, even Adala—could have been overcome by his
majesty. The god was not quite so tall as the Nephil who had been at the guard station.
But his physical powers were surely equal, and his dark handsomeness, his brooding
brow, and penetrating eyes would have cast a spell over the strongest of women.
Noah sensed his friend Obad tense at the sight of him, and peering sideways toward his
partner, he read his helpless disgust.
But now the god was speaking and the Sethites could not deny the awe which his
voice provoked.
"Two strangers, one of Cronos, I presume, and . . . what is your village? " he inquired,
studying Noah carefully. ". . Lamechtown, sir," Noah replied.
"Ah—yes. The lumber mill."
Noah bit his tongue and looked at the floor.
"Speak, man," the god insisted. "You wish to correct me?"
"Sir," Noah began, "my village is more than a mill. Many human beings call it 'home.'
We raise our families there. We eat, work, and marry there."
Poseidon smiled broadly and shook his head. "I meant nothing less than that. But now,"
he turned to Chad, "let us deal with the matter at hand. You explained your mission to the
guard, but then treated him with unnecessary rudeness. Who are you? "
"Obad ... son . . . Lamech," the Sethite stammered. He was not comfortable with the
lie, but had extended himself so far with it he decided to see it through.
"And Noah, son of Lamech," the mountaineer responded as the dark gaze
questioned him.
"But you hardly look like brothers," the Great One said with a gimlet eye. "Why have
you invaded my halls? "
()bad took the challenge without hesitation, and with courage surprising even to Noah.
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N O A H
"The human woman," Obad began, "is part of our family. We feel we were treated
rudely by your abduction of her. And, though we realize she is now your . . . wife," the
word sticking in his throat, "we feel we have the right, as her brothers, to give her the
family's good wishes."
The god, who had taken a seat on his pearly throne, surveyed the Sethite up and
down. "For this reason alone you would risk your lives to enter where you do not
belong? You, Obad, are strangely attired for such a venture. I perceive more in your
impulsive actions than the fondness of a brother." The god's brow bore the shadow of
suspicion and he analyzed Noah with similar doubt. "As for you, mountain man, you
hardly look like you belong with this dapper fellow. No. I perceive that we have here the
anger of a rejected lover and his irate—though helpless—friend. Perhaps, at the most,
your tale bears truth when Noah claims to be my lady's kinsman. There is more the
familiar horror in his eyes, than in Obad's—just as there is definite jealousy in the lover's
clenched fist."
Obad quickly relaxed his grip, and said nothing. But Noah would not remain silent.
"So, great deity, you have deduced the truth. I suppose we should not have expected
less from you." The son of Lamech squared himself and took a deep breath.
"Poseidon, you have accomplished many wise and wonderful things for your people. But
what you are doing—you and the other lords of earth who seduce our women and mingle
your blood with theirs—what you are doing is an abomination!"
What could have aroused the ire of lesser beings seemed not to stir Poseidon. He was
silent a moment, his only response a benign smile. And, after a kind interlude during
which he appeared to consider the challenge patiently, he laughed a little.
"My good man," he nodded, "am I understanding you correctly? Are you seriously
implying that the co-mingling of divine and human blood could do anything
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GI AN T S
but strengthen the inferior race? Are you saying—having just now come through the Hall
of the Nephilim—that the Overlords do not spawn supermen?"
Noah stood steadily before the Father of Meteors and rode the momentum of his
boldness. "I repeat," he asserted, "that what you are doing is an abomination! You have
overstepped the bounds appointed you, and have brutally disrupted the established
orders."
"Established orders!" the great voice echoed. "All earthly orders have been
established by the will of the Master. And his orders are undergirded by flexibility.
Nothing his servants have done has gone against his sys-
tem!"
Noah tensed angrily. "You speak of the luciferic system! You speak of the Serpent for
whom this world was not created!"
Poseidon now leaned forward, the first sign that his own indignation had been
aroused.
"What blasphemy is this?" the god demanded. "Is Lucifer not rightly called the
'Prince of This World,' the Serpent being his symbol, and the 'Prince of the Power of the
Air,' from whom the Sun shines forth eternally? "
"Prince, indeed!" Noah agreed. "Manager by default! Who through his subtlety won
the dominion from our Father Adam, and our Mother Eve, when they abdicated their
station to his wiles. Prince, indeed! But not King. The King has always existed and is
yet to come!"
Poseidon now leaned back in his great chair, his breath escaping in exasperation. He
struck a fist against the arm of his seat and laughed aloud.
"You rave, Noah!" he cried. "How can you deny that all created beings are dependent
on the Sun, that all motion and progress are dependent on his great power? Each
movement of man and beast is derived directly or indirectly from the energy contained
within the fruits and fibers of the fields—from the food which sustains them. And this
energy,. in turn, is imparted by none other than
75
•
NOA H
the rays of light descending from our Master, from the Golden Orb who governs all
things!"
Poseidon was filled with zeal as he spoke, each word leading to another with frantic
enthusiasm. "Why, consider, Sons of Seth, the gentle breezes of Adlandia. Consider the
ocean currents! The smooth-flowing rivers and tumbling cascades of your own mountain
land! Are these not all the children of solar heat? All man's works, then, whether
empowered by steam, water, wind, or horse, are driven by the Sun!"
Noah and Obad did not take their eyes from the orator, who had risen now and was
pacing the wine-red carpet which robed his platform. "Lucifer! His name means
Lightbearer!" he cried, throwing his arms wide. "He is the source of energy in all
earthly phenomena! Adlandia is his realm, Great Governor of the Skies! The heavens,
the land, the rocks, and the beasts—man himself—all depend on his conversion and
expenditure. All life is sustained by him, and he is the Master of all!"
The Daemon stood still now, his eyes uplifted and his breath heavy. The chamber
was filled with silence.
But Noah could not hold his tongue. "Truly, an Angel of Light!" he murmured, looking
at Obad out of the corner of his eye.
"Yes!" Poseidon agreed. "Lucifer, Angel of Light!"
"Like lightning, he was cast from heaven!" Noah dared to reply "And he still uses his
brilliance to deceive! To lead the Sons of Adam into darkness! He is Master of the Air
for now—Prince of This World—but he is not its Maker! Neither is he the Sun which
feeds the earth. The sun is the work of Yahweh's fingers. It is not divine. It is a
creature, not the Creator. And it is in keeping with Lucifer's distortions that he
should claim the luminary as his throne. He is, after all, the twister of the covenants,
the defiler of Yahweh's handiwork!"
• Obad, who knew that Noah's logic could bring their
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G I A N T S
demise, was nonetheless close to applauding. But Poseidon's wrath had been
kindled.
"It was daring of you to enter this sanctuary. But you are a fool, Noah, to speak such
heresy to my face. Do you not know that I hold your life in my hand? "
Noah raised his chin and faced the dark angel directly. "It is the Lord God, Maker of
Heaven and Earth, who holds my life—and yours, Poseidon—in his hand! It is only by
his mercy that you and your fellow-governors have been allowed to manage this realm as
long as you have. But the time is coming when your era will be at an end. For the Great
Day of Yahweh draws near!"
As Noah spoke it was more than zeal which prompted his words. He was surprised by
his own declaration. And yet—somehow—as he opened his mouth, he knew that it was
time to issue these warnings, and he knew that those things he had only suspected were
being confirmed within his spirit.
"Great Day of Yahweh? Yahweh is only one deity among many!" Poseidon rebutted. "Is he
the god of your hamlet? "
"Yahweh is King of kings and Lord of lords!" Noah replied. "He is your Maker, Poseidon,
and he shall be your undoing!"
ELEVEN
As a consequence of Noah's daring, the two Sethites would spend the night in the
temple dungeon while Poseidon decided what should be done with them.
Few words passed between the prisoners as they sat upon the cold stone floor. At
least they were not in chains or shackles. For that they could be grateful. But Noah felt
himself a failure, and having no light but that of the torch which flickered through the door
grate, it seemed the hours only inched by.
At first the son of Lamech had faced the circumstances undaunted, being borne up by the
enthusiasm of his own sermon. But with the deepening of night, and the further gloom of
soundlessness, he began to question himself.
"Friend," he broke the silence, "if I had been more cautious, Poseidon might have
freed us."
Again there was quiet, augmented only by the sporadic dripping of water down the outer
wall. And he began to fear that Obad agreed with him.
"No," the Sethite at last responded. "You said what needed to be said. To do less would
have been to go against the prompting of Yahweh."
Noah was incredulous. "Then, you sensed it, too? The leading of our God? Oh, friend, I
had hoped it was not my imagination.Z
The mariner's on leaned toward the mountaineer and pointed to the dim light which
filtered in from the cor-
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ridor. "Do you see that? " he asked. "A mere glimmer—but it testifies to a mighty flame just
outside our door. You, Noah, are like that light. In this dark world you may not be
appreciated fully. Your message may be only a glimmer now But the day will come when
the door is thrown open wide. And then all men will see the brilliance of your words."
Noah was amazed at this endorsement, and hardly knew how to receive it. But Obad
was not finished. "The gods may spawn supermen, but occasionally mankind spawns a
prophet. There have been only a few since the world began—like diamonds scattered and
nearly buried among the granules of humanity. But I have always known you were a special
person, friend," Obad insisted. "I believe Yahweh has greater plans for you than I had
imagined."
"You mean.. . ."
"I mean, I feel that you are a prophet. The prophet chosen for these days."
Noah pressed his back against the rocky interior and pulled his knees up to his chin. He
had never thought of himself in such terms. Since childhood he had wished to be used
of Yahweh. But he assumed that all sincere men would have such yearnings. To
actually be singled out for some special service—this had never occurred to him.
"I am humbled by your kind thoughts," he said, "but I think you are biased by your
feelings for me. Besides," he added, brushing away a spider which had set to web-making
on his shoulder, "I really do not relish such a destiny. It would be no pleasure to be the
bearer of bad tidings to the world I love. No, friend," he chuckled, "let someone else carry
that burden!"
Obad turned his eyes to the ceiling and rested his head against the wall. "I will pray for
you, Noah. For with your office the burden will be great. And,4pray for yourself. For the
responsibility is heavier than any man dreams."
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G I A N T S
Noah was about to make a rebuttal, but could see that Obad was in no mood to argue.
The man from Cronos retreated into silence once again, and as Noah studied the
solemn face where the dim light touched closed lids, and the shining head where golden
hair caught the light, he knew his friend thought on Adala, and that his brooding had been
for none but her.
The mountaineer pondered what would become of the man and woman who had been
meant to spend their lives together, and he wondered what the future held for him.
The obstinate spider had made her way up Noah's arm again and rested on his shoulder.
The son of Lamech drew her gently onto his fingertip and held her to the light.
"Little web-sprite," he whispered. "Do you think on deep things? You are a marvel to
me. An architect in silk. If only I could follow Yahweh's designs as easily as you do."
Obad could not sleep. He had managed to close himself away until he knew Noah had
drifted into much-needed slumber, before he opened his eyes. And when he did look again
on the dark cell it was through the blur of silent tears.
Not since he had been informed of Adala's abduction had he been free to experience
his grief, or even to think on it.
Since he had been old enough to have a man's feelings, he had loved the girl. Though
the culture of the Sethites did not allow even betrothed men and women to be alone
together before marriage, the two families had often spent time in each other's homes, and
he had had many occasions to see Adala. Space had been allowed for them to share
hours free from direct observation, and over the years he had come to believe the
woman felt as he did.
In fact, even now he could not believe those feelings were dead. Surely Adala's-lieart
could not have been utterly lost to him.
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But then he recalled the Glorious One who had seduced her. And he looked at himself in
the yellow light. "Fool," he whispered. "Scrawny, pale fool! Who am I to think she could
even remember me, after being with him!"
He recalled how it had felt when Adala let him hold her hand. He relived the few
times when his lips had touched hers. And then he thought of her with Poseidon.
Suddenly Obad was standing. He paced the floor a few times, and pounded his fist
against his thigh.
Still, if there were any way under heaven that he could see her, he would attempt it.
He must know with certainty that she would not leave this "husband" of hers, that she
would not return to the one Yahweh had intended for her.
Just as he was making this resolution, however, he heard soft footfalls in the corridor.
Thinking it the guard, he went to the dark corner where he had spent the evening and
sat once more, eyes closed, leaning against the wall.
The steps hesitated before the door, and Obad could discern the anxious breathing
of some onlooker. He peered carefully through one eye toward the grate, and could
see the face in the torchlight before the visitor could make out his presence in the
black cell.
"Adala!" he cried.
"Obad?"
"Yes—Adala! It is I! You have come!"
The beautiful girl glanced furtively down the corridor, and then grasped the bars,
pressing her face against them.
The Sethite was on his feet instantly and rushed for the grate. His fingers reached up
to touch hers where they wrapped the cold iron, and she did not withdraw them.
"Obad," she repeated, her voice throaty. "What have they done to you?"
"Not they," he answered. "He. It is Poseidon who has -
done this."
Adala studied his expression briefly then turned her eyes to the floor.
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"Oh, no, Adala," Obad hastened, reaching out to stroke her cheek. "We must not speak of
this! Tell me how you are. Have you been treated kindly?"
The woman glanced up, her face flushed. "Yes. The Master treats me well."
"So—he is your master, then, and not your husband!" Obad insisted. "Adala—there has
been no true marriage here. Your own words betray that!"
Adala drew back, shaking her head. "I do not know. . . ." "Of course you do not! You have
been confused, my lady! Listen to one who loves you greatly."
The woman was torn with the battle of her soul. Truly, she did not understand what had
happened to her. For three days she had been the recipient of pleasures beyond description—
of love glorious. But her spirit had been confounded. And she no longer knew herself.
"Oh, my lady," Obad repeated, reading her bewilderment. "You are bewitched. Don't you
see? This thing is not what it appears!"
Adala searched his eyes, and with the searching came memories of their times together.
A large tear rose up and spilled over her lashes. She reached up to wipe it away, but met
his finger already there. "It is a tear of cleansing," Obad whispered. "And I will wipe away
every one as it comes. Only tell me that you still love me."
The ravaged one smiled a little as he caressed her face. And she fought the shame which
challenged her joy.
"Obad," she replied brokenly, "I do love you!"
The man's heart surged, and the woman laughed a little.
"Shhh!" The Sethite gestured, looking at the sleeping Noah.
Adala glanced into the dank cell and spied the slumberer. "My brother!" she whispered.
"Is he well?"
"He is," Obad assured her. "Only let him rest. He has done duty beyond call."
"I heard of his speech before Poseidon," she acknowledged. "And I also know that the god
plans to bring you
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forth tomorrow. When he does, I will plead for your safety, and you shall be set free!"
Obad traced her face in the firelight. "I believe no man could go against your wishes," he
said. "Perhaps even the gods must obey you. But I will not leave this place without my lady."
TWELVE
Morning was not brought to the cell by sunlight, but by the clatter of keys in the lock. And
the two occupants were not allowed to stretch the kinks from their rudely quartered bodies,
but were forced to march instantly toward Poseidon's chamber.
Barely had they found their equilibrium when the mighty Daemon began his
inquisition.
"You are an eloquent man," Poseidon opened. "I desire to hear more of your doctrine."
Noah cleared his throat and glanced at Obad, who nodded encouragement, and then the
son of Lamech studied his challenger for a moment. "I will be pleased to tell you whatever
you wish to know, majesty. Where shall I begin?"
"Tell me of your Father Adam," the Being said, leaning back in his great throne and
stretching his powerful legs as if awaiting entertainment.
"Adam was the progenitor of all man and womankind. He was the one for whom we call
the earth Adamlanda, Adalandis, or Adlandia."
Poseidon sighed with a flick of the hand. "Elementary, Noah. Who does not know this?
Speak of your doctrine."
"Very well, I will," Noah assented. "Adam was made but a little lower than the angels—a
little lower than the Sons of God—whether they be good or evil."
"In what way was he created lower? " Poseidon inquired.
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At this point Noah became uneasy, for he realized that as a Son of God, though a fallen
one, Poseidon already knew these things.
"I perceive," said Noah, "that you are only testing me. You do not seek enlightenment—for,
though you have bent the knee to Lucifer, you know the fundamental truths."
Poseidon seemed not to hear this and repeated, "In what way was Adam created
lower?"
Noah shuffled but responded squarely, "Physically and intellectually, we are not your
equals, Great One. You well know this. Nor do we have the second sight which you
possess to read another's heart and mind. We do not shake the earth as we walk, nor do we
have the power to leap space and time as you do, nor to levitate great weights or
telepathically speak without means. It is said that such abilities may have been latent
within us, ready to blossom—for from time to time they have shown themselves in members
of our race. But mostly they were shed with the Fall, and we no longer enjoy them. Yet we were
Yahweh's special treasure, and in the sons of men he took his delight before the foundation
of the world."
Poseidon fidgeted with his braided cuff and Noah wondered if he still dealt with things too
fundamental. "You refer to 'the Fall,' Noah? What is this?" he asked.
Noah felt more strongly now that Poseidon was indeed testing him. For some reason the
deity wished to know just how much the human knew. But he fought the fear which rose with
the examination, and proceeded to supply the answers.
"In creating humankind," he explained, "there was one other way in which Yahweh limited us.
While the angelic hosts were created with the knowledge of good and evil, we were created
in innocence. While the angelic hosts would choose their paths in 4111 understanding of
the consequences, mankind would be governed by conviction, and would respond through
faith or doubt. Hence,
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G I A N T S
while God loved all his angels, man would hold a special place in creation—for we would
make our choices solely from the heart and not from sight. These are all things which the
hosts of God have desired to look into, but have never experienced. And these are things
which mystify the Overlords, but which man knows instinctively. And it is because of our
special place in Yahweh's heart that we are the objects of loving care on the part of our Holy
Guardians—but the targets of jealousy and temptation by the Rulers of Darkness."
Poseidon looked at the ceiling of his chamber as if deep in thought, and Noah seemed to
discern a twitch along the side of his face.
The son of Lamech then glanced at his friend, who had stood silently beside him throughout
his discourse, and Obad nodded toward the walls of the room. As the mountaineer had been
speaking, a small crowd had been gathering, and he noticed them only now. They were a
strange collection of people, each attired differently, some in long white garments and
others in black, with peculiar emblems adorning them. They appeared not to be ser-
vants of the chamber, but specially designated elders of some kind, both men and women.
Here was a group with heavily painted faces, and pendants made to resemble rays. Their
eyes seemed to bore through him, and he reasoned that they were the oracles of the
chamber. In dark habits, their heads veiled by hoods, stood the witches and warlocks who
were said to have great powers. And overseeing them all was one hoary old man, a tall staff
in his hand, with a large black bird perched upon its crook.
The mountaineer, because he was a man, could not help but especially notice the
female who, with her courtesans, stood in one corner of the room. Her simple white gown,
gatheled at one shoulder by a sun-shaped pin, and cinched into her waist like an hour glass,
revealed one bare breast. "A priestess," he told himself, "—priestess
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of Lucifer." And he turned his eyes quickly to the floor. He dare not look her way again, but
he wondered if he had seen his sister standing not far from her. Oh, Adala, he thought to
himself. May Yahweh spare you.
But now Poseidon spoke again, and Noah was riveted by his voice.
"Once more," he demanded, "you have not explained 'the Fall.' Adam lost his original
estate?"
"I was leading to that," Noah assured him. "It was because we were created for a faith
walk that we were presented with doubt. The perfect setting of our birth necessitated the
presence of its opposite, evil. 'It is good,' Yahweh said of our world, but the light could shine
only through the presence of darkness, and the good could exist only in the presence of
evil!"
Poseidon laughed now, and so did the members of his congregation. "But Adam was
ignorant of this? What pleasure could Yahweh have in ignorance?"
"I did not say 'ignorant,' Daemon. I said 'innocent.' We did not lack wisdom. We lacked
knowledge. But not for long. And our knowledge, when we received it, would be from a voice
beyond ourselves, not from an inborn sight. Thus, we would have to choose by faith or
doubt."
"And from whence did the voice originate?" Poseidon demanded.
"When we listened to the Serpent, we became fools of knowledge, and lost the wisdom of
innocence," Noah concluded.
The Daemon did not take his eyes from Noah now. For a long moment he scrutinized the
homespun philosopher as if not convinced that one so unassuming could weave such
shining logic in the presence of oracles. At last he found the words for one more challenge
and spoke forthrightly
"I fail to see how knowledge of any kind can produce foolishness, Noah. Can you explain
this?"
The mountaineer received the query graciously, sensing
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that the truth was taking hold. "Our lack of knowledge was not a lack of facts. We knew all
the particulars necessary to life, happiness, and wisdom. What we lacked was experience,
the experience of failure, the fruit of doubt and disobedience. The Serpent convinced our
Mother Eve, and through her, our Father Adam, that such experience would be liberating. And
the Serpent, your Lightbearer, your Lucifer, proved himself the minister of death to our souls!"
Poseidon stirred angrily, but did not say a word.
"And so," Noah summed up, "the fundamental difference between men and Lucifer's
angels is that the angels fell through choice and man through choice based on deception."
Now the deity's eyes flashed and a nervous laugh escaped his lips. "This hardly seems a
radical difference!"
"It is the most radical, Great Poseidon. It is the ethical and fundamental difference. And
because of it, Yahweh has already prepared a Redeemer for our race, for the race created a
little lower than the angels. And the world as we know it shall be obliterated!"
The Daemon's mocking was now unbounded. "Obliterated?"
"Yes, Knowing One. Our Father Adam, in whom you seem to have a great interest,
predicted the destruction of all things because of apostasy. This terrible cataclysm will take
place alternately by the force of fire and the overwhelming powers of water!"
The crowd was overcome now by hilarity, holding their sides and laughing together. The
deity could stand no more. Pointing an enraged finger in Noah's face, he cried, "You are
lunatic, son of Lamech! You must leave this place and, for your own good, keep your lunacy
to yourself!"
Adala, who had been observing the proceedings fearfully, yet with pride in her brother's
eloquence and courage, breathed a sigh of relief at this pronouncement. It
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appeared that she would not now need to challenge her Master for the freedom of the
Sethites.
But Poseidon had noted her happy expression, and was also aware of the fond gaze which
passed between Obad and the woman.
"However," he quickly judged, "your companion shall be retained. For he has the spirit of
insurrection!"
Adala gasped and turned speechlessly to her lord. Tears welled in her eyes, but the god was
not moved. Poseidon only leaned, self-satisfied, into his great chair, as guards laid ruthless
hands upon the intruders.
As Obad was taken one way toward the dungeon, and Noah was escorted to the hall, the
Sethites had time for only a quick glance at one another.
"This way," some brute demanded, forcing Noah from the room.
As he was ushered through the door and into the corridor, he passed leering and mocking
faces—painted, gaudy, obscene. But one in particular would remain with him. The very old
man, the sorcerer with the great white beard, studied him ominously as he went by, and Noah
sensed a warning in his eyes. At that instant the old fellow was caught by Poseidon's gaze
and nodded to him as if in silent communication. But just as quickly he returned his eyes to
Noah, and the last impression the Sethite would hold as he walked from the secret
chamber was the cawing of the raven on the wizard's staff.
THIRTEEN
Noah's breathing was heavy and tears stung along his lashes as he raced his horse up the
shore and away from the City of the Sun. A salty midday wind lashed his hair as he drove
the horse faster and faster, and with each drumming hoofbeat his heart thundered.
A great distance from the capital, he stood in the stirrups looking back at the gleaming
skyline where it was now tinged pink in the glow of afternoon. He wondered what fate the
Daemon plotted for the friend of his childhood, and he wondered if Adala, too, was now more
endangered than she had been before their impetuous escapade.
"Yahweh!" he cried, his voice lost in the pounding surf as he pushed the horse to greater
speed. "I thought you were with me!"
He wiped the sweat and the tears from his face with a swipe of his sleeve, but not until
he reached a rocky protrusion which rose from the sea north of Cronos did he slow his
steed and stroke its heaving sides. He dismounted and tied his animal to a weathered root,
then climbed the jagged black granite to a niche hollowed out just above the salty spray.
The sky was lit to scarlet where the fiery orb descended, and Noah watched it sink to the
horizon. He marveled
at the way it seemed to melt and spread into the sea, as
if it were dissolving, and he understood why the unedu-
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cated might think the earth was flat and that the Sun was reborn anew each morning.
As he rested in the hollow of the stationary granite, his spirit eased with his slowing
pulse. He awaited the rising of the pinpoint lights which never failed to adorn the canopy of
earth each evening. And he remembered the science of the stars which he had learned in the
village school. His master, though a Sethite, never denied that the travels and the position
of the luminaries did sometimes portend great and universal events. He explained that they
often served as the map by which wise men could read of the plans of Yahweh for their own
age. The planets were not equal to Yahweh, but were responders, as was all creation, to
the movements of his will and design. From the moment of creation, when the void had
taken substance, they had been the instruments of Yahweh's fingers; their music had
hummed his praises and they had shouted for joy at his decisions. So had their Overlords. For
each pinpoint—not the flickering suns, but the stabler lights—had its government, and its
Sons of God in control. Earth was the only dark planet, the only garden to whom the
luciferic hosts had been abandoned. But it would one day shine, Noah knew. It would join the
celestial choir.
The Rulers of Darkness had sought to wrest the study of the stars to their own
advantage, claiming that they could predict and manipulate all things through special
insights. "All things have been perverted," Noah muttered, casting a crooked pebble into
the frothy waves. "There is no power or gift which they have not distorted!"
But as he spoke he was interrupted. A glistening gray
sheen drew his eyes to the surf, out from the spray which dashed against the rocks. It leaped
high above the waters in a silver arc, and the setting sun caught its dorsal fin in a red
flash.
"Son of man!" the dolphin cried. Noah sat up sharply and rubbed his eyes. He had heard
that certain creatures
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G I A N T S
of the sea had retained the gift of speech to a greater degree than land animals. But he
had never before witnessed anything like this.
Just as he was about to pass it off as imagination, however, the glistening creature came
nearer, leaping within the surf itself, over and over. "Son of man," it repeated, its rigid mouth
drawn up in characteristic smile, "do not sorrow!"
Once more it dove beneath the surface and came up again.
"Son of man, rejoice!" it called, and then disappeared in a white curtain of brine.
Noah stood up now and watched for its return, but it did not appear again. He studied the
water of its departure, and his eyes were caught by the spraying surf where it had
descended.
The long rays of sun were captured in the vapor strangely, bent and prismed in a
multicolored bow. He had seen such a thing before, in the steam of waterfalls or in the
tumbling cascades where rivers fell down. But the sign had never seemed so important
before, and he wondered at its beauty.
As the colored vapor dissipated his heart sang, and he left the rock with renewed
courage. His horse waited patiently upon the sand, and as Noah mounted he whispered a
thank you in its ear.
The road home did not seem so foreboding now. The son of Lamech pointed his horse
toward the twilight hills, and did not look back.
If he had he would have seen the steel-eyed raven, the sorcerer's familiar, who tracked him
overhead.
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FOURTEEN
The hills of earth had always intrigued Noah. While the world's single continent, which
spanned nearly one-half of the globe, was broken up by lake-sized rivers and great seas,
there was no part isolated, or which could not be reached by foot. There were areas,
however, where the terrain ascended to such heights, it became lost in the mists of
heaven. And no man traversed those places. Such mountain lands had always been
considered mystical and even sacred by the bulk of humanity. Even the Sethites, who limited
themselves to the worship of Yahweh, could not help but wonder who might inhabit the
shrouded regions, and what power such beings might possess.
Legend had it that in the early history of the planet, when the gods had been established
over the various territories of men, and when the human population had begun to push
back the wilderness, the "greater" gods had taken up residence in the highlands. The
mountains of the gods were known by various names, many of which were corruptions of the
name Adamlanda, or Adalandis.
"Atlantis," "Alantis," "Alampis," "Olympus," and even,
as time passed, distant etymological cousins such as "Shamballa" and "Nirvana."
It was said that from these heights the "greater" Overseers communicated with the
"lesser" (such beings as Poseidon) and with aie even higher MENTOR, the Prince
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of the Air, Lucifer. Thus all the high or heavenly bodies, the sun and the moon, the stars
and other planets came to be viewed as divine entities with minds and wills to be invoked
and worshiped. Progressively, as man lifted his eyes from the plains to the hills, and
eventually to space, he deified all creation, forgetting the one true God, to whom alone his
eyes should have been lifted.
But it was all part of "The Plan," anchored on earth by the Fallen Ones, and
systematically indoctrinated into men's hearts. From the worship of the elemental spirits
of nature to the high scheme of universal polytheism, the hearts of men were turned to
the "Master."
And why not? The government of the gods was, for the most part, quite humane.
And their works were even greater. No one could doubt the existence of the "Olympians"
when they observed the mighty structures whose building the Masters had overseen. And
it was a rare man or woman who had not been eye-witness to the comings and goings of their
sky-chariots when the ziggurats, the pyramids, and the lofty flight terraces were
constructed, or when the giant monolithic faces of Zeus and Baal were lifted along the
sea. So many were their works and so close were they to populated regions, that only the
blind could fail to realize the involvement of the Great Ones.
This day as Noah rode toward the mountains of Lamechtown, his eyes were drawn, as
always, to the foggy heights which towered, no one knew how high, above.
He contemplated the countless dynasties and civilizations which had risen and fallen on
earth. He thought on the wars which city had played against city, and the ceaseless
violence which had become a part of everyday life on the plains below. Yet, progress
never faltered, advancement was never delayed, and despite man's successes and
Yahweh's generosity, people's hearts were increasingly hardened.
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And then he remembered Obad's prediction and raised a trembling hand to his mouth.
"Lord," he whispered, "I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell among a people of unclean
lips. Surely I am no fit prophet."
Yet, he thought, how presumptuous that he should even be arguing with a prediction that
had no verification. Obad alone had planted the notion of such a calling in his head. There
had been no word from Yahweh to this effect. "In fact," he laughed, "I have never had a
word from Yahweh to any effect. My knowledge of Yahweh is strictly what my father and his
father and their fathers before them have handed down!"
Still, even as he made this objection, his heart ached. For he knew Yahweh had been with
him since childhood. Though he had never heard the Lord's voice, Noah had known his
guidance and companionship more surely than a brother's.
Noah could now see the little hamlet he called home peeking white through its green
bower along the hill some five miles ahead. He considered his father, for whom the town was
named, and remembered the story of his own weaning party and how Lamech had chosen
the name for his son. Names were often considered an endowment among the Sethites.
While sometimes they only indicated a personal feature, a life quality, or a hoped-for trait,
they were often believed to predict some destiny for the child.
Lamech, according to tradition, had disappeared into the wilderness for three days prior
to the celebration, where he would spend his time praying for Yahweh's mind regarding his son.
When he returned to the festive garden where his friends waited, he had borne a puzzled
expression.
Times had been rich for the people of Lamechtown. Work had been easy and fruitful,
and the village basked in leisure and economic security as never before. What Lamech had
to say of his son's purpose seemed of little import in light of the prosperity the family and
their
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NO A H
associates were experiencing. Nevertheless, Lamech was certain Yahweh had impressed
him to announce, "His name shall be 'Noah,' for he shall give us rest from our work and
from the toil of our hands arising from the ground which the Lord has cursed."
The guests had fallen silent as they awaited the pronouncement, watching the father
raise his three-year-old in strong hands to the sky. But with these words, they were as
puzzled as he, and a ripple of laughter had moved through the gathering.
Lamech had eyed them sternly, however, and as they read the seriousness with which
he took the moment, they had returned to their banquet in a somber mood.
Noah's mother had told him this tale when he was old enough to hear it, and she had
embraced his small shoulders with her ample arm. "I know that your purpose shall be great,"
she had assured him. "We cannot see all things on this plane, and Yahweh's plans are
often inscrutable. But one day we shall see his design and you will be surprised at your own
destiny."
The mountaineer spurred his horse. Suddenly he was very eager to be with Lamech, and
with his only brother, jaseth. The sure-footed steed sensed his anxiety and made its way
over the familiar trail rapidly
It was peculiar, then, when the horse's foot slipped. He had traveled this route a hundred
times. But without warning he was tumbling down the bank and to a rude halt on the
graveled flat beside the road.
Noah found his own footing where the horse had thrown him, and helped the creature
rise up. He dusted the dirt from his garment and stroked the horse's nose with a gentle
"Steady, boy," while he looked for a way up to the trail.
Suddenly, however, the earth along the hill above began to move and a slide of rocky
shale plummeted across the road and into the ravine,below. Noah and his animal dashed
for a hollow along the bank and watched in terror
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as the great mountain seemed to heave before them, splitting the road ahead as with a giant
cleaver.
The earth did not do such things, not that Noah had ever heard. The earth was a stable
mass, not given to throes and shaking. The son of Lamech waited for the tremor to abate,
and after some moments, stepped hesitantly out of the cave.
"What is it, boy?" he asked his companion. "Is the earth angry?"
He quickly determined that there was no way he could reach home as he had planned. He
looked down the ravine for the nearest way around the slide, and his eyes lit on a tattered
branch wedged between the shale. A black bird, the raven of Poseidon's chamber, was
perched there. And as it watched him, it let out a laughing caw.
FIFTEEN
A light breeze from Poseidon's bedroom window flirted with Adala's hair, blowing it back from her bare
shoulders. She sat beside the opening, leaning her head upon one hand, and watched the white
seabirds making arcs high above the pale blue water of the Adlandic, or skimming its surface,
foraging for fingerlings.
Ateacrayselisphpeeldowdowthne herlashesanddanaddfieplinuptohne thefinecoverlet which she had thrown over her
torso. She had done nothing all afternoon but think on Obad, and on all that she had witnessed in
the court. An hour in the
steam
waters of the priestess' spa had not served to clear her mind, although she had been told it would.
She had been told many things since coming here: that she would be happy beyond imagining, that
in time she would forget her family and her betrothed, that Poseidon truly loved her and wished only
happiness to kiss her days.
She gazed at the coverlet, into which such fine embroidery had been worked she felt she could go
blind by tracing it. All the fabric of the gods was based upon one weave, she had been told—a weave
of 365 filaments per thread, and twelve threads per cord. All designs applied to the cloth were in
increments of sevens and fours, representing the days and weeks of the twelve cycles and the 365
revolutions of each year. The extra days of the calendar not covered in the twenty-eight allotted
each
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month were put to advantage in little assymetrical surprises within the design, so that all
together, every garment, blanket, and tapestry was imbued with worship to the Sun, and
protected not only the body, but the soul.
Adala studied the activities of the gulls again and watched as one headed toward the
beach with a flopping piece of silver wedged within his rigid beak. As he lay it on the warm
sand, it tried desperately to wriggle its way back to the brine, but with one flick of the
gull's head, it was impaled, the beak serving as a stake to halt its rebellion.
Adala rose from the window and threw herself across the gigantic bed upon which
Poseidon had made her his own. Quiet sobs shook her. She dare not let anyone know that
she felt as helpless and as mortally spoiled as that tiny fish.
At last she sat erect and tried to compose herself. She held on to the great iron
bedstead which framed the resting place, and felt extremely small, engulfed by the
proportions of everything about her. Intricate dolphins, mermaids, and heads of gargoyles
were the featured decor of the footboard, and she recoiled at the memory of those black faces
and obsidian eyes which had watched her virginal initiation.
Suddenly, she was weeping. She drew one of the heavy pillows from the bed and buried
her face in it, as visions of Obad and the sorrow she had caused him danced grotesquely
through her mind.
Her uncontrolled mourning brought the response which she had tried to avoid. She
heard the chamber door open and knew that her lord had been summoned. "I will see to it,"
he was telling someone in the hall. "She will be fine."
And now she sensed his presence beside her. She was afraid to take her eyes from the
pillow, but she knew he stood at her shoulder.
When he placed his warm, beseeching hand upon her,
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she could contain herself no longer, and wrenched herself away with a low moan.
"My lady," the Being whispered. "You mourn for your brothers, I see. And this is well. It
should be so. But in time you will see my wisdom."
Adala still had not faced him and as the deity sat beside her he pulled her around and lifted
her face to his. The woman remembered how his gaze had entranced her at the pond of
Moricahn, and she resisted with all her strength the beckoning of his eyes.
"You know, my lord, that Noah alone is my brother! You knew it from the start!" she
cried.
The Sea Master passed his hand slowly over her shoulder and then reached up to stroke
her brow. "Of course, Adala. Your lord knows all about you. But, you will see. In time the
memory of your past will fade away, and my love will be all you need."
The daughter of Lamech could have been caught away by his persuasion, but it was no
longer her upbringing alone on which she relied for her strength. She had the wisdom of
experience now, and she knew that the Halls of Poseidon were the marketplace of lies.
"You and your governors are deceivers!" she insisted, leaping from the bed and turning her
eyes to the sea. "I believe my brother is right in all he was preaching when he stood in your
hall. And your rule is coming to an end!"
The Fallen One sensed her strength of will, and somehow knew that it was past breaking
a second time. He studied her graceful form where it was framed in sunlight and his heart
ached. "I see then that you have been mesmerized by this lunatic son of the mountains!"
"Not mesmerized!" Adala cried, flashing an angry countenance. "I have been brought back
to myself—a self which you beguiled from me as surely as the Serpent beguiled our
Mother! I am Obad's rightful wife, and none of yours!"
The deity did not flinch at this. In fact, he made no
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move at all. Suddenly he was sitting upright, his chin lifted and his eyes rolled back in
his head. For a long moment he held this position and Adala trembled with the witness.
She knew he was "communicating," as he called it. And she turned her eyes to the door.
It was not long before it opened. No one told her where she was being taken. But within a
short while she would be joining her Sethite lover in the peace of eternity.
4;
SIXTEEN
Noah had never been to the great elevated plain west of the Valley of the Turtles. But as he
sought a way around the fissure which had begun along the Lamechtown ridge, he was
taken across the valley and high onto the slopes to the west, which overlooked the mesa
in the misty distance. He had often heard strange tales of the place, told by those who
traveled in that part of the world. Rumor held that it was a flight strip for the Olympians,
and was named Baalbek Terrace for one of the great gods who had helped construct it.
Today, as he finally came to the far end of the cleft which the earthquake had created,
and as he was about to make his way around the fissure back toward his hometown, he spied
the strange tableland as a flash of silvery light bounced from its summit.
Having come this far out of his way, he reasoned that half a day's journey to spy out the
activity of the terrace would not be a sacrifice too great for the knowledge he would gain. If
the gods truly were involved in the doings of Baalbek, it would be worth his while to look into
the matter.
The slope ascending to the platform was extremely steep, and, after four hours of travel
across open plain, could be attempted only after the swamp at its base had been traversed.
The motivation to perform this, however, urged Noah past delay, for just as he reached it the
ground
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along the plain began to tremble. Perhaps if he sought higher footing quickly, he would be
spared any danger which the heaving ground might pose.
He did not stop to remove his sandals, but only gathered his robes between his legs before
he strode knee-deep through the sluggish waters. And as his feet touched ground at the
base of the mesa, the earth gave one more wrenching jolt and subsided.
At that instant, a roar as of many waters filled the air overhead, and Noah looked up to see
a dozen sky-chariots leaping from the mountaintop and darting across the plain. They rose
and dove repeatedly as if inspecting the ground for damage, and finding none returned to
their port on the tableland.
Now curiosity spurred the Sethite to even greater effort. This sign, along with the laughing
raven, made him fear that the gods themselves were responsible for the strange tremors in
the land, and he inched his way up the precarious mountain wall determined to know the
meaning of it all.
What he found when he reached the top chilled his very soul. Bracing his feet against a
dry root, he pulled himself up so that his chin rested on the table top and cautiously turned
his head this way and that until he was convinced it was safe to proceed. He had not
gone far across the mesa before he heard the sounds of drumbeats and strange chanting.
From the vantage point of a concealing bush he saw the participants, some of whom he
recognized from Poseidon's court.
They were performing a ritual. He need not be told what it would lead to. He had heard
of such meetings being held in the temple courts of most Adlandian cities, between the
pillars of law and upon the orichalchum altars. This was the ritual of sacrifice and would
climax, he knew, in the death of some human being.
The members of several city courts apparently were represented here. In fact, as Noah
made a hasty calcula-
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tion, he reasoned that the terrace held representatives of every Adlandian state, the
governors of all the earth.
An awesome vibration rose from the chorus of chanting voices. Over and over they repeated
a single syllable in a great hum, and Noah knew they were invoking the Over-soul, the Spirit of
the Air—the Prince of This World. The teaching was common among all people of earth,
save the Sethites, that the Higher Good and Universal Spirit could be petitioned by this
method. For it was believed that the sound was in synchrony with the hum of the stars
and the music of the spheres, the vibration of "universal energy." Noah and his kin would not
have quarreled with such a practice had the rite not been so often mixed with worship of the
gods. Hence they suspected that the "Universal Spirit" being invoked was Lucifer himself. Had
Noah ever doubted, his doubts were put aside today. For the ritualists were none other than
Lucifer's own. And with the monosyllabic chorus he now heard the rising chant of one
number, repeated three times, over and over. This number repeated thrice was, he knew,
symbolic of a trinity, the principalities, powers, and unseen agencies of the world system,
and it was one number below the number of perfection—below the number of Yahweh himself.
Just as this symbol began to be chanted, however, the ground at the base of the mesa
heaved again, and the mountain shook dreadfully. The response of the petitioners was
unexpected. Noah would have thought the rumblings an answer to their prayers—that the
strange behavior of the earth had been at their instigation. But this appeared not to be.
For the worshipers were clearly terrified, falling to their knees and chanting yet more
vehemently. Here and there members of the throng threw dust over their own heads and rent
thek garments.
Suddenly the chant changed from the symbolic to the
literal. "Lucifer—Lucifer—Lucifer!" they cried, pleading
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that he intervene with the trauma of the landscape.
And when yet more rumblings followed, and the mountain itself threatened to divide, a great
cry was heard from the platform at the head of the congregation, upon which, to this point,
no one had taken a stand.
The figure who ascended the stage was familiar to Noah. He recognized him
instantly. Eight feet tall he stood—his mighty legs spread in a straddle. He was the keeper
of the Hall of the Nephilim—a son of Poseidon. Noah drew back behind the bush, though he
knew the giant's eyes would not be upon him.
"Sacrifice!" the Being cried. "The ground will not be appeased without sacrifice!"
Noah trembled and followed the gaze of the throng. Someone was being escorted down a
wide aisle from the back of the tableland. For a moment the crowd was hushed, but at
the sound of the victim's cry, they went wild, screaming and raising their fists to the setting
sun.
It was not until the human scapegoat was brought to the platform that Noah was able to
catch a glimpse of her. And as he did, his heart stopped.
"Adala!" he groaned, the word escaping past his fear.
Dressed in white linen, she stood pale and helpless before the Nephil, her head bent
beneath his cruel gaze. But she would not die alone. Apparently Poseidon's jealousy
had convinced him—or would convince the crowd—that the circumstances called for more
than one atonement. Beside her stood the golden-haired Sethite of Cronos, Noah's dearest
friend.
The mountaineer would not witness the execution of Obad and Adala. He would hear their
final cries and then the abrupt silence which followed. But the rumbling of the earth which
began again along the plain reached his place on the mesa before it reached the others,
and he was thrown from his footing just as the sword of death descended.
Nor would the throng along the tableland have time
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to celebrate the sacrifice. They would know only that it had not satisfied the ground.
Like a knife, in synchrony with the death sword, the quake rent the mountain, casting
hundreds into its abyss.
The son of Lamech, bruised and torn, slid feet first to firmer ground. And when he had
reached a cleft which seemed secure, he observed the ravaged mesa.
The rumbling had ceased and the sound of weeping could be heard coming from the
scattered few left alone on the mount above. Noah clung to the hillside and buried his face in
the yellow earth. Convulsions of sorrow and fear wracked him. for a long while he lay
thus, until darkness overtook the land and the vapors of night ascended from the broken
ground.
He could not see the mountains of home. They were lost in the blackness; but he
descended the place of destruction and turned instinctively to the east.
When the caw of the raven haunted his steps, he raised his fist to the air. "I know-, devil
bird! You thought your master's Master ruled the earth, and that these things were
wrought by him. But you see now the warning of Yahweh, and that he holds this planet in
his hand!"
P A R T I I
ONLY EVIL CONTINUALLY
The Lord saw that the wickedness of man was great in the earth, and that every
imagination of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually.
Now the earth was corrupt in God's sight, and the earth was filled with violence.
And the Lord was sorry that he had made man on the earth, and it grieved him to his
heart.
Genesis 6:5, 11, and 6, RSV
ONE
The ships of Adlandia were not sailing vessels. They were equipped with small riggings which
could be raised to capture the fleeting breezes that occasionally dappled the salty deep. But
since there was no strong wind, there was no use for the great sheets which would propel
the ships of later generations.
The ships of Adlandia, however, were speedy vessels. They took advantage of the
currents and tidal forces of the network sea, but they also ploughed the waters with the
force of unearthly power.
The harbors of earth, therefore, were not quiet places. The shooting of steam from
mammoth boilers, the chug of great cranks and wheels and gears, the whistle and sleek
whirring of engines driven by the splitting of atoms and the fission of neutrons made harbors
the scene of dynamic commerce and unceasing activity.
Noah was enamored with such places. Though a large part of him would always need the
solitude of mountains and the restorative peace of trees, though he preferred the horse to a
ride in a sky-machine, he loved the sea and all the industry of man which encompassed it,
traversed it, and used it.
Noah was not a simple person. His father had always wished he were. But the accounting
desk could not appease his sense of life or his call to adventure. He was
many-faceted, taking delight in the varied world of his
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nativity. To sit beside a quiet stream pleasured him, but to sit upon a metropolitan dock
fed another part of his soul.
Lamech, who was content with the mountains, and who wished Noah were more
pleased to serve there alone, had actually bred into his son a love for the wider world by
teaching him of Yahweh. For God, he had told the boy, holds it all, and is to be found in all
things.
What was simple about Noah was that he thrived on the challenge of change.
Change had been a long time coming of late. Noah had been staying in Cronos for
several months, and today, as he sat upon one of the pilings of a harbor pier, his eyes did
not linger on the fleet ships of trade so much as on the great floating barges which
slowly passed the mouth of the sound.
One of these, apparently constructed of gopher wood and bitumen, was likely a product
of his father's own export business. He followed its patient passage as it set its rudders to
float north.
"Toward home . . . ," he whispered.
He wondered what its cargo might be. Something which could abide long storage, he
reasoned. Dry goods of some kind. Likely fabrics and bulk grains from the cotton-woolen
mills and wheat fields of the interior, up behind the Cronos peninsula. There was a steady
demand for such products in the mountains, and the merchants who specialized in them
could afford the more time-consuming travel of the barges, especially as such transportation
was vastly cheaper than the quick passage of powered
He thought about his father and the quiet existence he could be sharing with him
now He thought of his -years with Jaseth, and hew he was losing touch with him. But
nothing had been the same since the deaths of Adala and Obad. Though five years had
elapsed since the grisly spectacle at Baalbek, the son of Lamech had never shaken
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it. His life had been in perpetual tension between the love of home and the urgency to
pace the cities—to observe, to record, to watch the increasing evidence of man's depravity.
Why this must be, he feared to contemplate. Yet, since the night Obad had predicted it,
Noah had sensed a quiet call. He still resisted, but found his steps more and more leading to
a climax of surrender.
After the night at Baalbek and after making his way through the devastated landscape,
back to Lamechtown, he had tried to forget. He had tried to be content with ledgers and
figures. But his sleep was never easy. His waking thoughts were obsessed with what he
had seen, and his dreams at night were repetitions of horror.
And so he had left home to stay with Obad's father, Shubag, in the coast city. He had
maintained himself by working for the old Sethite, helping to keep his mercantile books in the
large office which housed several accountants. But his spare time—all of it—was devoted
to the streets, where he lingered like a shadow, evening upon evening.
It seemed that Yahweh propelled him there. It seemed, though he had never heard the
voice of the Lord, that Yahweh was saying, "See, Noah; observe. See what my people
have come to. Watch and learn what sinfulness stalks the byways. Understand why
my heart breaks, and why my anger is kindled."
What he witnessed was repugnant to him, not as blatant or blood-chilling as the
Baalbek scene had been, but in some ways more ominous. For the violent immorality of
the people was no longer secret rite, nor was it veiled by any religious pretense. It was
not only without rationale, but without conscience. It had grown past defiance of God, to
utter godlessness. Sorry as conditions had been five years before, they had deteriorated so
rapidly he hardly recognized the culture as the same one he had preached against at
Poseidon's throne.
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Therefore, today, as he watched the harbor, his eyes were more often drawn to the
great barges than to the speedier vessels. His heart was carried toward their destination,
the north country. And he longed for home.
An evening breeze wafted inland from the sea, and the orange sun began to settle upon
the Adlandian horizon, sending its glow fanlike through the sky's white veil. Noah pulled
his cloak close to his chest and stepped down from the piling. The mists which watered the
earth each day were always heaviest near great bodies of water, and always began to
condense there first. Noah knew that if he did not seek shelter soon, he would return
home damp to the skin.
Already he had turned toward Shubag's too late to avoid the thick fog which would quickly
fill the streets nearest the shore. The old man had warned him of the dense blanket
which the coast city donned each night. "You will have trouble knowing one foot from the
other if you are down by the water," he had said. "Folks who have lived here all their lives
are sometimes confused. Be sure you memorize the landmarks if you would find your way
home!"
Surely Shubag exaggerated, Noah chuckled as he went the first few blocks without
difficulty. He had spent so many evenings in the city without incident, he could not believe
the proximity to shore would make so much difference. But the fog was growing soupy, the
way less familiar. If he could only find the road to the market square he knew he would
be all right.
The flashing lights of the tavern rows were no help. He did not recognize this part of town,
and the brilliant signs served only to add an eeriness to the already vague pathway.
Only as he actually passed the doorways where the interiors of fogless cabarets
beckoned, could he discern one building from another. And the raucous laughter, the
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obscene fellowship which met his eyes and ears forced him on.
At last, when he could not even see his own hand before him, and when he did not know
which way to turn, he stopped and, reaching forth, found a low wall beside him. He
reasoned that it must be the fence bordering some establishment; but no one would see
him stopping there, so he sat down to rest.
He had heard voices as he had come upon this place. But voices had been everywhere
along the way, shouting from the brothels, laughing in the gutters. He had taken little heed
of the sounds behind the wall. Now as he sat still, reasoning how to proceed, they became
more clear, and Noah feared to listen.
Several of the utterances were those of grown men, and the men seemed to grapple
with one another for some coveted object. "I found it first!" one cried. And then another,
"No—it was mine from the start. I saw it walk into the place!"
"It?" Noah wondered. Did they speak of a thing or of a living being?
The answer was quick in coming, as he discerned a muffled cry. It seemed they had
a victim in tow, who now struggled to be heard.
"Quiet!" one of the brawlers demanded.
"Don't let him go!" yet another cried. "We'll never find him in this fog!"
So the helpless one was another male. Noah scooted quietly down from the wall and
hid himself beside it. Perhaps they meant to rob this poor fellow—or—Noah feared to
consider the ways in which they would ensure their quarry's silence.
But their crime would not even be that common. As their prey managed a loud outcry,
the Sethite jolted. It was the plea of a young boy, and suddenly he knew the intentions of
the captors.
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Had there not been so many of them, Noah would have leaped the wall to the lad's
defense. But he had discerned at least half a dozen different voices besides the boy's,
and he slumped down weakly, reliving the agony of Baalbek.
"Where are the children of Seth?" he whispered. "Do the Sons of Cain rule the earth?
Yahweh!" he whispered. "Is there nothing you can do!"
But all the answer he received was a momentary silence, as the assailants beyond
the wall wrestled their little subject to the ground. And as this was followed by the brutal
groans of sexual assault, the Sethite staggered to his feet.
He managed to make the next corner before his stomach revolted and oblivion
overtook him. It would not be until morning had burned away the night and the sun had
dispelled the fog that he would be forced to remember the cries and accept his
impotence to change what had happened.
• TWO
Shubag would have sent servants to find the son of Lamech, but something prevented
him. As he stood at evening on the veranda which gave his home a commanding view of
the wharves and docks, he had feared for Noah's safety, wondering why he had not
returned. With descending dark, his anxiety had grown. But he had waited, even
through the night, sensing that the delay was in Yahweh's hands, and would work for
good.
The old Sethite could not sleep. He rose from his bed and paced his chamber over and
over. "He was meant to be your prophet, Lord," he muttered. "He has resisted but must
ultimately yield." His eyes lingered over the fireplace in the center of the room where he
and his son, Obad, had often spoken of deep things. The two had agreed early on, when they
had become involved with the family of Lamech, that there was something very special
about Noah. What Obad had predicted in the dungeon of Poseidon was not original
with him. Shubag had believed it years before, and experience with the son of Lamech
had only confirmed it time and again.
Therefore, tonight, he claimed that assurance, just as he had been forced to do on
several occasions since Noah had come to stay in his home. Had any of his other
employees frequented the streets, or taken to lingering around the dark corners of town, he
would have upbraided them severely. But—with Noah, things were different. He
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had known, from the moment the young man had arrived, that he was on a mission. And,
indeed, it seemed Shubag understood that more clearly than Noah himself.
He recalled how bewildered the young Sethite had been at the strange compulsions
which led him to the evening vigils, to the treks through town at odd hours. He recalled the
first times when Noah had returned from those journeys only to sit for hours in his room,
jotting notes in his diary.
Shubag knew that Noah did not comprehend his own destiny, but he also knew that in
time he would. And he sensed that this evening the understanding had taken hold.
It was therefore no great surprise to Shubag when word came of Noah's whereabouts.
The news was brought by an elderly female housekeeper, known for her nervous
reactions to things. She pummeled the door with anxious knocking, and when Shubag
admitted her, she burst in with a flurry, rubbing her hands together and pointing toward
the street. "Young Master Noah is in the marketplace!" she cried. "It's barely dawn and
he's causing a ruckus in the square!"
Shubag stood up from his couch and nodded to her patiently. "Well, then, so he has
been found."
"Found? Who could miss him? He's wakened the whole city! Oh, my lord, I told you this
one was a troublemaker. I warned you he belonged in the hills!"
"Now, Matrina," Shubag said smiling, "you have been with us for years and I can entrust
you with many things about this house. But there is no need for you to worry over my
guests."
The old servant snapped her dark eyes toward the veranda. "But, you should hear him!"
she insisted.
"What is he saying? " Shubag deferred.
"He's . . . he's . . . preaching!"
The elder Sethite studied her carefully "Are you certain?" he inquired.
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"Hear for yourself, sir!" she pleaded. "Lean your head out the window and listen!"
Shubag did as she suggested, his heart almost afraid of the fulfillment. He walked to the
veranda and peered up the street. He could not see the square, for it was around the
corner from the wharves which fronted his home. But, indeed, he could hear someone's
vehement cries, and though he could not make out the words, the voice was certainly
Noah's.
As he stepped back into the chamber his eyes were misty, and his gaze faraway.
"Didn't I tell you?" the housekeeper insisted. "First his strange wandering and lurking about
town, his hours of isolation—and now this! I tell you, the son of Lamech is not well!" With
these words she pointed to her temple, making a circular motion with her finger.
Shubag chuckled and led her to the door. "Oh, Matrina —dear friend, the young man is
sane enough." And then, glancing toward the veranda, he said, "Very unusual he is—but
sane."
The man from the mountains had never looked more the part than he did today. His night
in the street and his agony of soul at what he had witnessed had made him haggard,
but he had the strength of vengeance in his stance. And the disheveled hair, the
flashing eyes only enhanced the impression that he was a wild man from the north
country.
He stood at dawn upon a crate unloaded from some ship at a merchant's booth and
ready to be opened for the day's bartering. When the wizened old barker who owned the
box had crept from his tent at the first sounds of Noah's preaching, he had tried to wrest
the crate from beneath the stranger's feet. But after delivering many curses and much
threatening, he had given up and had hidden within the sanctuary of his tarp, hoping no
one would associate him with the "lunatic."
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The marketplace was a common resort for peculiar thinkers. Daily amid the traders,
and between the little shops where the haggling and hawking took place, strange folk with
philosophies to sell and politics to peddle could be heard. They were often marked by odd
appearance and eccentric behavior. Inevitably they were loud and competed valiantly for
their audience. The town square was therefore a circus, not only of commerce, but of
intellect, religion, and entertainment.
Such people vied for a hearing from atop any elevated spot available. Quick-thinking
merchants had to be on guard lest their bundled goods become the podiums or the
stages for self-appointed orators. But the old fellow whose crate had been commandeered
today could not have known anyone would overtake it so early in the morning. He
peered from behind the flap of his tent, rubbing his chin nervously as his neighbors were
roused from sleep and clustered angrily about his booth. What hope is there for a profit
today? he wondered.
But Noah was not concerned for any of this. The memory of last night's ordeal had
joined with the Baalbek witness to hound his soul to submission. Yes, Yahweh, he would
preach. Oh, how he would preach!
"The sin of Cain has fallen upon us!" he began, his head thrown back and his arms
spread. His words filled the marketplace like a trumpet, and he repeated them over and
over, until a great crowd had gathered. "The sin of Cain has fallen upon us! The sin of Cain!
Sin of Cain!"
At first the audience watched him in bewilderment, wondering at his strange message,
and inquiring of one another who he might be. But as he continued, their bewilderment
changed to ripples of laughter.
"The whole earth is corrupt in the sight of God," he cried, "and filled with violence! All
flesh has corrupted its way upon the earth! And—iAdeed--every intent of the thoughts
of man's heart is only evil continually!"
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The manager of the marketplace sat with his paramour in a corner of the square. Though
intrigued by the spectacle, he fidgeted nervously. The market was not only a forum for
goods, products, and philosophy. It was a trading place for fleshly indulgence. He glanced to
the far wall where the tents of the prostitutes stood in scarlet rows, their colorful banners
a brazen summons. He saw the painted faces of the harlots peeking from behind the tar-
paulins, and he saw the oiled bodies of their male consorts as they emerged from the
parlors of seduction to observe the preacher. He had never heard such words as this moun-
tain man was speaking, but he sensed that they were not good for business.
"This was a great planet once," Noah went on, "created for our Father Adam and his
descendants. But our traffic with Lucifer has corrupted it—and the children of Cain, who
slew our brother Abel, have overcome the righteous line of Seth!"
Now the manager glanced to the far wall of the square and saw the town guard—a brutal
fellow known to have killed a dozen men in his time. The guard was watching Noah with a
cruel gleam in his eye, and the market chief became still more uneasy.
What was this crazy talk? the people wondered. They had heard of Cain. He was one
of the most prominent progenitors of the race. They had certainly heard of Adam. But what
"god" did he refer to who was not pleased with planet earth? And who could judge that the
thoughts of men's hearts were evil? Was not the whole world system designed to follow the
will of the Sun? Perhaps there was too much violence. Perhaps the enticements of the
flesh did not always satisfy. But wasn't the human race improving all the time? Wouldn't
their devotion to the gods bring them to perfection?
"You blaspheme the Sun!" someone challenged him, lifting a fist to hislace. "Who is
this god of whom you
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speak? If our Father Cain did sin, he has surely been redeemed—for his mighty works
are evident through his children!"
"Mighty works, indeed!" Noah responded. "Truly the advances are marvelous. The skills of
the Creator are our inheritance, and we work wonders with our hands. But Yahweh's Spirit
shall not always strive with man. There shall come a day when the God of heaven will be
grieved in his heart that he has made us!"
One of the tents against the far wall housed the trained creatures of bestiality. Their keeper's
business was a great financial asset to the square. At the sound of Noah's warning he
had stepped out of the shadows near his establishment and had cast a menacing glance at
the market's proprietor. Obviously he was calling for some type of interception, and the
manager knew he was expected to take action or face rude consequences. The market
chief cleared his throat and stood up on shaky legs.
"Good sir!" he called, beckoning to Noah. "We are entranced by your fluency and your
able preaching. But you must have patience with such folk as myself, for while many of
my brethren here are highly educated, I am ill informed regarding the lofty things of which
you speak."
The manager cast a furtive look at the gathering. The people were not displeased, and
so he proceeded. "I deduce, from your words, that you are a Sethite. Is this true?" he
began.
"I am."
"Then if the Sethites are especially approved by this god of yours, why are they a
dwindling race? It seems to me that when the Sun blesses, it is with life-giving power, and it
produces growth. Your race is not growing but diminishing, and Cain's race--is the
powerful one!"
The crowd liked this fellow's reasoning, and applauded as he drew his conclusion. But
Noah looked him squarely
in the eye. "I do not speak of the Sun, but of the God of
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gods, who holds all things, including the Golden Orb, in his hand! And I do not speak of
blessings and curses in the same way you do. For Yahweh's thoughts are not our thoughts,
and before he sees fit to bless, he often reduces us to a fragment of our strength. Before
he sees fit to redeem this earth, there will be a diminishing of all races, a loss greater
than we can comprehend!"
When the preacher made this assertion, the marketplace became a clatter of
whispers and murmurs. But Noah was not content to leave the subject. "Furthermore,"
he added, his voice strangely sad, "my people, the Sons of Seth, diminish because of their
traffic with evil. They are no longer distinct from the hoards of Cainites who have absorbed
them. There are but few Sethites who keep the old traditions, and it is for these that
Yahweh will prepare his salvation when the great calamity descends!"
As he spoke these words, it was only intuition which drew his eyes skyward. He had
no clear picture in his mind regarding "the calamity." But his gesture caused the
multitude to lift its gaze with him ; and as they wondered at his peculiar warnings they
murmured and whispered angrily among themselves.
THREE
Shubag had sat in his chamber throughout the morning, awaiting an account of Noah's
sermon. He had sent servants to the square as soon as he knew that the voice ringing
forth was that of Lamech's son. And they had just returned home ahead of the young
Sethite, where they anxiously repeated his strange message for their master's ears.
Now, as Shubag sat alone, contemplating the report, his eyes closed and he leaned
back into his chair in silent meditation.
It was upon this quiet scene that Noah came when he returned from the square, and
sought out his old friend and advisor. The young preacher stood awkwardly in the doorway
of the chamber for a long moment, and thinking that Shubag must have fallen asleep,
turned to leave. But the old fellow sensed his presence and called, "Do not go just yet."
The son of Larnech was surprised by the elder's call. The old man, whose hearing was
somewhat dimmed by age, could not have perceived his quiet shuffle at the door. But now
Shubag was motioning to him, his eyes still closed and his head resting against the back
of his chair.
Noah entered the dimly lit room reverently. There was a hush about this place which he
had encountered when in the presence of only one other man. When he had been
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a lad and his grandfather, Ishna, had summoned him for quiet chats, there had been the
same peacefulness in their meetings. The boy had been awed by it. As he had grown older,
and even now, when he remembered those times, the sensation was still there. And he
had known, because of this, that Ishna was a holy man.
Shubag's face was younger than that of Noah's grandfather. After all, Shubag was of
Lamech's generation. But the preacher realized in this moment, as never before, the
holiness of the one who would now speak of the day's calling.
"Your words were well given today," the elder began. "You were there?" Noah asked in
surprise.
"No—but I received your message."
Noah studied the old man carefully, and his eyes grew wide. Was Shubag saying that
the words had somehow been transmitted spiritually? In this setting and before this
man, such a thing did not seem beyond belief.
But Shubag now looked at his young friend and his lips drew up in a smile. "No, no—
servants, my lad. I sent servants to the square."
Noah relaxed a bit, and Shubag chuckled. "I am no wizard, my son. You have never
thought so in the past and you need not think so now. No. I am quite human, but—" Here
he paused. "I do have something to say to you, which I think is of Yahweh's prompting."
"Speak, then, sir," Noah nodded. "The role of preacher is very new to me, and I want to
do all I can to improve myself."
"Oh, lad." Shubag smiled, reaching out a veined hand. Noah noticed the filmy white of
the skin which enclosed it, and for the first time he was concerned for the elder's failing
health. "Lad, I do not refer to your oratorical skills. I am assured by my messengers that
they are honed to a flint-edge. How you have come by this talent is a marvel to me, for I
know you have had little practice in public speaking."
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Noah lowered his head with a sudden wave of humility "You honor me," he said. "And
truly, if this be the case, it is a gift of Yahweh, and none of my own."
"Yes," Shubag agreed. "And—for the most part—your message is directly from Yahweh's
heart."
The preacher lifted his chin and studied the critic carefully. " 'For the most part'?"
"You spoke of the same great calamity which our Father Adam and the prophets Enoch and
Methuselah predicted, did you not? "
"Yes, sir. . ."
"And you spoke of the corruption of this age?" "Yes—you received a correct
report."
"And is the calamity not against all unrighteousness? " "Indeed—"
"And salvation for all who are of upright heart? " "Sir, of course . . ."
Noah was troubled at the inquisition. Obviously Shubag was well aware of the
themes he had addressed.
"There is but one weakness in your argument, as I have understood it today," Shubag
asserted, leaning forward. And as Noah fidgeted, unused to being reviewed, the elder bid
him sit on the chamber floor.
This was a familiar position for the son of Lamech to take. How often he had been
privileged to sit at the knee of his elders at home, the great men who had raised him in
the truth! He fleetingly surveyed the intricate tapestry of the carpet upon which he now
reclined, and then he looked eagerly, though somewhat fearfully, at the one who would
critique his fledgling sermon.
The old man had not been present in the market to study Noah's gestures, or to
remark upon his tonal quality or use of emphasis. There was no exegesis of scriptures to
debate, for there were no scriptures in this oral tradition. No—Shubagwas about to inflict
the analytical scalpel upon the very bones and marrow of the oration—upon its doctrine!
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"It is true," said Shubag, looking kindly on the youngster who had won his heart so
many years ago, "it is true that when our human father brought forth his first two sons, the
stage was set for conflict. Until that point, sin had ravaged man's relationship not only
with God, but also with his mate, our Mother Eve. But there was no social consequence
beyond this, for there was no society. To this point pride and selfishness were the
destroyers, but when two sons were born to work the garden beside their parents, the soil
was made fertile for the seed of jealousy."
Noah listened respectfully, but wondered what point there was to all this. "Yes, of
course," he replied, asking no questions.
"Though Cain and Abel were born to fallen parents, there is no evidence of sin in their
lives until the dispute arose regarding their offerings of sacrifice. In fact, it seems likely that
they were raised in a most righteous and God-fearing home, for Adam and Eve, though
expelled from Paradise, were in close communion with Yahweh all their days."
"Yes," Noah assented. He stifled a yawn and blinked his bleary eyes. A night in the
street and a morning in the square had wearied him immensely, and he hoped he could
maintain interest in Shubag's seemingly aimless discourse.
The old man, however, appeared bent on some great purpose, and went on, his eyes
riveted on the listener as he spoke. "Now, Noah, you addressed the matter of the two
races well today. For it is true that the Sons of Cain and the Sons of Seth (who was given
to Adam in the place of Abel) have demonstrated very different spiritual propensities.
However," and here the speaker's voice grew more emphatic, "I fear you have missed an
important understanding in your study"
Noah sensed that Shubag drew near making a point, and his interest was rekindled. "I
have, sir? Where?"
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"Look at the story of the sacrifices. Why was Yahweh displeased with Cain's, but
accepted Abel's?"
The younger man did not have to think long on this. "Why, because the one was of
fruits and grains and the other of blood. There is no redemption without the shedding of
blood. This was a symbol!" Noah grew irritable. This catechism was known to any
traditional Sethite. It seemed Shubag wasted his time.
"But," Shubag pursued the lesson, "did Yahweh punish Cain for lack of knowledge, for
bringing the wrong sacrifice out of ignorance?"
The listener thought a moment. "No—I do not suppose so. He was punished for
murdering his brother."
"And what prompted the murder?"
Noah rubbed his hands against the carpet in an angry fidget. "You know these things,
Master. Why do you inquire of me?" But Shubag only waited, and at last Noah heaved a
sigh. "Jealousy. Jealousy prompted the murder!" he exclaimed. "Cain was jealous of Abel,
for he had found favor in God's eyes."
"And what was the punishment?" Shubag pressed.
"Cain was sent forth from his family and from God's presence—to the East of Eden—to
be a vagabond and a wanderer in the earth!" the preacher replied. And as he did so, a
smirk marked his lips—for he felt the vengeance of Yahweh in the description.
Shubag studied him a moment, and Noah felt something of an uneasiness in the old
man's eyes—or a sadness. But the hoary head bent forward, even closer, and another
question was produced.
"But—was he removed from the love of Yahweh?" Shubag inquired.
Noah perceived the weight of the question, though he did not understand its import. And
he was careful before replying. "I assume so, yes. Otherwise the punishment would have
little sting."
Shubag shook his head and raised a feeble finger. "In
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this you are mistaken, young man. You would do well to think on the nature of Cain's
expulsion. What was God's promise to him?"
The son of Lamech traced a line on the tapestry with his index finger. "Well—he feared
that he would be set upon and killed for his crime. But . .." He paused and marveled at
the leading of his teacher.
"Go on," Shubag urged.
"But . . . in fact, God set a mark upon him to protect him, lest any man should try to
take his life. . .."
The young man's voice became a whisper, and yet Shubag was not content.
"Go on. . . ."
"And . . . Yahweh promised to avenge him. . . ."
At those words Shubag sunk back into his chair with an approving nod.
Noah sat for a long while trying to see the whole truth. He had been brought this far—but
could see no farther. "But, sir," he objected, scratching his head, "given that all this is
true, am I to conclude that there is no real difference between the Sethites and the
Cainites? Why—look around you!" he demanded, gesturing toward the window. "The
evidence is very clear! There are the good and the evil!"
"The privileged and the underprivileged!" Shubag corrected. "We must not assume that
Cain's being driven from the presence of the Lord meant he was abandoned. For Yahweh
is everywhere and in all things—and if any man seek him he shall be found. But ... ,"
the elder explained, "for some this comes more easily than for others. And it is largely
due to their surroundings. If a man is privileged, as you have been, to sit at the feet of
godly men from his birth, and to learn the oracles from childhood, his path to the Lord of
heaven is made much smoother. If, however," and his old voice broke, ". . . if a man is cut
off from the communion of knowledge and his way leads to the Land of Nod, he cannot
be expected
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to see the fullness of truth without great struggle. Such was the case with Cain. Yahweh
did not so much abandon him as release him to follow the consequences of his heart's
attitude. And Cain chose to remove himself from the communion of believers."
Noah still did not see how this should affect his sermonizing. "I agree completely," he
said nodding. "So in what way have I been in error? Was not Cain's end of his own
making? Did he not deserve what he received from the hand of justice?"
Shubag drew close again. "Your sermon did not do an injustice to Cain, but to his
descendants. Cain's way was of his own making, correct. But not so for his sons and
daughters. They were born into surroundings already alienated from the comforts of
truth. The struggle for them and for their children and their children's children was to be
monumental. And all because of the sin of their father. You have answered rightly when
you say Yahweh did not punish Cain for lack of knowledge ; nor should you be harsh on the
Cainites for lack of knowledge. You have seen that jealousy was the goad which led to
Cain's crime, and yet you stir up jealousy in the Cainites when you compare them to the
privileged Sons of Seth. Just as Cain was jealous of Abel's favored position, so you would
have the Cainites be provoked by the Sethites' privileged state."
Noah was dumbfounded. He sat for a long while in silence, feeling the sting of
Shubag's critique. It had not been delivered as a reprimand, and yet the young preacher
felt shame at the evidence of his shortsightedness.
"Almost you cause me to pity Cain," he said at last, an edge of sarcasm marking his
self-defense.
`1/And perhaps you should pity him," Shubag insisted, his eyes full of conviction. "For,
you see, the effect of sin in the human family not only expelled our first parents from the
Garden, but is now expelling Cain and his generations from easy access to truth."
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The son of Lamech had been thoroughly corrected now He chafed under the exposure,
and once more surveyed the intricate weaving upon which he sat. "So complex this
calling is," he replied, shaking his head sadly. "It is like this tapestry. I shall never be
worthy of it, for I shall never understand it as I should."
Shubag leaned forth and placed a hand upon Noah's shoulder. "But you were called, my
son. You have the gift for what you do. Now you must develop the heart for it."
"But my heart is not like Yahweh's. It has no love for the people to whom I speak. I can
only feel anger at their wickedness and a desire to call down wrath upon them!"
Tears welled in his eyes at this admission, and he was shamed to the core as he saw
his true nature.
The elder listened patiently and then offered, "But your heart has been stirred this way only
temporarily. You have the capacity to serve and to love, if you will only focus on the
redemption God holds out."
"Redemption?"
"The 'symbol,' remember? You said that the blood sacrifice was a symbol, and that is
why Abel was accepted. It was not through any righteousness of his own that he was
accepted, but by the death of an innocent creature."
Noah waited for more, but Shubag did not go on. And when the younger could not draw a
conclusion from the words, he stammered, "Explain, Master."
"Until you know in your heart that we all have sinned, and that no covering will suffice
without the shedding of blood, you will not feel love for your brothers. You will be angry like
Cain and your countenance will fall. Sin will crouch at your door and you will not master
your heart. A murderous heart will be yours, my son, and the blessing of Yahweh will be a
curse. Speak of the symbol," Shubag directed. "It will save you and your hearers."
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FOUR
Noah was bone weary as he stood on the small balcony which availed his quarters of the
west wind. Shubag had insisted that he rest before coming to work today in the accounting
room. "In fact, I prefer that you not serve me as bookkeeper this morning," the old
merchant had suggested. "Get some sleep and join me at noon on the sea-drive. I want
you to meet someone."
The young preacher wondered what Shubag had in mind, and who the "someone"
might be. But for now, he grappled with a larger issue. The thought of the old man's
critique on his sermon brought a burning blush to his face, for it not only assailed his first
public address, but a sizeable portion of the philosophy which had governed his attitude
toward fellow humans. If he could no longer distinguish people on the convenient principle
of racial origin, a major part of his life view must become completely reoriented.
The Sethites were spiritually superior by inclination, he had always thought. Where
they had fallen away, it was due to traffic with the Cainites and their kind. To see all
people as one race, equally gifted and equally fallen, was to alter his whole perception of
things, for it would affect his view of . . . himself.
Noah pressed his thighs to the balcony rail and scanned the horizon of the Adlandian Sea.
The ships which usually managed to catch his mind away held no attraction for
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him today. The more he contemplated his prejudice, the more exposed he sensed himself
to be.
"But," he argued, "is pride of family—pride of heritage—not a blessed thing?"
There was no fellow human present to answer his unvoiced thought, but his spirit was
nudged within.
"Perhaps not . ," something seemed to say, and Noah's ears burned.
He wheeled about, as if expecting to find an eavesdropper behind him. But, upon seeing
nothing but his vacant room, he shook his head and turned again to the rail.
"But, of course ... I have been greatly blessed!" he insisted, speaking this time in a
whisper.
"You did not ask about your blessings," the Presence returned. "You asked about your
pride."
Noah's skin stood in prickles, and he feared to look behind himself again. Certainly,
someone or something had spoken. He could not be imagining this. Slowly he called up
courage to turn his head and then his entire body. But, once more, there was nothing to
be seen but his bed—not yet slept in, and his chair, draped by the cloak he had
carelessly thrown over it. No movement or shadow betrayed a visitor, and the preacher
feared for his own mind.
"I am overwrought," he reasoned. "I have pushed myself, and have required too much
of my faculties these past hours. Besides," he concluded, "why all this introspection? If
Shubag is right, and I am to have no pride of lineage—no certainty of who is right and who is
wrong—I must doubt my own calling!" Striking the rail, he laughed aloud. "Aha! A trick of
Lucifer! Certainly. That is what this is. He would win a great victory if he could cause
me to doubt myself!"
But as Noah reclined upon his bed and shut his eyes, summoning sleep to his defense,
it was not an easy rest he found. And when he woke it would be to the same
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debate and that old internal struggle—waiting like a set trap in the corner of his mind.
Shubag's residence had direct access to the wharves of Cronos by means of a long
driveway leading down to the sea. His home, therefore, served many purposes. It housed
his living quarters and the accounting rooms. And further down, along the drive, were the
warehouses and loading platforms which received the imports he marketed in town.
Noah would have slept through his noon appointment had Shubag not told the
housekeeper to wake him at the appropriate time. The old woman's rasping voice had been
a rude jolt, but even so, Noah felt only half awake as he made his way down the long
winding road upon which he was to meet his host.
As he journeyed, the tall vegetation bordering the byway cut off his view of the sea and the
city, and he felt curiously alone, closed in again with the same conflict he had
experienced upon the balcony. If only he could speak once more with Shubag. Yes—
that would help. Surely the wise fellow would understand his confusion. When he found
him, he would shout his questions in his ear!
But Shubag had other plans. As Noah reached the flat at the end of the road, where it
broadened onto the main thoroughfare of the wharves, he saw the old man seated on a
piling, a wide smile lighting his eyes and lips.
"Just in time!" the merchant greeted. "The ship is just now anchoring at port. See!" he
cried, grasping Noah by the arm and directing his gaze to a slender white vessel whose
sails were being rolled down and whose navigator was settling it into a narrow slip. "She
doesn't carry much—but what she carries! Oh, the craftsmanship is wondrous!"
The son of Lamech could not help but be favorably impressed, as his eyes took in the
sleek beauty with an
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appreciative sweep. "From whence does she hail?" he asked, his gaze lingering on the
vessel's shiny fittings.
"From the east—around the peninsula," Shubag replied, and as Noah marveled at the
ship, the old man secretly studied him.
"Like her—eh?" he inquired.
"Oh, yes, sir . ," Noah said wistfully. "What is her cargo?"
"Metal works—of many kinds. This time mainly cutlery—even some fine swords and
scabbards. The owner is the greatest smith in all Adlandia!"
"The greatest?" Noah asked doubtfully. "Shubag, the greatest, so I have heard, is—"
"A Son of Cain . ," the old man agreed.
". . . Tubal-Cain . ," Noah said, his voice full of awe. "The son of Lamech the Murderer."
"The same," Shubag nodded.
Noah quivered with the memory of the tale. He had always thought it ironic that his
own father, who had tamed a "wild" nature, bore the same name as the famed
bloodshedder of Nod, who had killed a man and a boy. The plea had been self-defense,
and the trial, which had drawn on for weeks, had been the subject of news around the
world, for the man's situation had been peculiar: "If Cain was avenged sevenfold," he had
argued before the court, "I should be avenged seventy-seven fold. For these fellows came
upon me to rob and kill, and I only protected myself and my home."
Ultimately the Cainite had been freed, without penalty, and the case had set a legal
precedent unmatched in history. To this day, his guilt or innocence was often argued, and
Noah, because he despised the race of Nod, had always condemned him.
"But ... I. . .."
"You thought I did business only with Sethites?" the - elder asked, winking.
"Well, of course not."
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"Of course not, indeed! I would have little trade if I limited it to our dwindling race."
Noah turned again to the ship, whose deck was now swarming with crewmen, each
busy with some errand, porting the vessel and preparing to unload her. "But—why would you
have me meet this man?" he asked.
The old merchant watched the plank being lowered from the boat's side and began to
make his way down the pier where his guests would soon be setting foot.
"Because—," he called over his shoulder, "it is important!"
Noah's prejudice against the Cainites was not based on much personal contact with the
race. In fact, save for his occasional trips to Cronos where he had visited with Obad and
the family of Shubag, his life had been spent in the highlands of a Sethite village.
He was, therefore, unprepared for the gentility and graciousness of the passengers who
disembarked from the glistening eastern ship.
Tubal-Cain was, as could be expected, an awesome figure. He carried the name of his
ancient ancestor very well, his fine chiseled nose and uplifted chin a credit to the line.
No one could have mistaken him for anybody but the owner of this vessel. His dark head
was adorned with a scarlet turban, fitted with a great jeweled clasp at the front, and his
robes of multi-colored silk reflected the noon sun as he walked. He flashed a great,
toothy smile at the sight of Shubag, and flung his arms wide.
"Friend!" he called, approaching the old merchant down the gangplank and
embracing him with zeal. The Cainite was head and shoulders taller than the Sethite, but
Shubag returned the gesture with equal enthusiasm.
"Welcome to Cronos!" the elder greeted. "I was so pleased to hear that you would
accompany your shipment. My home is yours Tor as long as you are here!"
As the host led his friend to the wharf, he directed his
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attention to the young preacher who stood a cautious distance away. "I have been
wanting you two to meet," he explained, guiding Tubal-Cain toward Noah.
The newcomer's flashing dark eyes surveyed the son of Lamech quizzically, and Noah felt
the awkwardness of his own rude appearance. Though he had spent several years in this
town, he had never become accustomed to city attire and manners, and never had he felt
less sophisticated than he did at this moment. For though TubalCain was the son of the
infamous Lamech, he was also one of the most renowned craftsmen of the day, truly the
father of metallurgy, and the creator of its finest examples. His foundry, located south of
Nod in the region east of the peninsula which separated the coast cities from the interior,
was considered a Mecca for artisans of all sorts. For from its beginnings as a center for
metal work it had developed into a haven for sculptors, painters, and inventors of all sorts.
In Nod-Persia, as it was called, science and art blended into one. And, of course, it had
become a sort of capital for thinking people, whatever their skills, for its atmosphere
spawned the kind of climate which drew and produced philosophers.
Tubal-Cain, therefore, had risen above great odds, against the obstacle of his father's
stigma to become not just a craftsman, not just a wealthy man, but an institution. And
Noah was quiet before him.
As the three men made their way to the thoroughfare and Shubag's waiting carriage,
Noah tried to reason what the host's purpose might be. Truly, it was an honor to be
personally introduced to such a celebrity as Tubal-Cain. But, if the old merchant expected
that fame and glory would impress the son of Lamech, he was mistaken. In fact, it
surprised Noah that Shubag could be influenced by such superficial things. If these traits
were supposed to prove some spiritual greatness in the Cainite line, they were not doing
their job.
Noah held his tongue, however, and gave Shubag the
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benefit of the doubt. He had known the old man too long to believe him capable of such
shallow reasoning, and decided to withhold judgment for the moment.
Suddenly, however, his contemplation was broken. Tubal-Cain had stopped short in
the path and turned about. "What can I be thinking? " he cried. "I was so taken with the
sight of you, Shubag, I forgot my own kin. See—she looks for me now " he said, directing their
attention toward the deck.
At the top of the gangplank, looking quite bewildered by their sudden desertion, stood a
young woman, dark like Tubal-Cain, and just as handsomely dressed.
Noah could not repress the rush of response which welled within him at the sight of her.
Never had he experienced such a sensation, so sudden, so unreasoned. His pulse, which
throbbed strangely in his ears, nearly drowned the Cainite's words.
"My sister, Naamah," he pronounced, beckoning her. "She will be staying with us, if
she may."
Shubag nodded graciously, and answered something affirmative. But Noah did not
catch a syllable of his reply.
FIVE
Since Noah had been staying at Shubag's home, the courtyard had never been so lively as
it was this evening. In fact, until now the residence had been a quiet retreat from the
noisy city, and a place for business activity only.
Tonight, it had taken on a festive air, the halls and galleries and porches filled with
light, sound, and laughter. Noah stood in an archway leading to the central patio, watching
the preparation of the dining tables, and glancing now and then into the great parlor under
the mezzanine. Tubal-Cain had brought with him more than his sister. His entire crew, it
seemed, had been welcomed into Shubag's home and would be staying in the numerous
quarters which stood vacant most other times.
The mountain man had never felt more out of his element, and did not know which way
to turn. He supposed he ought to join the conversation in Shubag's big hall, but he
almost felt he would be more comfortable assisting the servants who bustled about the
court. In fact, it occurred to him, not for the first time, that his position in Shubag's world
was frequently awkward. He was the old merchant's employee, and yet was more often
treated like a guest or even a family member. And tonight, especially, this posed a
predicament. The other bookkeepers would have retired to their own quarters by now, or
would have gone to separate residences in town to join their families. Were Obad here,-
Noah would not hesitate to go
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with him into the sanctum of Shubag's most honored visitors. But as things stood, he did
not know where he fit, and so lingered uneasily between the world of the hired help and
the guests.
"Nonsense!" Matrina objected when she came upon him in the doorway. "You're a
troublemaker for sure—but the master would not have you stand here like an oaf. Be as
brazen as you were in the marketplace. Go in boldly to his side and make yourself
known!"
And with a flick of the hand she dismissed him and scurried off to see to her workers.
The woman is right! Noah thought to himself. Since when would I not be welcome in
the parlor of my father's best friend, and my best friends father?
Lifting his chin he turned toward the spacious den in which two dozen male voices
discussed the world of ships and cargoes, wealth and how it is attained, life and what makes
it worth living. He caught Shubag's eye as he entered and the old man winked his
approval.
"We have been looking for you!" the merchant called. "Do not wander off. We want to
hear from you."
Hear from me! Noah thought. What could Shubag mean by that? The merchant
was with the great metalworker—one of the most famous Cainites on earth, standing in the
midst of Cainites. The son of Lamech shrugged his shoulders and bowed. Surely Shubag
was extending a kindness, and he would acknowledge it, but not take it too seriously.
The doors to the veranda were open wide, admitting the evening breeze off the wide sea
to penetrate the stuffy quarters. Noah peered out stealthily and slipped unnoticed onto
the open porch. He would join the others in time, he reasoned. But he could not imagine
what a mountain Sethite would have to discuss with the Sons of Cain.
He would not be alone upon the balcony, however. It was a feminine voice witch
interrupted his solitude. "I
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hope you do not mind, sir," came the gentle sound.
Noah, whose gaze was to the sea, wheeled about—surprised, first at the greeting, and
then at the wondrous creature who faced him. It was the woman from Nod-Persia, the
Cainite's sister.
"Mind?" he stammered, taking in her beauty with a sharp breath.
"Yes—," she replied, smiling warmly. "I know it is not customary for a woman to invade
male quarters, but the veranda was vacant, and I could not view the sea from my room
below. I came up by the outside stairs when I saw no one was here," she explained,
pointing to the steps which ascended from the women's chambers below. "I hope you are
not angry."
The mountain man could feel no anger. He could feel nothing at the moment but
clumsiness and speechlessness before the lady's soft black eyes and winsome tilt of the
head.
"I . . . I am not the master of the house," he managed. "But I know you would be
welcome wherever you wish to go."
The woman turned to the railing and asked no more questions. But for Noah the silence
was not comfortable. He should think of some topic on which to converse ; but his throat
was tight, and he could only seem to stand back and allow his eyes to survey her
graceful form as she watched the ships along the horizon.
"I am Naamah," she offered, still keeping her face to the wind.
All the earth spoke one language, and Noah knew her name meant "sweet and
pleasant." Fitting, he thought. Indeed, she is!
"Noah ... ," he returned. "My name is Noah."
"Ah." She smiled, wheeling excitedly toward him. "I-heard Shubag speak of you today.
You are the preacher!"
The mountain man felt even more awkward now. What could Shubag be thinking to
spread this information
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among his visitors? He laughed uneasily and shrugged his shoulders. "Only today have
I been called such. If I am a 'preacher,' I am a very new one."
"But you spoke in the square today," she objected.
"I did," Noah replied. "It was my first sermon."
The Cainite woman studied him closely, her eyes traveling down his homespun sleeve
until they reached the hand which held the railing in a nervous grip.
"Well—first sermon, or hundredth—it does not seem to matter," she insisted. "You are
apparently quite a gifted speaker." And with this she raised her gaze to his,
punctuating her words with an earnest nod.
Noah was entranced. Her praise was sincere, he could tell. In fact, she seemed
incapable of false flattery, and he almost forgot, for an instant, that she was not a Sethite.
He pivoted to the balustrade again and cleared his throat. The fingers of his free hand
fidgeted uneasily with his cloak. He wished now that he had thought to dress more
appropriately.
But . . . he must keep his thinking straight. This was a heathen woman. It would be best
not to involve himself further, he knew. He could not seem to do the wise thing, however, and
excuse himself from her presence. Somehow, he was compelled to fill the silence with
conversation.
"I hear you have roofless houses in your country," he fumbled. And the minute he spoke
the words, he wondered why he had not broached a more sophisticated subject. But the
woman was not offended, and indeed responded as though this were an important
observation.
"Yes," she replied. "Many Nod-Persians are so devoted to the Sun that they consider it
sacrilege to roof a house. When the Golden Orb beats down into their chambers, they
receive it as a blessing and do not shield themselves against the heat."
Noah listened respectfully, but could not discern whether she endorsed such an
attitude or not. "And your family," he asked, 'Ado they dwell in a roofless house?"
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"Oh, no," Naamah smiled. "Indeed not. We are not Sun worshipers!"
Noah hardly knew how to respond to this revelation. He had thought that all Nod-
Persians followed the Sun, and he wondered what strange cult Tubal-Cain and his people
had adopted. But before he could pursue the matter, the woman was speaking again.
"I think you would enjoy my country," she asserted. "Thinking people feel at home
there. And from what I hear, you are a thinking man."
Noah was honored by her comment, but wished he could tell her forthrightly that he
would have nothing in common with the philosophers of her land. He studied the soft
ringlet of black hair which hung free along her neck. The rest of her coiffure was an
intricate bundle of curves and waves, wrapped turban-like about her head, and caught
here and there with jeweled clasps. The entire look of her was disarming. But one ringlet—
the way it moved with each sigh and each tilt of her chin—drew his glance over and over.
He barely followed her discourse as she explained that Nod-Persia was not the
wilderness—that the wilderness of Nod was in the north portion of the Eastern Plain, and
that the Persian region had been settled generations after Cain had entered the region.
"Nod-Persia is a reaction to the wilderness," she was saying. "My people knew they had
been deprived, and fought valiantly to regain their lost dignity. Today Nod-Persia is a
center of the arts and human searching."
Noah could detect no defensiveness in Naamah's critique. She seemed merely to
be certain of her racial identity, and presented herself with definitive confidence.
He found himself losing against the urge to stay longer. Truly, he wished to hear more, and
wondered if his spirit was weak, to allow him to linger so long at her side.
But before he could decide on the matter, a -peculiar chattering ascended from the
outside stairs. He could not
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imagine the source of the strange yelping, as of a very small. . . .
"Dog?" he marveled, as Naamah turned to greet the bounding, wriggling creature who
had escaped its quarters below.
"Yes!" She laughed, betiding over and lifting the furry white moppet in her arms. "This is
Topay, my little companion. Tubal-Cain bought her for me when he began taking me on
his voyages. I had no female friends to fill my hours, and Topay has served her purpose
well."
"Dog?" Noah repeated, still incredulous. "What have you done to her?"
Naamah could not miss the disapproval in his tone. "I have done nothing to her. What
do you mean?" She bristled.
"Why," Noah smirked, "she bears as little resemblance to a dog as . . . as a mouse
bears to a kangaroo!"
Naamah drew back and fought to control her tongue. "She was born this way—to a long
line of ancestors—bred down to this size!"
Noah did care for the lady's feelings, but had never been tolerant of what he considered to
be tampering with species.
"She has been manipulated!" he insisted.
But Naamah was no ignorant woman. "I think you are confusing breeding with the invasion
of life-matter. There was nothing unnatural done to create this little dog. The parent line was
simply chosen through several generations for size, color, and shape—until—this is the
product!" she argued, cuddling the white fluff beneath her chin.
"Perhaps," Noah muttered. "But I see little difference in the techniques. The outcome is
the same—the stripping of the original dignity God intended."
Naamah surveyed Noah with wide, round eyes. She could have taken gat offense,
but instead grew silent. "Why—you are a preacher . . . ," she whispered at last. And
Noah was struck by her reverential tone.
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He felt the blood rushing to his face once more, and found himself again painfully aware
of his rude dress and unkempt beard.
"Well," he grunted, turning to the rail, "such things are not a matter on which we
could agree."
"You are very sure of that?" Naamah queried. "Of course," he asserted.
"Why?"
"Ha!" the preacher laughed, shrugging his shoulders. "Why, your frame of reference
and mine are aliens." "You speak of our beliefs?" she mused.
Noah studied her skeptically. "You know I do," he said. 'What can a Cainite and a
Sethite have i;n common?"
"Our God!" Naamah offered without hesitation.
Again Noah laughed and shook his head. "Dear lady," he condescended, "perhaps you
have not understood. When I spoke in the square today, it was not on behalf of some
pagan deity. I reject all gods but Yahweh!"
Naamah smiled brightly, her dark eyes gleaming. "Perhaps you are the one who
has not understood," she laughed. "My brother and I worship the God of our father Lamech.
We revere Yahweh, the only Deity"
SIX
Noah would find rest hard to come by when he returned to his chamber. Several
troublesome thoughts would keep him awake. First, he wondered if Shubag would be un-
happy with him for not rejoining the men in the parlor. After dinner, he had found himself
speaking again with Naamah, and not until several hours had passed, and most of the
guests had retired, had the two called it a night.
This was the second thing that troubled him: Never before had he found a woman so
intriguing. And he did not know whether to revel in the new acquaintance or run from it.
Surely his father would not understand his attraction to a Cainite female. Surely Lamech
would not approve.
And this was the third thing that plagued his mind. He missed his father and his
village. He wondered, as he sat alone in his room, why he was here—what purpose
Yahweh really had for him, and if his sense of "call" was a deception. He had had little
opportunity to put the experience in the town square into perspective. From the moment he
had returned to Shubag's house, his mind had been bombarded with strange new
ideas, questions on his view of life, his beliefs, his attitude toward his fellow humans.
And then, to cap the day, he had been unexpectedly confronted with his manly needs and
feelings, as a foreign woman, a Cainite, had turned his head.
All this, coupled with his experience of fear and revul-
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sion in the Cronos street only last night, gave him vertigo, and he sat tentatively on the
edge of his bed, his head reeling.
Just now, he wished he were home. He wished he could walk out his father's back door
into the forest which hemmed the family estate. There was a little path he was fond of
pursuing which led up the steep slope behind, and since childhood he had followed it
countless times, over the rise to a small, round glen on the other side. Little-boy hurts,
emotional upsets, or the simple need for solitude could always be appeased along that
trail. He recalled now how often his cares had seemed to melt away when he had taken
that short journey, and he lay back upon the bed, resting his spinning head and projecting
his imagination to that private place.
At some point, imagination lapsed into unconsciousness, and as his soul slipped into
slumber, the breeze off the Adlandian Sea ruffled the curtain at Noah's window.
Noah did not know what time it was when he was rudely shaken from sleep. It must have
been well after midnight, for the darkness was at its blackest. All he knew was that some
sort of rumbling had moved his bed so violently he was nearly thrown upon the floor.
In semiconsciousness he relived the earthquake of Baalbek, fighting the memory by
burying his head in his pillow as he had buried it against the side of the mountain that
long-ago night. But as he became fully awake, realizing the tremor was no dream, he
staggered from the bed and threw open the door to his balcony.
The sea was calm enough. No one seemed to be stirring in the house below or in the
nearby chambers. He turned and surveyed his room and found that everything but the bed
was in perfect order. It alone was disheveled and had -been wrenched from its place along
the wall at an awkward angle.
He shook his head to be certain he was fully aware,
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and wondered at his surroundings. Somehow he knew he had not imagined this, and yet
how could such a violent shaking have moved nothing but the couch upon which he
slept?
He looked seaward again, and as he pondered the phenomenon, he blinked his eyes
firmly. What was this he saw? It appeared the night sky, the canopy which during the day
was white, was breaking up. He shook his head again and the vision ceased. The sky
returned to normal, and Noah shuddered.
He turned to take his place upon the bed once more, but as he did so a violent wind
lashed up from the beach, and as he reached back to close the balcony door, the
spectacle which greeted him froze his movement.
The sky had vanished in a torrent, falling in waves against the sea, and the sea was
boiling, ingesting the canopy into its great maw
"Lord God!" Noah cried, falling to his knees. "Spare us!"
But as he opened his eyes, once more the world was untouched, as though what he
had just seen had been the product of a mad mind.
The son of Lamech gripped the doorpost and pulled himself upright. He stood for a long
while on shaky legs, trying to regain himself.
The sea, again, was calm, the sky intact. No one in the house or in the street had
responded to his cry, and apparently no one but Noah had been witness to the cataclysm.
He stumbled to his crooked couch, the only evidence of his experience, and sat rigid for
hours, looking fearfully past the balcony. But there would be no more visions tonight. The
rising sun, each morning's phenomenon, would be the only miracle to interrupt the
remaining dark.
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SEVEN
It was a holiday in Cronos, and in all the cities of the Sun along the Adlandian coast. It
was the "Day of Blessing" in their calendar, and was an especially meaningful one for the
inhabitants of marine towns. For this was the celebration of thanksgiving for the goodness
of Lucifer and Poseidon, the solar deity and the god of the sea.
Great festivity marked the hours from sunup to sunset. By law, only foods of the ocean
could be eaten on this day, and so the market was a paradise for fishmongers and
seafood peddlers.
Noah rose from his crooked bed and pushed it back against the wall. His head was a
blur, and had he been given to strong drink, he would have believed he was the victim of its
morning aftereffects. But as he rubbed his eyes and insisted on equilibrium, he knew he
was feeling the aftermath of his nightmare.
Tentatively he walked to the balcony, almost afraid to survey the world below. But, upon
finding it to be stable and unchanged, he breathed a sigh of relief. Better to be a
madman, he reasoned, than that the sky should really fall.
He remembered, as he saw the colorful streamers and banners of the festival along the
wharf, that this was a holiday. Though it was a pagan celebration, he was glad that it
would relieve him from a day in the accounting
room. He was not certain he could function well, feeling as he did.
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Since the household of Shubag would not be participating in the festivities, however, Noah
would have to seek solitude away from home as well as town.
He knew that the nearby shore would be no place for privacy. The crowds would be
immense in that district where so many of the traditional activities would take place—the
games, the feasts, the parties. And by early evening the entire town would have
congregated along the beach for the regatta, the boat races, and the Hour of Poseidon.
For this was the once-a-year day on which the great god of waters would sail up the
coast from Sun City, to be hailed by his worshipers in the towns along the shore. They
would see his stunning, fast-moving vessel as it sped from port to port, and they would
actually have opportunity to observe the deity himself, as he hailed them from the deck.
It was believed that special blessing was imparted to anyone privileged to see him on
this day, for the timing of his passage would coincide with the setting of the sun, the hour
when the Golden Orb was closest to the earth. Believers contended that great energy was
released to the sea on this day, as the rays of Lucifer blended with the waters of Poseidon
along the sunset horizon, and anyone present at the sea god's passage would receive of its
power.
So, for many reasons the nearby beach would be no place for solitude. Nor would any
spot between Sun City and Cronos, the beginning and ending points of Poseidon's voyage.
For folk from the interior, from far away villages north and south, would be lining the sandy
shore, and indeed would have traveled great distances to do so.
If Noah wished to be alone, he would have to travel upland from Cronos. With this in
mind, he recalled the day he had seen the dolphin, and wondered if he could again find
the rock upon which he had rested.
Quickly he forrad his cloak into a makeshift satchel and raced to the kitchen. It was
still early enough that
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no servants were about. He foraged through the pantry for a bit of food and stuffed a few
rolls, some cheese and butter into his crude bag. Then, running for the stable, he found
his horse and prepared him for a little journey.
The other creatures in the stalls wondered at Noah's strange haste, but his own horse
greeted him eagerly.
"I have neglected you of late," Noah smiled. "We shall have some time alone today.
Remember the dolphin? "
With no more clarification than that the steed shook its head, and when the master had
mounted, sped joyfully up the beach.
The horizon across from Cronos had been crowded with many ships which had come in from
sea, anchoring themselves close enough to shore to catch sight of the festivities. Further
north, at the rock of the dolphin, the sea was quite clear of vessels today.
For hours Noah sat perched atop the rounded rock, letting his mind stretch and roam
freely. He could not, however, help pondering the peculiar and frightening events of the
night before. Repeatedly he petitioned Yahweh for an explanation. If he were mad, let him
know now and he would flee to some mountain cave, never to inflict himself upon society
again. But if what he had experienced was a vision from God, let him have the
interpretation.
He remembered how, when he had concluded his speech in the square, giving his
warning of cataclysm, his eyes had been drawn skyward with some sense of urgency.
Had that impulse been an omen reflected again in the vision of a falling canopy and a
devouring sea?
As day wore on, Noah sat upon his rock, unmoving, except for his eyes, which worked
their way first across the heavens, as though he might again see the vision, and then
scanned the sea, in hopes that his dolphin friend might make its appearance once more.
His horse, tethered to a weathered root which protruded
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NO A H
from the sand, occasionally grew impatient with its master. And twice during their stay
here, Noah had come down to him, unleashing and leading him to a patch of wiry grass
growing against the bank which fronted the distant and vacant highway.
No travelers saw the lonesome pair as they passed the afternoon in solitude. Everyone
was in the cities. And as Noah waited for his horse to finish grazing, he eyed the road with
gratitude. Were anyone to pass by, he might be questioned, for it was so against tradition to
neglect the holidays, one would be suspect for avoiding the throngs.
Besides, Noah thought, were people to know the content of his mind, to discover that he
waited for the canopy of heaven to break or for a dolphin to speak, their suspicions might be
well founded.
The sun would be setting within the hour. Noah could sense this as he sat on the rock,
though he had brought no timepiece with him. There was that typical hushing of the
always-gentle wind which blew in from the Adlandian waters this time of day, as if the
earth prepared for the descent of dark with a kind of reverence.
Noah knew he must be returning to Shubag's soon. He did not want to be caught again
in the fog which would be coming inland with dusk. But as he turned for the final time to
leave his perch, his eyes were caught by the dark, box-like shape of an immense, many-
tiered barge, wending up from Cronos along the line between sea and sky.
"Gigantic" was the only term for the vessel. Noah had seen such mammoth floats only a
few times in his life, the products of the giant Nephilim, who used them to transport the
machinery of war, or other colossal wares typical only of their class. The mountain man
could not-imagine what such a -3essel would be doing on the sea at this time of day, or
what errand could be taking it north on a holiday. Furthermore, as it drew straight ahead
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of him, he was baffled by its silence. The barges of the Nephilim were motorized. Their
shape and weight would not allow them to catch the wind or to plow the waters by means
of the currents. Oh, they could be moved by such methods, but so slowly that they were
not economical transports without power.
As Noah gazed at the strange vessel, wondering how it was operated and what its
purpose might be, he suddenly felt a warm wave of air rush up from behind the rock.
Turning, he sought the source of the peculiar phenomenon, but found nothing. With the
sensation, however, had come an even more unsettling impression of being watched—
as though someone had stepped up behind to observe him.
And when he glanced seaward again, he knew he was not alone.
"Noah," the Voice came.
It was very soft, like a whisper, and it rode up to him on the soft warm swell which rose
at his back.
This time Noah did not turn around. His skin tingled and he felt compelled to fix his
eyes upon the floating vessel. "Yes . . . Lord," he whispered.
He knew it was Yahweh who had called his name, and he knew he would not see him,
should he turn to look, for no man had ever seen God.
"Noah, son of Lamech," the hushed Voice called, "see and understand. The end of all
flesh has come before me, for the earth is filled with violence. . . ."
The tone of the judgment was heavy, as if the very heart of Yahweh broke with its
load. Noah shuddered, fearful to breathe lest God's anger single him out. But, as flashes
of Baalbek and the assault of the rapists in the Cronos street flooded over the listener, tears
rose to his eyes. And he assented wit4a quiver, "Yes, my Lord. . . ."
The soft wind became more insistent now and took on an eerie moan. "All flesh have
corrupted their way
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upon the earth," the Almighty declared, and Noah trembled, wondering at the Voice which he
had craved to hear all his life.
"Yes," he replied, thinking on the immoralities he had witnessed in his five years of
wandering the byways of the city, and upon the pathetic creatures of man's manipulation
and contrivance. "All flesh is corrupted." He nodded, his throat tight.
Now there was a lull in the breeze, as if Yahweh were appeased for a moment. But then
the Voice came again. "Look and understand," Yahweh directed, the very breath of his
nostrils filling the air around the preacher.
Noah drew his cloak in a bundle at his chest, gripping it with taut fingers. Suddenly, as
he viewed the peculiar barge which rested upon the sea like a beckoning fortress, he
seemed to be caught away—transported to the uppermost deck of the ship.
"Walk up and down in her, son of Lamech," Yahweh instructed. "Memorize her well—for
it shall be your task to duplicate her."
Whether he was in the body or not in the body, Noah did not know—but he found himself
walking from corner to corner of the vessel, and entering compartment after compartment.
It was evident that the ship was empty, and when he was returned to his rock, he
shook his head as from a daze. "There is no one on board," he whispered, "and no cargo,
my Lord." And then, daring to ask the interpretation, he inquired, "What is the purpose of
this craft?"
For a long while there was no reply, and Noah might have thought he had imagined
the whole thing—that Indeed he was a madman. But he waited patiently for the words of
his Lord.
When they came they were robed in majesty and holiness. "She is an Ark of Safety,"
Yahweh proclaimed. "She will be a symbol of my love—a resting place for those
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who trust in me. And she will preserve life as I have created it."
As Noah took in the message, pondering it and wondering at its full meaning, the sun
began to melt into the sea, spreading its dusky paints over the water. He knew that
along the shores of Cronos and Sun City folk would be marveling this moment at the ship
of Poseidon, and hoping for the touch of Lucifer. But this one Sethite, solitary in his
calling, kept his gaze upon the ark, thankful for the touch of hope he had received from the
Lord's hand.
Though he was blind to the full import of what he witnessed, though he could not
presently see the end from the beginning, he took courage from the promise which the
great barge represented. And as he studied its silhouette in the red sun, his eyes were
caught by the flutter of a small white bird which had appeared upon its top deck. It
seemed not to be a gull, but a dove, and he wondered what such a creature would find of
interest on the sea.
The dove did not stay long on board, but craned its neck in Noah's direction and then
took flight, circling the ark and ascending—high above the waters, rising above the
earth, until it vanished in the canopy of heaven.
When Noah's gaze returned to the sea, he found that the ark too had vanished, and
with it the light of day.
EIGHT
Noah did not stop at Cronos when he returned from the rock. He sped past Shubag's town
and went straight for the port of Poseidon, the City of the Sun.
It was the middle of the night by the time he reached the limits of the metropolis. He
had traveled the coast highway, which was far enough from the waters to avoid the dense
fog along the beach. But when he reached his destination, he found it necessary to wait
until morning before proceeding into the city. He did not know his way about this place and,
wishing to find the very temple of the god once again, he had to wait for the mists of the
Adlandian Sea to dissipate.
It was very early morning when he made his way to the temple porch. This expanse
of marble and granite stretched several city blocks along the shore, giving Poseidon's
fortress a magnificent view of the blue-white waters. Ordinarily, if a man had a public issue
to take up with the citizens, he would bring it to the marketplace, to be heard of the
commoners. But Noah was not a citizen of this town. The issue he wished to address
involved the coastal lands as a whole, and was therefore a subject on which the governor
of the territory should be informed. It was a matter deserving to be discussed in the porch of
Poseidon, Noah reasoned.
And this would be only a beginning, the Sethite assured himself. For he knew the issue
merited even broader attention than the coastal territory could give it. It was of
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concern to all Adlandia, all earth. And since the porch of Poseidon was a thoroughfare for
councilors from around the world, he knew his message would be heralded far and wide,
through the interior of the continent, within days.
The porch was still decorated with banners and streamers from yesterday's festivities,
and it was beneath the leftover trappings of a pagan celebration that Noah would take his
stand for Yahweh and the vision which he was compelled to follow.
He did not know what words he would speak. As he opened his mouth he uttered only
what came to mind, with no preparation. And what came forth surprised him, for it built
upon the sermon he had given in the Cronos square:
"God has seen our wickedness!" he declared, his voice filling the temple court and
reverberating off the mammoth rock walls of the heathen sanctuary. To his back, dividing
the temple proper from the great porch, stood only the huge columns of red-gold
orichalchum, the metal of the gods, erected by Poseidon. And before him spread only an
empty stage, with no audience. But he cried again, "Every imagination of the thoughts
of man's heart is only evil continually!"
The metal cylinders captured the vibrations of his cry as it rang through the porch, and
they hummed an ominous chord. But soon enough, just as it had happened in Cronos, it
began to happen here. People of the temple began to assemble along the colonnades
and the edges of the wide veranda.
These folk were of a different sort than had congregated at Cronos. They were not
commoners, except for the servants who crept out to listen. This audience, for the most part,
was more sophisticated, highly educated, and of the ruling class. And as the Sethite
continued to speak they were joined by some who had graced the court of Poseidon the day
Noah and Obad had been inquisitioned.
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"It has repented the Lord that he has made man on the earth, and it grieves him at
his heart!" he shouted, the roofless veranda echoing. "The sky shall fall and the sea shall
swallow it! The waters of the deep shall break forth to destroy the land!" he cried.
As he said this the court began to hum, not with sympathetic vibrations, as did the pillars,
but with the murmuring of human voices. For a mighty throng was collecting, and their
mood was not pleasant.
Since many of these people had heard Noah before, the day he was brought forth from
prison, he was not a popular figure. And word spread quickly to those who had not been
present the day of the hearing, that this was the notorious mountain man whom
Poseidon had ejected five years before, and who had recently stirred up the town of
Cronos.
Were Noah to have dwelled just now on the reaction of his audience, he might have
reconsidered his position. But, closing his eyes, he threw open his arms and asserted, "Thus
says the Lord, 'I will destroy man whom I have created, from the face of the earth! Both
man and beast, and creeping things, and the fowl of the air. For it repents me that I have
made them!' Yea," he cried, "the end of all flesh is come before me, and none shall be
spared but the righteous!"
Now the patience of many present was short when it came to hearing what Noah had to
say, for they had had opportunity to evaluate him before. But had the preacher been able to
select a challenger from among them all, he would never have chosen the one who came
forward. It was the old sorcerer whose familiar, the black raven, had tracked him to Baalbek
—it was this one who would confront him. And when the wizened fellow stepped up to the
stage, stroking his long white beard and peering at him gimlet-eyed, the Sethite
trembled.
"Only 'the righteous' you say?" the wizard queried. "And who, pray tell, are 'the
righteous'?"
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Noah took a deep breath and looked, unflinching, into the piercing gaze of his opponent.
"The righteous are those who follow the ways of the Lord," he asserted.
At this a chuckle rattled up from the wizard's throat. "The 'Lord'?" he laughed. "We have
heard you speak of your 'Lord' before. He is a very obscure one, if you ask me. 'Yahweh,'
didn't you say? Very obscure indeed. At most, one of the least of the mountain pantheon.
Certainly not akin to Poseidon or any of the heavenly gods."
"Yahweh is God of gods and Lord of lords!" Noah pronounced. "There is no god besides
Yahweh!"
The throng howled at this, and the wizard took his staff, the heavy wand upon which
the raven always sat, and shook it in the Sethite's face. The raven was not here today, and
Noah wondered if he lurked somewhere in the rafters. He would have no chance just now to
survey the site. "Aha, strange fellow," the sorcerer was challenging. "We can play your
game! Let us say, for the sake of argument, that your God is the only god. . . ."
At this the crowd laughed and murmured yet more, but the wizard quieted them with
a stern expression. And then, leaning his bent frame against his staff, he demanded,
"See behind you—the stately pillars of the godly laws. The ordinances of our deities are
etched upon them for all to behold and our system of justice depends upon this code. Now . .
. if Yahweh were the only god, he would do well to inform us of his wishes. How can we
follow him if we not only have never heard of him, but have no record of his laws?"
Though the congregation was pleased with the sorcerer's sagacity, Noah held
steadfast. "The logic of your inquiry is sound, Wise One," the Sethite conceded. "But you
are ill informed if youk think the laws of Yahweh are unknowable. They are not written upon
pillars of stone or bronze, it is true. But they are written upon our hearts. They are not
changeable or subject to loss, for they are
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pressed into our minds and printed on our souls at birth."
The old magician was not prepared for such a statement, and while he faltered to respond,
Noah drove home his point more firmly. "You, sir, are the master of elements. You cloak
your manipulations with mystery, while you yourself know the truth behind them. But
Yahweh is not so surreptitious. He is not cloaked, nor does he trick the eyes with illusion.
His ways are knowable to any seeking heart, and his will is just beneath the veneer of our
sin-hardened consciousness."
The crowd was troubled by the preacher's words, shuf-
;14 1 A I nor-T7 IT .01 n,-,p ^tinti-ipr
nag wiamiyanu vousi yr wk.,. ,at.- an
But Noah was not finished. "Ydu refer, wizard, to the pillars of Poseidon, as though they
were a sacred thing. And I know that to you they are. But I pronounce them a mockery
and a sham against the truth, ministers for the Angels of Light!"
The throng was stirred to wrath by this, and the sorcerer peered at his cohorts with bared
teeth. Then, growling up at the Sethite, he cried, "You inflame the souls of all who love the
gods! Are the laws of Poseidon not good and just? What fault can you find in them?"
Noah was quick to reply. "Within most of the laws themselves I find little fault. For the
purposes of justice and equity they serve well, and they have kept reasonable order upon
this planet. Yes, Wise One, they are humane laws. But I contend that they veil the truth, for
they would lead us to believe that Lucifer, the Prince of This World, is a just and equitable
god. And yet, Lucifer has only used justice and equity, which derive from God Almighty, to
cloak his identity and to deceive the masses. He has taken the very statutes of
Yahweh and turned them to his own ends!"
Suddenly, from oul of the corner of his eye, Noah saw something whirring toward him.
Whether it was a brick, a rock, or a stick, he could not tell, and it came so quickly he could
not duck it. It struck him on the temple, throw-
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ing him face forward against the pavement, and knocking him nearly senseless.
He staggered to his feet, but not before more of the ammunition was hurled.
"Lord God!" he cried, as the pain in his head mixed with the deafening roar of the
jeering crowd.
He did not see the sorcerer as his dazed eyes scanned his enemies. The old fellow
had disappeared into the masses. But as Noah spied a way of escape and headed for
the outside stairs, his frantic gaze was caught by a majestic figure on the veranda
balcony.
Poseidon himself had been summoned and stood now, staring iron-faced at the preacher.
Noah remembered his glory, but never had he seemed so awesome as he did today. In
gilded tunic, the god was flanked by a dozen Nephilim, all arrayed in battle gear.
The Sethite's heart was charged with fear, and with all the strength he could muster
he darted for the street, away from the pursuing throng.
It was not until he had reached the shore of Sun City that he realized the crowd had
been satisfied to evict him from the temple, and had ceased the chase once the prey was a
comfortable distance from Poseidon's palace.
They could have caught him, Noah knew. Why were they content to let him go? And
why had Poseidon been obliged to arm himself with militia against one lone mountain
man?
The preacher could not determine the answers now As he fled along the beach, he only
thanked Yahweh that he was alive.
The pain in his forehead throbbed persistently, and he reined his horse to a stop long
enough to rest upon an abandoned boat slip some way north of the metropolis.
The sun was just beginning to form its full circle above the horizon when he thought he
was reliving his earlier vision. As the outline of a ship resting in the waters ahead took on
clarity, however, he could see it was not the Ark
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of Yahweh, but the ship of Poseidon. It too stood strangely empty, and seemingly without
purpose on the sea. It too revealed a bird upon its mast, as the ark had revealed the dove
upon its upper deck. But when this creature craned its neck in Noah's direction and took
flight, it did not soar toward heaven, but dipped toward the palace of the sea god. And its
plumage was not white, but black—the plumage of the sorcerer's familiar.

NINE
The small ridge of hills which rose from the northeast of Cronos, gradually ascending into
the highlands which Noah called home, provided a natural retreat for the fear-wracked
Sethite. He was bruised in body and soul, his head throbbing, his heart aching as he
tethered his horse and sought a niche on the wilderness heights in which to settle down
and contemplate his condition.
There had been many times throughout his life when he had wished Yahweh were more
tangible, that he would make himself known more clearly to those who believed in him. This
was one of those times, the most lonely of them all.
Noah crept along a tangled hillside, miles from the nearest road, until all sign of human
life was far behind him. These little mountains were heavy with vegetation. It would not be
easy to find a cave here, but the earth was thick with leafy grottoes, bowers of vines
and branches, in which he could find rest.
Selecting a likable spot, he sat down within its green shadows, and allowed the fragrance
of the soil to console him.
But even as he lay his head against a mossy pillow, questions raged in his mind. He
remembered what Obad had said that long-ago night in Poseidon's prison: "I feel you are a
prophet. The prophet, chosen for these days."
It was some comfort to recall those words, especially
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since Noah was prone just now to doubt his calling, to wonder if he had brought all this upon
himself needlessly.
No, he reasoned. The call was real. And the persecution, rather than being a sign that he
was out of God's will, was probably the surest evidence that he was perfectly on track.
But questions flooded him, nonetheless. Why, he wondered, had he been selected to carry
out this mission? Surely there were others in the world who were more qualified. Not only
had he presumed in the past few days to be a preacher, with no credentials or experience,
but now he was being asked to take on a monumental task, for some purpose of which he
was not even fully aware.
He contemplated the great floating barge in his vision and the words of Yahweh,
"Memorize her well, for it shall be your task to duplicate her."
Noah pressed his aching head into the mossy cushion. His mind swam with the
immensity of the order. "Memorize her? I barely had time to look at her," he
whispered. And then, rising up suddenly, he shook himself and laughed.
"If Yahweh wants a boat built, he can build it himself!" he thought aloud. "This is
madness!"
He felt as one who fought with a dream, half-waking. He could no longer distinguish
what was reality. The whole notion of the boat project, especially with no real understanding
of its purpose, was ludicrous.
Noah paced the jungle bower for a long moment, pounding his fists against his thighs in
an attempt to bring himself back into the present. And then, as though a light had shone in
his head, he fumbled with the pouch which hung from his sash, and drawing out a rumpled
booklet of paper, smiled broadly.
He would record the events of the past few days in the little journal which had occupied his
evenings at Shubag'shouse. Perhaps this would help clarify for him what was real.
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Eagerly he sorted through the other contents of the purse until he found a stub of a
writing pen, and he sat down to commit his recent days to black and white.
He began by making a simple list from the events of the past week.
"The night in Cronos ... ," he wrote. ". . the assault in the dark. . ."
His fingers trembled as he validated the reality of that witness by spelling it out.
"The sermon. . . ."
"Shubag's critique. . . ."
"The vision of falling waters. . . ."
Here he paused, his fist clenching. But then, with a deep breath, he continued.
"Tubal-Cain. .//
". . Naamah. ."
His face flushed at the thought of her, and he wondered what she would think of his
experiences.
But then, as he was about to write "vision of the ark," he could not.
"I have not imagined all this!" he asserted.
He remembered having heard once that when a man begins to go mad, he does not
hallucinate about things which have no relevance for him. Somewhere within each vision
there is a link with the man's past or his personal experience. But, within the visions of
falling water and of the great barge, or within the words which Yahweh had spoken to
him, where was the link?
"No!" he declared again. "This did not arise from my own mind. It derives from . . .
beyond myself. . . ."
Suddenly, as he drew this conclusion, a snapping noise was Heard in the bushes just
outside the bower. Noah gripped the little journal to his chest and stilled his breathing,
strained his eyes in the direction of the sound, and waited. Fears of wild beasts, or . . .
worse yet . . . of his pursuers, darted at him, and he sank as far into the green shadows as
possible.
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Again the snapping noise threatened, but this time the source revealed itself. A figure, at
first a single silhouette, filled the opening to Noah's retreat. Discerning that it was a
human being and not an animal, Noah stammered, "Who goes there—and what do you
want?"
The figure made no response, but only entered the bower, and, as if perfectly at home,
knelt down upon the leafy floor.
As Noah watched this behavior with speechless bewilderment, he could gradually, in the
dim light, make out the even, gentle features of the face before him. It was a man's face, to
be sure, but of such guileless character, the effect of it was startling. Above a neatly
trimmed beard and slender nose were calm gray eyes and a smooth forehead. The
cheeks, framed by a fall of dark, shoulder-length hair, were ruddy, as if the Stranger spent
his days in the out-of-doors, and the man's hands were rugged but soothing. Noah knew
they were soothing, because they touched him now. Yes—the Stranger, with no apology,
had reached forth a hand to survey the wound on the Sethite's head. Had it not been for
the gesture's matter-of-factness, Noah would have been offended at the intimacy. As it was,
though, the familiarity did not frighten or alienate him, as he sat in breathless wonder
before the newcomer.
"Uh—sir," Noah faltered, "who are you, and what do you want with me?"
The Stranger did not reply immediately. Instead, he foraged on the ground with his
fingers and drew up a handful of pointed leaves. Stripping off the brittle tips, he
crumbled the remainder in his palm and then ground a-bit of it to a powder between his
thumb and forefinger.
"See here," he replied at last, holding the residue in a firm pinch, "this will help the
wound to heal quickly."
If Noah had beer startled by his face, he was even more moved by the Stranger's voice.
Full and manly, it was
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nonetheless very soft, like his touch, and compassionate, as though he empathized with
the Sethite's pain and bewilderment. And now, his behavior became even more peculiar, as
he took the pulverized substance and held it to his own lips, adding to it a small amount
of spittle and then mixing the compound in the palm of his other hand.
When he had thus manufactured a little puddle of paste, he dipped his forefinger into the
medicine and applied it directly to Noah's wound. Within a mere moment, the pain
subsided, as though it had been drawn into the ointment itself. And as the patient marveled
at the miracle, the Stranger smiled quietly "There is much you do not know," he replied.
"I taught the sons of Adam many things, and they have done great exploits, but they
have lost much simple wisdom."
The Sethite was speechless as the Stranger sat down beside him and drew up his
knees, resting his chin upon them. The gray eyes scanned the hillside below the bower, and
Noah could see that his peculiar friend was deep in thought. When the newcomer at last
spoke again, the implication of his question shook the preacher's soul.
"Do you recall my words to you when I showed you the Ark of Safety?" the Stranger
inquired.
For a long, uneasy moment, silence hung between them. Noah's heart was lodged
firmly in his throat, so that he could not reply. But as the Man turned to -him, requiring a
response, the Sethite managed, "Yes—my Lord. . ."
"And did you memorize her, as I instructed?"
Noah swallowed hard, and blinked his awe-filled eyes. "Sir—the time was so short . . . I .
. . I could not manage
iv 222e.222a0
The son of Lamech had not yet come to grips with his
visitor's identity, and already the Magnificent One was demanding rational conversation. Noah
trembled as he
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confessed his inadequacy to perform the Lord's wishes, and wondered now what
punishment would be his for the failure.
But the Stranger seemed not to be angry. He only reached forth a confident hand and
took hold of the journal to which Noah had clung tightly ever since hearing the snapping
sound in the bushes.
"You have often written of me in this little book, haven't you, my friend?" the Lord asked,
taking it from him.
"Yes . . . ," Noah stammered. "I have done so many times . . . though I have never
seen you. . . ."
The Lord studied the leather binding on the worn volume and caressed it fondly. "Your
spirit has known me since childhood, Noah. And of late you have heard my voice. Now
you see me with your eyes, and you have felt my touch. Is it not enough?"
Tears rose and spilled over Noah's cheeks. He could not find a way to answer, but the Lord
was satisfied with his silence.
"Did you wonder," he went on, "why the Daemon did not pursue you from Sun City?"
Noah trembled. "Sir—it was a miracle," he whispered.
"Were your eyes not blind you would have seen my servants all about you, greater far
and stronger than all the hosts of Lucifer," the Lord explained.
"You mean. . . ."
"Yes—they were there. But you are called to walk not as the world walks—by faith and
not by sight," the Lord went on. "The world's gods parade before them in shining raiment and
in power. But the heart which seeks for me shall know me in the quiet of lonely days and in
the hope of promises yet to be fulfilled."
Noah did not know where to begin with his own ques-
tions. He wanted to ask about the visions of the falling sky and the great barge, about the
nature of man and the world system. About very great things and very particular things. But
as he sat in the presence of this warm and
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kind companion, and as he realized that this—this was his God . . . he could only
inquire, "Why, my Lord, have you chosen me? It is a fearsome and an unhappy mission to
which I am called. How am I to master it? And who will hear me?"
"It is a fearsome thing to warn the world of judgment. It is an unhappy thing, indeed,"
the Lord agreed. The Master's shoulders stooped slightly as he acknowledged this, and
Noah could read in his posture the gravity of his feelings for humanity. The Lord did not
long dwell on this, however, before he spoke again, now with the fire of exhortation in
his eyes. "But, friend, your mission is not only to preach judgment," he declared. "You are
called to preach salvation to the great congregation! You are called to preach the
righteousness which will spare any man from Yahweh's wrath!"
Noah contemplated the Lord's words with wide eyes, almost embarrassed to ask for an
explanation. But the Master understood, and placing a firm hand upon his shoulder
insisted, "Have you sought the truth so long, and yet it still eludes you? Do you not yet
grasp the fact that righteousness comes only by faith? This is what you are to teach.
Teach men to follow me by faith, for in this are they made complete."
Noah recalled Shubag's exhortation to the same effect. Of course—how could he have
forgotten so easily?
"Oh, Master.—it is a hard thing to hold onto. I have been taught such things from my
youth up. But they seem to slip away so easily."
The Lord smiled at him knowingly. "This is because it is against man's nature to die
to himself, to trust the unseen. But such is the road which leads to life, and few there be
that find it."
The Sethite trembled. "Master—am I one who is counted righteous?"
The Lord knew the import of the question, and did not respond lightly. Focising clearly on
his chosen man, he
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replied, "You have found grace in my eyes, Noah. There are few men on earth who have
such a seeking and an upright heart. You have walked with me, when you did not even
know it, and your heart is blameless, for you have the righteousness which comes by
faith alone."
TEN
It would be the cool of evening when the Master departed. All that day he would spend with
his friend. The words which the Lord would speak would be retained in Noah's memory to be
called up throughout the days and years which lay ahead. He would not be able to
recount them all immediately, for there would be too much given to him this day. But
certain aspects of the discussion would be especially meaningful to him just now.
They left the bower at noontime and walked through the forest together until they
reached the ridge of the hill, and from their seat beneath a pine they watched the sea
glisten far out from the coast.
Noah would never forget how the subject of the cataclysm was approached. His own
inquiring mind led directly to it, though it was a question of theology and not geology which
plagued him.
"Master," he asked, as they came to rest from the long climb, "those who have not
sought you—who do not know the righteousness you offer—do you intend to destroy
them?"
Noah was respectfully cautious as he broached the topic, but the Lord seemed to
sense his underlying courage and answQred with equal honor. "Every man knows the
essential truths from birth—so that there is no excuse," he began. "Those who do not
believe are condemned of themselves, for apart from faith there is no
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righteousness. Do you see? Though I speak of my judgment, it is man himself who brings
his own destruction. And though I speak of my anger, all creation groans under the abuses
of sin, and waits for my redemption."
Noah was convicted by the Lord's logic, and pondered the last words carefully. "All
creation, Lord?"
"Indeed," the Master said with a nod, surveying the sky and sea. "The earth itself is
gathering force to rebel against man's oppression."
Immediately Noah drew the corollary between what the Master addressed and the
cataclysmic visions he had received. "The sky shall fall and the sea shall swallow it
up . . . ," he whispered, remembering his own words to the people of Poseidon.
The Lord studied him compassionately. "It is I who have told you so," he asserted.
Noah bowed his head and closed his eyes. On his own he had consoled himself that
the visions were not the product of a mad mind—but that the Lord should thus confirm
this brought great relief.
Relief and sorrow. For, indeed, the visions were prophetic of disaster, and as Noah raised
his gaze to the sunlight, tears shimmered along his lashes.
"The earth of late has trembled," the Lord continued. "You have felt her rumblings?"
Noah nodded, recalling the quake at Baalbek, and the Master explained, "Though the
judgment shall be by my hand, all elements conspire to fulfill my commands. The planet
prepares to serve my bidding. For I am about to destroy the wicked by means of my own
handiwork. I will destroy them with the earth."
The way the Lord phrased this last pronouncement connoted a partnership: Yahweh and
the planet. He would bring judgment not only by means of the earth, but in league with
the earth.
Noah suddenly felt the immensity of it all, and was acutely aware of his own frailty.
What, he wondered, did
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the Lord have in mind for him? How could someone so insignificant as he be used in such
a universal drama?
He hardly needed to voice the question. The Lord drew out of his sleeve the little journal
which he had carried from the bower and handed it to the son of Lamech.
"Write," he said. "What I am about to tell you must be written down."
Noah took the volume and, with trembling fingers, pulled out the small writing
instrument nestled in the back cover.
"Remember the great seacraft which you watched from the rock of the dolphin?" the
Lord asked. "What I am about to tell you applies to her. Since you could not memorize
her, let me set the matter out for you."
Then, closing his eyes and leaning back, he began:
"You are to make for yourself an ark of gopher wood. You shall make the ark with
rooms," he instructed, "and shall cover it inside and out with pitch."
Noah listened wonderingly, and when the Lord looked up, glancing at the little book,
he quickly jotted down the words.
"And this is how you shall make it," the Master continued, giving the specifications
slowly and deliberately, as would a customer to a contractor. "The length of the ark three
hundred cubits, its breadth fifty cubits, and its height thirty cubits."
Noah wrote down each order, remembering the many times he had read over such
statements in his father's account books.
"You shall make a window for the ark," he went on, "and finish it to a cubit from the top
and set the door of the ark in the side of it."
The Master paused, to be sure Noah had caught all this, and when the contractor
nodded, he continued.
"You shall make it with lower, second, and third decks."
Noah's eyes grew large as he marveled at the dimensions and the volume of the vessel.
Quickly he began to balcu-
,
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late in his mind the time and expense it would take to build such a craft; and then,
remembering his brief walk through the barge at the dolphin rock, he shook his head at the
enormity of the project. He remembered that the Lord had explained the purpose of the
vessel at that time, but he still did not have a complete grasp on it.
He need not ponder this long, however, as the Master declared his intentions once again.
"And behold, I, even I am bringing a flood of water upon the earth," he affirmed, "to
destroy all flesh in which is the breath of life, from under heaven! Everything that is on the
earth shall perish."
Noah shuddered and, contemplating the magnitude of such destruction, he feared to look
at Yahweh. Hadn't he been told that it would be his mission to preach of the Ark of
Safety? Was there no one who would believe?
The Lord would not answer that question just now, but did hold out his purpose for the
man of God. "But I will establish my covenant with you, Noah, and you shall enter the ark
—you and your sons and your wife, and your sons' wives with you."
Now the Sethite was even more baffled. Wife? he thought. Sons? Does the Lord really
know me? Surely he must be aware that I have no family! But he dared not interject his
questions, for the Master's demeanor was profoundly serious.
"And of every living thing of all flesh," the Lord continued, "you shall bring two of every
kind into the ark, to keep them alive with you. They shall be male and female. Of birds
after their kind, and of the animals after their kind, of every creeping thing of the ground after
its kind—two of every kind shall come to you for you to keep them alive."
Noah was still recording all this in his little journal. Word for word he captured it. But its
meaning went past his head. He could not begin to dwell upon it, for it was full of mystery.
So he kept his eyes to the paper and was
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not even tempted to make rebuttal, for his soul was numb with awe.
"And as for you," the Master went on, "take for yourself some of all food which is edible,
and gather it to yourself. And it shall supply you and the animals."
Something in this last command struck Noah strangely. How very practical! If all species
of animal life were to be cared for, all forms of diet would be required. His face broke into a
broad grin and he began to laugh. His shoulders shook with hilarity as he was overwhelmed
now not with mystery, but with the incredible earthiness of all this.
Of course such logistics were only reasonable! This was not just a spiritual drama being
planned out, a way to save the righteous when the wicked were destroyed. If the dry
land were to be deluged, provision must be made for created life! And in making that
provision a craft must be built, the chambers designed, the order of entrance and the log
of daily matters scheduled and inventoried. Who would stay with whom, who would eat
what, how much space must the elephant have, where would the kangaroo get her
exercise, would the cat be content to leave the mouse alone?
Yes—he was laughing! The tension of prophetic bewilderment gave way to the simpler
considerations of gopher wood and water, feed and stock, smell and survival and
compatibility.
Something in such fundamentals relieved him. It would be his mainstay of serenity for
years to come—when the pain of the prophecy settled in, when the burden of sorrow became
too great, when his heart broke with human rejection or was devoured with fear for his
own mind—such things as the dimensions of a waste tank or the placement of a
pigeon's roost would ground him in sanity and rivet his heart to the present.
But now he heard his own laughter, and it frightened him. Had he offended God?
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Stifling himself, he brought his hilarity into submission and choked back his smile. He
cocked one eye, glancing fearfully at the Master. But what met him was more awesome
than rebuke. It was approval, for the Lord himself was smiling.
Yahweh stood up from the pine-needle cushion where they sat, and held out his hand.
Noah reached forth tentatively and the Master lifted him to his feet with a playful jerk.
Soon they were laughing together, and as they descended the green hill the Lord
placed his arm around Noah's shoulders.
P A R T I I I
THE ARK OF SAFETY
The end of all flesh has come before me; . . . and, behold, I will destroy them with the earth.
But with thee will I establish my covenant; and thou shalt come into the ark, thou, and thy
sons, and thy wife, and thy sons' wives with thee.
Genesis 6:13, 18
ONE
It was sunset when Noah returned to Cronos from the eastern highlands. The evening tide
had washed its coral sheen across the sand, and the shadows of pebbles and shells
reached out long and thin toward the rider who passed them.
The Sethite, who had crawled off into the hills, was no longer weary. His spirit had
been renewed, his calling confirmed. What he longed for now was someone with whom to
share his story. To keep such an incredible message to himself was unthinkable.
It seemed logical that Shubag should be the first to hear it. Intending to go directly to
him, Noah spurred his horse toward the white walls of the city.
But had there been a ready and trusted ear available anywhere between the hills and
Cronos, Noah would have related his story sooner. It must have been more than
chance, therefore, that a female was the first to receive Noah's tale. Under any other
circumstances, such an intimacy would have been out of character for the son of Lamech.
But when he saw her strolling in the twilight along the shore, he could not pass by
without a word. "Naamah? " he called. "Is that you?"
The figure ws framed by the departing sun in dark silhouette. But the Sethite felt he
would recognize that gracefulness anywhere.
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"Noah?" she replied, turning about at the sound of his voice and raising her hand against
the red sunlight which bounced off his harnesswork. The shawl which draped her head
against the evening breeze slipped from her black tresses as she did this, and her hair,
which had always before been gathered high and intricate, was unfettered tonight. In
fact, in the twilight, it was not easily discernible where her long hair left off and her flowing
gown began, for the picture of her against the ruddy sky was a harmony of line and wind.
The Sethite dismounted and led his horse across the strip of sand which separated
them. A peculiar caution, almost a reverence, marked Noah's gait as he approached the
woman, as though he feared too firm a step would destroy the moment.
When he drew near enough that he could clearly see her features, touched now by the
descending glow of evening, the tightness he had known only in her presence rose once
more to constrict his breath. What power she had to perform this wickedness, he did not
understand.
It was wickedness, was it not, this ability to rivet his soul? Or was it what old men
spoke of in their parlors with other old men—the magic of youth which they had long since
ceased to experience?
The Sethite could not unravel the mystery. He knew only that he longed to share with
this foreign woman—this Cainite—what had charged his heart and given him purpose. He
longed to tell her, above anyone else, what Yahweh had done for him.
"Walk with me," was all he said. And as if it were only natural, he took her slender hand in
his, and, leading his horse with the other, continued down the beach. The woman was
silent, allowing her fingers to meld with his as though they had been made to do so.
"Where is your dog this evening?" Noah asked, awkwardly introducing the subject
which had sparked their last conversation.
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Naamah smiled and turned laughing eyes to the ground. "Topay is in my quarters. She
does not enjoy the night breezes."
The preacher relaxed with his levity and felt free to be a little vulnerable. "I wish to
apologize for my critical attitude when we last spoke. Your pet is a fine animal. Not a
wolf, mind you—but fine for her purposes."
The woman warmed to this show of masculine humility
"Thank you," she returned. "But I have thought much on your exhortation, and do now
see your side of things. Topay is not what Yahweh intended."
Noah nodded respectfully "Nonetheless," he added, "it is difficult to know just how
much is allowed. I was wrong to pass judgment."
With this, Naamah drew closer and, sighing, acknowledged, "Many things are not as
they should be. It would be wonderful to see the world as it originally was." The mountain
man paused and studied her intent expression. For the moment he wished to set aside
these matters, to speak of what was growing in his heart. But then, thinking better of it, he
continued the stroll.
"I have my own ideas," he said, perhaps a bit too determinedly "regarding what the world
was like. For instance what would you say if I told you animals were able to speak?"
Naamah was captivated by the little boy behind Noah's serious nature. She knew he
struggled against a man's impulses, and these weighty topics were his shield. But she
stifled what would have been a much-too-broad smile and nodded appreciatively. "I would
say it is a marvelous thought. There are many legends about such things."
Suddenly Noah dropped his horse's reins and grasped the woman's hands in both of his
own. Then, gesturing wildly up the coat, he exclaimed, "Oh, lady—I must tell you! I heard
a talking dolphin. Yes—I did! It was years ago—but I know it was no dream!"
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NOAH
The woman studied his enthusiasm. Part of her wished to laugh—but her soul was at
the preacher's mercy, and she longed to please him. Knowing that her response could
determine her place in his life for years to come, she summoned all her will and nodded
agreement.
"You believe me? You do not think me mad? " he cried.
Naamah was lost in the depths of his flashing eyes. "No—my lord," she whispered, a
smile touching her lips. "I could never think anything of you but the highest thoughts. If
you say a dolphin talked . . . a dolphin talked!"
The Sethite, who had momentarily doused his tension, succumbed to the woman's praise.
His palms were sweaty now, and the constriction returned to his throat. He ran his hands
over his cloak, trying at the same time to ease the bands about his heart. But the
moment he allowed his eyes to find hers again, he could not restrain himself.
Reaching forth, he drew her into his bosom, enfolding her anxiously in his arms.
"I feel," he stammered, "I feel you would believe anything I told you."
"Tell me anything you wish," the woman replied, pressing the beat of her heart against
his own. "I could not doubt, should you tell me the sky would fall and the sea would
swallow it up."
Now it was Noah who wished to laugh. Raising her face to his, he smiled broadly
down at her. "Oh, lady, prepare yourself, for the tale I have to tell surpasses even that!"
And with these words he bent over her, caressing her
lips with his own, again and then again.
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TWO
Naamah never returned to Nod-Persia. She married the son of Lamech after a full year's
courtship in the city of Shubag, and all with the blessings of her brother, TubalCain.
It had been nearly a decade, now, since they wed, and Noah had never regretted his
choice of a woman. His only hardship in wedding Naamah had been in his father's
rejection. He had known the old Sethite would never consent to his marrying a Cainite,
the daughter of a murderer, but he had nonetheless sought approval, as a dutiful son. When
it was not forthcoming, he had gone against his father's wishes, being an emancipated
and self-governing entity. And it would be a long time before the mountain patriarch
softened.
However, a small fissure in the old man's shell widened to a crack when Naamah bore
her first son, Shem. The couple would have remained with Shubag, but at last Lamech
could resist no longer, and one day sent word that he longed to see the child.
So it was that Noah and his little family came to dwell at Lamechtown. For when the
grandfather sent this invitation, Noah left nothing behind. He not only loaded Naamah
and,the toddler in the family wagon, but all their worldly goods in three others,
knowing full well that the old man's heart would receive them openly once it was touched
by Shem's dimpled smile.
Since before their marriage, Noah and his wife had
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wished to live in the north country. It had been Naamah's idea, really. "The ark should be
built in the mountains," she insisted, "away from the cities, away from your enemies.
The lumber mill is there, and workers aplenty."
At first Noah had laughed. "The mountains! A boat in the mountains? How would we
get it to sea?"
Naamah had only grinned slyly, waiting for the light to dawn in her husband's mind.
"Ah, yes," he had conceded, a blush coloring his cheeks, "the sea will come to us. . ."
"And the sky . . . ," Naamah had added, delighted at his slip of mind.
It was such moments which made the thought of the coming cataclysm endurable. And
it was hope.
For the ark represented hope. The hope that some would be saved, and that all who were
willing to believe would have sanctuary.
"Besides," Naamah had reasoned, "if the ark is in the mountains, it will be more
accessible to those who flee the cities when the deluge descends. The high country will
be the last to be flooded, and its location there should allow more to reach safety in time."
Noah had agreed, and neither of them had spoken of the fact that only they and their
family would be spared, as Yahweh had said. Neither wished to voice that part of the
prophecy—perhaps because they hoped for another interpretation—perhaps because they
hoped that Yahweh might . . . change his mind.
This had been Noah's dream over the past year since they had come to Lamechtown.
He had often tried to skirt Yahweh's words. And he had cleverly conjured up a number of
possibilities which could allow for a large number of survivors.
What, for instance, if "Noah" might be interpreted as all those who follow Noah's
preaching? Or what if his "sons" might be interpreted as all their children and their servants
and their servant children?
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There were a dozen ways to stretch the meaning. Though the prophecy seemed to
groan under the redefining, the practice gave intellectual ballast to Noah's dreams.
And Yahweh did not seem bent on squelching such hope.
So it was that today, as Noah sat atop a rib of the ark's wooden skeleton, he had the heart
to continue with the work.
It was amazing how much humidity could be felt at the higher elevations, the
mountains where the land was closest to the vaporous canopy of earth. And the thirty
cubits which the ark rose above Lamechtown gave a man even more reason to wipe his
brow. As Noah sat on the highest point of the vessel's squat gable, the handle of his
wood-plane slipped now and then against the sweat of his callused palm.
Working just below him on the third deck was Jaseth, his younger brother. As the
preacher worked at the whittling of a great beam, attempting to bring it into a smooth, square
angle around a stubborn core of knot, the younger man peered above.
"Careful!" he called, smiling with a gleam of perfect teeth. "The way you're going,
you're bound to drop that tool directly on my head!"
Noah glanced down at the lad and chuckled. How Jaseth reminded him of his mother. No
one else in the family had inherited her fine shock of red hair, or her fair complexion. "Don't
worry," the elder replied. "It wouldn't hurt any more than the sunburn you've sported for
weeks. Poor Paleskin! One would think you never spent a day outdoors!"
At this Jaseth reached into a nearby bucket of cold drinking water and threw a handful
on his accuser. "You know better!" he cried. "Just because my skin doesn't look like a
tanned hide does not mean I work less than you—Leatherface!"
Noah laid aside his plane and bounded down from the
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beam, grasping his brother by the waist and throwing him to the floor of the deck.
Over and over the two tumbled, laughing and cursing one another, until they rolled
indecorously into the ram-port. Noah had Jaseth in a threatening lock, his right arm twisted
behind him and his head forced up against the preacher's chest.
"Enough, Powderface? " Noah bellowed.
"Enough!" Jaseth agreed, crying and laughing at once.
The elder released him and Jaseth shook his head, working his jaw with one hand to see
that it was intact. And then, eying his brother sideways, he suddenly threw an elbow to
Noah's stomach and set upon him with a vengeance.
Again they tumbled until neither had the strength for a challenge, exhausted as much
by hilarity as by exertion. And they crawled over to the water bucket, dowsing one another
with great handfuls.
"I know," the elder said at last, "that you have worked as hard as anyone here." He
wrapped his sturdy arm around Jaseth's slender shoulders and drew him close. "And I
remember how Mother used to suffer with the heat. Her skin would redden just like
yours, and sometimes it would blister if she stayed out too long. The sun does not affect
most of us that way. I guess we can be grateful for the sky-canopy, or your skin would be
even more tender."
"It is not so bad," Jaseth conceded. "I must be out for many days before I feel it. Besides
—there is much for me to do."
"Indeed," Noah replied, surveying the work crews below. The men of Lamechtown's
mill had been a real boon to the project. Due to a small miracle, they had been
ordered to include Noah's ark in their work schedules. As the preacher observed their
labors now it seemed only yesterday thatthe had approached his father with the strange
story of Yahweh's contract, and of the
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great cataclysm which would necessitate its fulfillment.
The three years between Noah's sermons in the cities and his move to the mountains
had been silent ones for the preacher. He had kept a low profile on the coast during his
courtship year and the infancy of Shem. Word had trickled to Lamech about Noah's
peculiar discourses at Cronos and Sun City, but the news had been diluted by the time it
reached the old Sethite, and with the intervening quiet, he had not thought much further
on it.
Therefore, the day Noah had come to him, soon after bringing his family to dwell on the
estate, his presentation had been of great surprise to the patriarch.
"You are to build what?" the grandfather marveled. "A ship," Noah repeated. "A great
barge, for the preservation of life."
The concept of universal destruction was not new to Lamech. The Sethite tradition was
full of references to such a time. But it took awhile for the old man to digest the full
meaning of his son's vision. He had dwelt on it for several days before he called Noah to
sit with him by the fire of his chamber.
"Did you share these dreams with Shubag? " the elder inquired.
"Often," Noah replied. "And with my wife's brother, Tubal-Cain."
Lamech winced. It had been hard for him to accept Naamah into the family, though he
had eventually grown in to it. But any reminder of her notorious Cainite lineage still pained
him.
"They are both ... great men," Lamech admitted.
"Yes," Noah agreed, surprised at his father's magnanimity. "Both of them."
"And ... they were persuaded of your vision?" "Indeed," the son responded.
Lamech's gaze drifted between the flames of the fire-pit, and when he spolw it was in a
whisper. "Perhaps this is the meaning . . . ," he said.
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"The meaning?" Noah asked.
Lamech shook himself from his private reverie. "The meaning of your name. . . . I have
wondered about it all your life."
Noah recalled the story of the peculiar naming and how all the local folk had
pondered the interpretation of the word "rest."
"You have some new insight, Father?"
"Yes—it must be that in this calling lies the fulfillment of the prophecy which Yahweh
bestowed when he gave your name. For if the ark is to be a place of safety, a refuge for the
righteous, and you are to be its builder, then you will have gone the length of your
journey. You, in fact, shall be for your people 'a rest' from the weariness of the sin-cursed
world."
Noah surveyed his father's time-worn face where the fire emphasized its crevices, and
his heart warmed with love. "Would such a thing make you happy? " he inquired.
Lamech turned glistening eyes to the young preacher who had once sat upon his knee.
"It would bless me, my son."
The two were silent as they pondered the magnitude of the mission. And then,
suddenly, Lamech was standing, pacing the floor and making gestures as if to calculate
some formula.
Noah watched him without a word, until the old man at last asserted, "You know that a
father usually reserves his blessing for his deathbed. But you have so pleased me tonight, I
must give you some portion of your inheritance this day!"
The son was awestruck, not having expected any such thing. And when the father
explained, he was even more surprised.
"Workers!" Lamech offered. "You shall have access to my workers whenever you need
them, for as long as it takes. And materials. . . 'hey are yours for the taking!"
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Such a gift surpassed anything Noah could have asked. It was true that he and Naamah
had discussed the availability of such resources in Lamechtown, but never with thought
that they could be had without dipping into Naamah's rich dowry.
As he marveled at the bestowal, seeking words to approximate his gratitude, his father
spoke again. "I may not live to see the deluge," he was saying, "but I shall see the
ship of Yahweh! I shall not die until I see her."
The preacher listened respectfully, but objected, "See her? You shall sail her with me!"
Lamech understood Noah's heart, but set him right. "Do not question Yahweh's words,
my son. The ship is for you and yours; not for me. I shall not sail with you, for I shall be
gone. And no one else will sail, but those whom Yahweh has prophesied."
Noah sat with Jaseth on the deck and grasped him a little too securely about the
sunburned shoulders. The younger brother winced and drew back, but Noah asserted,
"Imagine! Won't it be grand—to work this craft together? You and I, captains of the biggest
life preserver ever to float!"
Jaseth gave an obligatory smile, but wondered why Noah must include him so
determinedly. "Of course ... ," he agreed. "We'll sail together."
Noah held onto the lad's promise like an anchor, and forced Lamech's words to
accommodate it.
"If I am called, all mine are called. Right, Jaseth? And you are mine!"
The young man nodded, studying Noah's fevered eyes with apprehension.
But then, the preacher was distracted. Below walked Naamah, and his heart stirred
with pride.
"Have you noticed, Jaseth?" He nudged his - brother. "Have you minced how her belly
swells? She will bear me another son before the year is out."
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The lad turned his ruddy face in her direction and nodded. "Who could not have
noticed? I am most happy for you. But. . ."
"But what?" The Sethite smiled, tracing Naamah's steps with his gaze.
"But how do you know the child shall be a boy?"
Noah chafed. "Why, Jaseth! How often have I told you Yahweh's words to me? Did he not
say that I and my sons would be saved, before I ever had Naamah or little Shem? We should
never doubt the word of God."
The youngster was strangely quiet. The preacher caught this, but tried to ignore it. "I
know you believe!" he insisted.
"Of course," Jaseth laughed. But his laugh was empty, as was his heart.
THREE
When Noah's second son was born, he was not fair of skin, as was Jaseth. Neither was
his complexion olive-hued as the preacher's. He bore a closer likeness to Naamah's
kin. He was a dark and handsome character, darker than Noah—resembling his other
uncle, TubalCain. And as he grew, his skin became even deeper in tone, until he and his
brother Shem contrasted in the sun.
One would almost wonder, to look at him, how his flesh remained cool, as it absorbed
the sun's rays more readily than Shem's. And therefore, though it was a misnomer, he
came to be called Ham, meaning "hot."
As for Shem, he began to live up to his name, meaning "renown or fame," shortly after he
began to toddle. It seemed Noah could go nowhere without the little one beside him, or
following close after like a shadow The child mimicked everything his father did, from
the way he stood to the way he lifted a tool. Noah would never forget the day Shem
attempted to drive his first nail with a hammer fully as long as his arm. Determined to
lift the heavy instrument, if not swing it wildly, he succeeded in striking his own toe, and
then in suppressing the tears which exerted themselves against his closed eyes.
"A sturdy one he is," Noah boasted. "He will do his father proud all his life."
As Ham grew, he came to admire his elder brother, Shem, as much as Siaem admired
Noah. And the second
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son desired to please the father as much as the firstborn. But his attempts to meet Noah's
expectations were designed as much to put him on a par with Shem as to win him
paternal approval. And perhaps this was where it began—the rivalry, the jealousy
between brothers—even at such an early age.
Eventually, Ham's attitude contrasted with Shem's as much as his skin color.
Noah might have handled it all better. Naamah often wished the father could appreciate
more deeply the struggle of her second child. She spoke with him about it, but the Sethite
would only shrug. "Ham knows that I love him just as I love my firstborn," he would
insist.
"Then pay him more mind, Noah," the woman would warn. "Do not dote so much on
Shem. Remember that he had the advantage in keeping you to himself for nine years.
Ham needs your attention now."
But it was difficult to deny time to Shem and give it to the younger. Shem knew best
how to attract his father's eye and hold it—with little gestures and pleasing acts. As
much as Ham might try to compete, there was little chance of his measuring up to Shem,
who was always several steps ahead in development.
And then, about the time the father began to see the need—to realize Ham's
discouragement and try to help him—there was yet another interference. For the third
son of Yahweh's prophecy was born to Noah's wife.
This child was Jaseth's godson, his look-alike. And the moment he was born, Noah
bestowed on him a name reminiscent of the uncle. "Japheth," he was called. "Just as
Jaseth was 'God's appointment,' so Japheth shall carry on his beginnings. He shall be
the 'widespreading one,' and his seed shall fill the earth." So much did Noah love his
brother, that he chose to think of his third son as a type of the uncle. And it was not
difficult to do so, for Japheth was as pale oi skin as Jaseth, and both were reminders of
Noah's mother.
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The disparity in the naming of his sons did not seem to occur to Noah. Shem was
promised great renown, and Japheth great prosperity. Ham, who was born between, had
missed the privileged firstborn status, and by the time he had developed enough
problems to be a thorn in Noah's side, Japheth came along to capture the father's frustrated
heart and draw it once again away from Ham.
And so, Ham was left with a name that was virtually meaningless. "Hot" they called him
—nothing more than a poor attempt to describe his experience in the flesh. But in the
ironic way names have of fulfilling themselves, Ham grew into the 'appellation. He became
hot of spirit, hot of temperament, angry and with a bitter sense of humor. It seemed all
the world had conspired to thwart his future. And by the time he was a young man, he
had set himself apart. Though he lived with Noah, though he dwelt with Shem and
Japheth, he was a solitary fellow.
The Sun, which seared his dark complexion with glistening sweat, became his
companion. He was a wilderness man, and lived on the fantasy of conquest. One day, he
swore, he would prove his worth, though he must sell his soul to do it.
FOUR
All Lamechtown relied economically on the commerce generated by the lumber mill.
Therefore, though Lamech had given Noah access to his workers for the building of the
ark, the preacher made certain that the schedule on that project never interfered with the
routine of the factory.
As a result, progress on the mammoth ship was very slow, and added to the time delay
was the fact that Noah preferred to manufacture the vessel by hand, rather than by
machine. Noah did not know what stressful conditions the ark might have to endure or how
long after the deluge it might have to serve as shelter for all life on earth. So he wanted
it built perfectly, with craftsmanship as fine as possible. Therefore, except for the cutting of
the lumber into prefabricated lengths, all was done manually.
It was on Japhethis twentieth birthday that Ham voiced his discontent for the first time. And
it was over thirty-five years into the building of the boat. There was a great party in
Lamechtown to celebrate the anniversaries, and Ham chose not to participate.
Instead he left at early morn for the high country behind the village. There was a pad of
granite high on the side of one hill which sat naked between the trees and yet was
secluded from the valley's view. It was to find this seclusion that Ham wended his way
through the forest. His aim wasto sit in the exposure to the sun which the place afforded.
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As he put distance between himself and the celebration below, the sound of music and
dancing became fainter until he could hear it no more. The private retreat lay only a few
feet ahead, and his heart raced as he watched the morning light play through tree
shadows across the rock face. Soon he was positioned atop it, sitting with feet brought
close to his body between spread knees, hands resting palms up upon his thighs, and
eyes turned heavenward.
For long hours he sat thus, until the Golden Orb stood directly overhead in its noontime
arc, and his brow was shiny with perspiration.
It was possible that someone might come upon him here, but highly unlikely. For years
he had found uninterrupted privacy at this place. But even if the unlikely were to happen,
he never expected it to be Naamah who would intrude.
She stood now on the boundary of the granite pad, just inside the trees, and studied her
dark son as he glistened in the light. His torso was bare, and streamlets of sweat trickled
down his back, catching the sun.
She had seen the men of her own country in such meditations, where they sat in
the palm groves outside her hometown, doing obeisance to Lucifer. They had raised
stone structures to house such worship, as well, in the form of granite pillars arranged in
a circle. And it was said by those who understood such things that the pillars told the
calendar and the time, by the lines of shadow which the sun cast from them.
Naamah had spoken to Ham about these matters, as he had grown up closer to her
than to his father. She had always dealt with the issue in the negative, teaching Ham that
such religion was pagan, and not of God.
Now she wished she had never spoken of such things at all.
When she could still -tier heart no longer, she crept forward and approached her son,
who was oblivious to
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anything outside himself. It was not until she had placed a cool hand upon his wet
shoulder that he lurched into consciousness.
"Mother!" he cried, when he had wheeled about. Naamah's sad eyes met his in a
whisper of inquisition, and he turned his own to the ground.
"What are you doing?" was her simple question. "Tell me, please, that you are not
given over."
Ham sighed and scanned the forestline absently. "I cannot answer that, Mother. I would
like to think not. I do not believe in Sun-worship. . ."
"Then what?" Naamah persisted, her voice breaking. "Are the traditions of Yahweh not
enough for you?"
Ham looked at her with great round eyes, and his full lips parted with an expression she
could not interpret. It seemed half of surprise and half a sneer.
"Mother," he stammered, "I believe in Yahweh, but I struggle."
The mother knelt down beside him and listened as carefully as she could, refraining
the impulse to scold. "How, son? Tell me of the struggle."
Ham ran a nervous hand across his ebony face and sighed again. "Somehow," he
began, "I do not feel the part of a Sethite. Though I am the son of a Sethite, I feel I
belong . . . to Cain."
Naamah drew back and let the strange pronouncement sink into her heart. She did not
wish to jump to conclusions, and so proceeded cautiously.
"What does this mean to you—this 'belonging' to Cain?" she queried.
Ham pondered this a moment and then reflected, "I have never felt close to Noah."
Naamah noted, not for the first time, his avoidance of the term "father" when referring to
her husband, but she did not correct hirrias he continued, "And I look more like those of
your country. Were my uncle, Tubal-Cain, to be here, I sense I would feel very close to
him."
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The mother shook her head. "Perhaps you would, because he would love you as a son.
But no one in my family has ever been . . . a Sun-worshiper. Tubal-Cain would scorn the
comparison!"
Ham sat slump-shouldered at this rebuke, and nodded. "I know that, Mother. I scorn it
as well. It is just that I cannot identify with my elder brother's God."
The dark beauty scrutinized the lad with compassion. "Why do you call Yahweh your
brother's God?"
"Because," Ham said, punctuating his response with a clenched fist, "that is how
Noah refers to him ... 'the God of Lamech,' he says, and 'the God of Shem.' Never the
God of Ham or of Japheth. My younger brother does not seem to mind, but I always have
resented this!"
Naamah drew close. "This is tradition you balk at, Ham, not your father's heart. It is
tradition to refer to one's God as the God of one's father and one's firstborn son. It simply
shows the handing down of faith from one generation to the next, and to the next. It is not
intended to slight the other children of a family."
"Ha!" Ham cried. "Tradition be damned! It is tradition which has stripped me of all
opportunity. Not only was I born the second son, and so by tradition am inferior, but by
tradition my name is my designation, and my designation is meaningless. I am a
meaningless man!"
"Child," the woman whispered, tears rising to her lashes, "this is not true. You are
neither inferior nor meaningless. A name does not make a statement regarding a man's
worth, so much as it describes him or states some hope for his future. And a man can
make his own name glow with meaning. If you are 'hot,' be 'hot for Yahweh,' 'hot of spirit'!"
Now Ham laughed derisively. "No, Mother! You strain the interpretation! If I am hot, it
shall be after gain and after glory! Thus shall I fulfill all hope concerning me! And when
my father is on,his deathbed, I shall heat his
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blessing to a white flame, or I shall melt his curse with my breath!"
The woman had always known that her son cut his teeth on discouragement, but
only now did she realize that this discouragement had turned to hate.
"You speak of blessings and of curses? Be careful, my child," she pleaded, "lest your
resentment mark you with Cain's curse. If you feel close to Cain, it is in the similarity of your
feelings toward your brother. His resentment of Abel led the way to sin, and so shall yours
if you do not curb it. Then your dream of conquest will end in slavery, and your hope of
glory shall end in shame. So did it happen for my countrymen and their patriarch. And
it was generations being undone."
FIVE
From the beginning of the boat project, Noah's work had not gone unnoticed by the world
beyond Lamechtown. At first, as the ship's skeletal structure had taken form, travelers
passing through the village or customers coming up from the cities assumed it to be a
mammoth advertisement for the mill's products.
Even the workmen assigned to the project by Lamech were unaware of the barge's
ultimate destiny "Some eccentric whim of the old man," they would laugh among
themselves, presuming that Lamech had gone a bit off center in his thinking. But all
hours spent on the craft were overtime and, hence, well paid. For years the mill-workers
had labored on the project without question. And so the ribs and beams had been
completed and then the great strips of gopher-wood siding had been applied. It was not
until the interior work had begun that the men began to murmur.
"If this is nothing more than a display, why are we asked to supply such detail?" they
wondered. "And what are these plans?" they marveled, perusing the maze-like blueprints
of cellular rooms and stalls.
So it was that the curiosity began to grow first -in
in Lamechtown, among the workers,
and then spread down to the cities as travelers passed word of the strange project in the
hills.
Within a few weeks the inquisitive began arriving, to
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see if the rumor were true. Why was a boat being built in the mountains, where there
were no rivers or lakes and the closest body of water was a turtle pond? And why was
the boat so immense, so peculiar in its internal arrangement?
This month there had been more tourists visiting the site than ever before, and the
workers were coming under great strain as they were bombarded daily with inquiring eyes
and with questions for which they had no answers. What had been a virtual secret in the
Adlandian wilderness, the property of one village, now demanded an explanation. It had
been over thirty-eight years since Noah had preached a sermon, but today he must do so.
After almost four decades of peace, he must bring himself to herald his cause once more
before the public. For the quiet hamlet was quiet no longer.
The laborers had organized themselves this morning, determined to have their
satisfaction. If Lamech would not speak with them, Noah must. And since the patriarch
thought it best that his son do the explaining, he directed them his way.
The best place to speak to the millworkers, who numbered in the hundreds, was from the
high, open doorway of the ark. When Noah had ascended the narrow ladder leading to this
aperture, he had not expected the even larger crowd which had assembled. Foreigners
passing through town, and the always-present tourists here to see the renowned ark, had
joined the villagers to learn what the preacher would present.
In family hours by the evening fires, Shem, Ham, and Japheth had heard the story
since childhood, of their father's call and his visit with Yahweh, of the devastation which
was imminent, and of the purpose of the ark. The eldest and the youngest were clearly
visible on the edge of the crowd, where they stood, confident in Noah's ability to handle the
situation. But the Sethite's dark eyes scanned the throng, whA even now grew in numbers
as
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more onlookers joined its ranks. Ham's face would have been easily distinguishable, were
he present. Even among Cainites, whose skin tended to a deeper pigmentation than
Sethites', Ham would have stood out, for he drew his lineage from the purer race of Nod-
Persia, and harked back to his mother's ancestors in appearance.
But Ham was not in the crowd, and Noah was disappointed. His job would have been
easier had all three sons shown their support in this moment.
Just now Noah wished he had devoted more time to prayer since coming to
Lamechtown. He longed to duck into the vessel, to hide himself and seek Yahweh's
counsel as to what he should speak.
But he gripped himself and reasoned privately, "This is the Lord's project. He must give
me the words to defend it."
He surveyed the audience, and tried to recapture the serenity of the time when the Lord
had walked with him.
Summoning courage which came from that memory, he opened his mouth and
gestured to the walls of the ship. "It is supposed that this vessel is meant to highlight my
father's mill—to bring commerce to our village. This is not true. It is surmised that we are
investigating some new model in ship-building. This also is untrue. The craft you see
before you," he said calmly, "is not Lamech's design—neither was it his idea to produce
it in this isolated spot. This ship is not the product of Lamechtown alone, nor of a mad
mind. It is not, indeed, the concept of any man. It is a vessel contracted by our God!"
The Sethian villagers eyed one another in surprise. Some recalled the vague rumors
regarding Noah's strange sermons in the coastal cities years before. But they had never
connected those rumors with the project on which they had labored all this time.
As the murmuring grew, and the questions, Noah tried to regain their attention.
"You have heard of,the great cataclysm prophesied by
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our fathers Adam and Enoch, which would mark the end of this planet as we know it!" he
cried.
Instantly all eyes were on him, as the fearsome subject with which they had been
familiar since childhood was resurrected. The preacher met the opportunity with full force.
"Nowhere do these prophecies state that all life will be destroyed. This vessel," he
hailed her, "shall be guardian of the species God has ordained, protecting them from the
deluge and from the Destroyer's hand which shall press sore upon the earth!"
The foreigners and city dwellers who witnessed this speech grew restless now. This
was not just a Sethian issue, they perceived. It was clear the implication involved all
Adlandian life.
As the Sethites whispered among themselves, shaking their heads in laughing doubt or
serious contemplation, the Cainites on the edge of the crowd grew angry. One of them,
an aged merchant from Cronos, waved vigorously over the heads of his fellow listeners, and
at last Noah called on him.
"Sir," the merchant inquired, "I heard you years ago, when you spoke in the marketplace
of my city. I did not like what you said then, and I like it even less today."
Many present hooted agreement, but Noah let him continue.
"So you intend to house all species within this vessel? Have you made calculations?
Granted, your ship is immense, but the zoo of Poseidon in Sun City is a mile square and
contains a mere fraction of the animal types. How, pray tell, do you plan to accomplish
such a feat?"
"Yahweh has asked only that I bring one pair of each unclean and seven pair of each
clean animal type on board," Noah explained. "The various species are contained within
the life-iwtter of the kinds or families, and it is estimated that there are at most 800
kinds on earth. I figure, given the diversity of clean and unclean, that I
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must accommodate less than 2,400 individual creatures in the ark, which has the
capacity for more than forty times that number of the medium-sized." With this he
took a deep breath and concluded, "As you can see, not only will there be ample
space for each, but for many supplies and potential offspring. And if Yahweh sees fit
to board more, there is more than enough room!"
The congregation stood amazed at Noah's calculations. It was apparent much
foresight had gone into his plan for the interior.
"As to the exterior of the vessel," he continued, "this ship was not made for sailing,
but for floating; its shape best suited for stability and endurance against the most
threatening conditions. It is simply not capsizable—a storehouse for survival!"
Now the crowd was very still. Even the challenger shrank meekly into the throng.
But Noah was not satisfied to stop. Yahweh had given him courage for more than a
technical explanation.
"The questions you have asked are wise ones," he commended his enemies, "but
there is a matter more important than these. What you should be asking is why
Yahweh sees fit to destroy the earth!"
His voice picked up conviction as he reminded the audience of humanity's sin, of
the violence of the planet, the destruction of mankind's habitat, and the arts of man-
ipulation. He spared nothing in singling out those responsible for the oppressions of greed
and warfare, promiscuity and lust. The capacity of the human heart for evil had been
enlarged, he proclaimed, by its trafficking with strange gods—with the minions of
Lucifer and their halfbreed descendants.
Suddenly, though the crowd had listened well to this point, the atmosphere was
seared with a sinister spirit. Faces here and there displayed it, and all present could
feel it in the air. From somewhere deep in the throng came a rattling challenge.
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"Who—then—shall be saved?" it inquired.
Noah sensed the origin of the confrontation, though no one else seemed to identify it,
and his skin tingled. But, squaring his shoulders, he nodded agreeably toward the strange
utterance. "I am glad you asked that question," he declared. "For Yahweh would not have
anyone be ignorant of his salvation!"
Then, leveling his gaze at the congregation, he proclaimed, "The Lord says the just
shall live by faith! There is none righteous! No—not one! All have sinned and fallen short
of God's glory. But he has, in his grace, prepared an escape for those who confess their
unworthiness and turn to him!"
The spirit of antagonism had not fully crested, when another voice interrupted Noah,
drawing his attention to one of the project's most devoted workmen.
"Speak, Seltan," the preacher deferred. "You have been a good friend. What is your
question?"
The Sethite was a little hesitant, but finally spoke forthrightly. "Noah—do you mean to say
that this vessel is large enough to hold progenitors for all animal species, along with all
people who wish to escape the flood? How can such a thing be?"
The son of Lamech was touched by his friend's naivete. "Seltan," he replied, "I recall our
days together, growing up in these mountains. You were one of my closest companions, and
have become a community leader. I respect your concern for humanity, but you have not
heard me correctly."
Noah's boyhood comrade listened quietly as the preacher reiterated, "It is not all
those who wish to be spared, who will be spared. Only those who admit their need of
salvation and trust Yahweh's provision shall be saved." At this the preacher shuddered
and looked skyward. "But the time will draw short for salvation. God's -hand will not
always stretch forth to save, nor will he
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always strive with mankind. There will come a time," he cried, "when the door to the ark will be
shut, and no one shall enter in—despite many petitions and many tears!"
SIX
The cool of evening was ascending the sides of the great vessel, as Noah gathered up his
tools. Once, when he was a child, he had made the mistake of leaving his father's
hammer outside overnight. By morning, it had developed a fine coating of rust from the
dense dew which settled upon the ground where it lay.
Ever since, he had made sure to leave nothing out which would be endangered by the
nightly fog of Adlandia.
His childhood had been on his mind since Seltan had spoken up today. As Noah
arranged his chisels in their leather sheath, he reminisced on those more carefree days,
and he wondered if any of his old companions would live to see the world beyond the
coming destruction.
A warm tear spilled down his cheek and splashed onto the back of one hand. He lifted his
fingers from the sheath, which he had just bound with a cord, and he brushed away the
salty trickle. It was good that he was alone just now, he thought. He would not want
anyone to see him cry.
But at that instant, he heard footsteps below, and being on the roof of the ark, he
crawled to the rampart and peered over. It was difficult to identify who stood silent -in the
fog beside the vessel. He waited a moment, and when the figure did not-move, he called,
"Who is it? Did you need something?"
"It is I, Seltan," came a husky reply. "I was hoping to speak with you, Noah."
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The preacher quickly thrust his tools into the work-chest and shut the lid. He then
scrambled down the long ladder which led to the ground and stood face to face with his
old friend.
"I thought you went home hours ago," he greeted. "I did," Seltan said. "But I could
not rest."
"Come," Noah directed, bundling an extra cloak about his own shoulders. "It is much too
damp out here. There is probably a fire still burning in the men's hall."
Seltan complied gratefully, and soon they had crossed the village to the small retreat
frequented by the laborers of Lamechtown. Noah did not often resort to the place, but
knew Seltan would feel most comfortable there. And so, when they entered, he called for
a table nearest the still-glowing hearth.
Wine in Adlandia was a rare commodity. There were brewed drinks available, but
naturally turned beverages were very expensive, for the canopy of heaven obstructed all
but the most persistent aging elements of sun and air. Therefore, the fruit of the vine and
its juices were extremely slow in fermenting. And if a man treated a friend to such a
luxury, it was an expensive treat indeed.
Therefore, it was evidence of Noah's great affection for Seltan that he ordered for him
one of the most costly nectars of the mountain vineyards.
The millworker's eyes misted at this show of generosity, but Noah's kindness seemed to
make his task even more difficult. The preacher leaned forward and prodded him a little.
"Now, friend, you said you wished to speak with me?"
The little tavern was very quiet. Only the shuffling of the servants in the kitchen broke
the silence, for tomorrow was a workday and all the other customers had gone home with
the dark.
"You handled the crowd well today," Seltan began, his voice betraying nervousness. "AO
you replied well to my question. B u t . "
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He hesitated and Noah spurred him, "Yes—go on. . . ." "But . . . and you must understand
that I am not mocking you, as some persist in doing. . ."
"Of course." Noah smiled.
Seltan bowed his head, and Noah's heart ached for the heaviness he perceived on his
weathered face. He recalled the lighthearted laugh which had always characterized this
fellow, and he was sorry it seemed so buried.
"But," the craftsman went on, "I think you mislead the people."
Noah studied the accusation briefly, and rebutted, perhaps too quickly, "Seltan—if you
speak again of the limited capacity of the ark—it is only because you have led a sheltered
life in these hills. You have not seen the wickedness of the cities. Most of humanity will
never turn to Yahweh!"
But Seltan was shaking his head. "I fear you have spent too much time in those
places, Noah. You forget that there are still pockets of life where sanctified folk dwell.
Why, your ark will not hold even half of Lamechtown, and our village is full of those who
keep the ways of Seth!"
"Ah," Noah reflected, leaning back in the squat chair which cradled his tired body. He
fingered his own wine glass and considered Seltan's viewpoint carefully. "I see what you
are saying," he admitted. And then, proceeding gently, he explained, "I once felt as you do,
my friend, about the holiness of our race. And it is true that we have been the most
privileged men on earth. We have the oracles of Adam and the prophecies of Enoch. We
have the traditions and the laws of righteousness."
"Yes—we do!" Seltan asserted. "And yet you say we shall not all be saved!"
Noah cleared his throat. "Not for those reasons, Seltan. Any more than a Cainite will be
lost because he is a Cainite!"
Seltan's eyes flashed and he scanned the low rafters with a grunt. 4I see that your
wife not only turned your
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head years ago, but also your mind!" he muttered.
Noah bristled, but restrained his anger. "It is not my wife who has convinced me of
such things, though she has a heart for Yahweh that would put many a Sethite to shame.
No ... ," he said emphatically, "it is not Naamah, but Yahweh who has taught me that not one
work of righteousness shall save a human soul! And," he declared, wondering at his own
boldness, "my friend, if it is upon tradition or good works that you rely, I fear for your future,
as I fear for those who have forgotten God in Cronos and Sun City and the Wilderness of
Nod!"
The words hung bitingly in the air, and Seltan's face grew red with their impact. For a
long while the two men confronted one another in silence, the declaration swinging like an
invisible flag between them.
As Noah marveled at their newfound animosity, the millworker rose from the table.
Without a word he pulled his cloak over his shoulders and picked up his wine glass. He
tipped the container toward his mouth, emptying it with a gulp. Then, setting it down
carefully, he glanced once more at the preacher.
Noah watched his exit numbly.
SEVEN
When the sons of Noah began to seek wives for themselves, Ham was the first to marry.
And the day he announced his choice to the patriarch, Lamech, seeking his blessing, the
final wedge was driven between himself and the grandfather, who had never been warm
toward the lad.
From the time Ham had been born, and especially when his skin had begun to darken
like Tubal-Cain's and his brethren of Nod, the old Sethite had found great difficulty in
overlooking the reminder of Naamah's race. Intellectually the old man knew there was no
difference between Shem, Japheth, and Ham. But it was an emotional blindness which
caused his prejudice—not an intellectual one.
And Ham's choice of a woman was no inducement to change Lamech's thinking.
Carise had captured Ham's heart the moment he first saw her with a bedouin caravan
outside the village. Her people were not city-dwellers, nor were they mountaineers.
They were free wanderers, claiming no particular nation or origin. They lived off transient
labor and wily connivery. They were an amiable, but fiercely loyal tribe, and abided by no
law but their own. "Stranger beware" was their operating code, and they lived for song,
dance, and nomadic freedom. Their racial distinction had become blurred by years of
wandering. Not one of them knew whether his tribe should be considered Sethitic or
Cainitic, and nothing was of less importance to them.
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Ham had come upon the caravan one evening as he returned from a day in the hills.
Most Sethites, as well as Cainites, had long since given up the strict veg etarianism
of Eden, and during his years of solitude Ham had developed mastery of the hunt, being a
fine archer. He rarely failed to bring a feast of game to Naamah, who enjoyed cooking
whatever he presented and who had developed a fine collection of recipes for wild meat.
This evening, as Ham descended the last low hill bordering Lamechtown, with a small doe
dressed out and slung over his broad shoulders, he was caught by the glint of warm light
and the sound of music in a hollow just off the road.
Creeping to the edge of the vale, he hid within the fog-rimmed trees sheltering the
little camp, and watched as a woman spun and swayed around the fire, her colorful
garments flowing with her wild but graceful movements like a flashing aurora.
High in her right hand a tambourine shimmered, as the heel of her left palm struck it
in cadence with the music's beat. Earrings, bangles, and chains added their own chorus
as she spun, and a dozen bracelets danced on her arm in silver chime.
The eyes of the men tried to catch hers, but she played them for fools with her fickle
glances.
When at last the music reached a crescendo and she turned herself to a pivoting step,
tumbling from outstretched arm to outstretched arm, each admirer strained to hold her to
himself. And when she rested, it was with a breathless laugh.
"No—let me be!" she cried. "I belong to none of you!"
With this, she gathered her skirts about her and sashayed to the edge of the camp,
where they knew she wished to be alone.
"Carise!" they calla but she did not reply. And when she found a quiet retreat she sat
within the shadows, waiting for the stilling of her heart.
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She could not know that a stranger watched.. She could not know that the grandson of
this village's founder studied her a stone's throw away.
Where moonlight found her as it filtered through low branches, it showed an aquiline
nose and high cheekbones, set in a complexion made earth-dark by the sun. The
woman could have been Ham's cousin, or TubalCain's daughter. From a crowd of
thousands she would have been picked as the twin of Naamah's second son.
Her obsidian eyes flashed like those of a startled fawn when she heard Ham move
behind her.
"Do not be afraid, my lady," he whispered. "It is a friend—perhaps even a brother—who
approaches."
"I have no brother but the wind," she replied. "And I belong to no man!"
"So I heard you tell the others," he said, a smile in his voice as he stepped closer.
"Friend or foe, come no nearer!" she warned, drawing a slender blade from a strap
upon her thigh.
Ham caught sight of the glistening skin beneath her skirt, and he stood still, as much
in admiration as in fear. "I mean no harm," he repeated. "See, I am unarmed." He
stepped out from the shadows, his hands extended. "I am a hunter, only now come
down from the hills. When I heard your music, I stopped to listen. .. ."
"And to watch," she presumed, tossing her head coyly
". . . Yes—to watch," he granted. "My bow and quiver are in the wood, with my game."
At this the woman was silent, glancing enviously in the direction of his gesture.
"Game?" she whispered.
Ham studied her furtive expression, and, now that he had drawn closer, could make
out the sunken hollows beneath her cheeks and the hunger behind her carefree
ambiance.
"When did you last eat?" he inquired.
The woman. lifted her chin scornfully. "Eat? Do you
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question our fortunes? My people are well fed!"
"Then," he said gently, placing a hand on her smooth arm, "they will not mind if you join
me for supper. Unless, of course, you have already taken your evening meal." Carise
turned a nervous glance to the caravan, and Ham prodded her again, "Or perhaps you
have some jealous lover who would constrain you?"
"Hmmph!" she sighed. "I told you I belong to no man!" "Very well, then," he laughed.
"Come!"
Taking her by the hand, he led her up the foggy hill to his cache of venison. Finding a
nearby cave, they built a fire, and within a short while the scent of meat, laden with
herbs collected from the underbrush, wooed her.
When she had well eaten, he knew she was his for the taking. Drawing her close, he
breathed upon her neck and she melted into the warmth of his embrace.
"A shame to the line of Seth!" Lamech was raving, as Naamah flew from the patriarch's
chamber. She sped down the long hall of the estate and out onto the veranda, running
squarely into her husband.
"Noah!" she cried, throwing herself into his arms and then pulling back angrily "Where
are you when I need you?" She glared at the rough calluses on his open palms and
declared, "The boat project! Always the project! It has taken your heart all these years—
and your sons grew up without you!"
The Sethite muttered his exasperation. "What troubles you, woman?"
"Did you not see the damsel in the garden as you passed? The bedouin?"
"I did not." Noah shrugged. "What damsel?"
"She shall soon be your daughter-in-law, if Ham has his way. And if she is a poor
choice, you must live with the fact that you never instructed him in matters of taste, or in
matters of life!"
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Then, pushing past him, Naamah rushed toward the wing of the estate which had been
their home since they came to Lamechtown years before. The preacher watched her exit
and noted her swift glance into the border garden. Her angry shake of the head spoke
volumes. He would have peeked into the bower himself, had he not heard the voices of his
father and Ham spilling from the house in heated disagreement.
"Perhaps, indeed, you have never been one of us!" Lamech was shouting. "You are of
the line of Cain—of the family of the other Lamech!"
At this Noah rushed to the chamber, in time to see Ham turn in a fury for the door.
"Stop, son!" he cried. "What is this about?"
The handsome ebony face met his in a cloud of resentment. "It is about tradition, Noah!"
"Call me, 'father,"' the preacher insisted, grasping him by the arm.
" 'Father' . ," Ham spit viciously. "It is about tradi-
tion! Do we not all honor tradition in this family? By tradition I approached our patriarch for
his blessing on my forthcoming marriage. And he refused it. So I shall do as you did,
when you took a wife! I shall defy my elders!"
Noah was stunned by his rebuking tone. "Why . . . ," he stammered, "did you not come
directly to me about this? Why did you go to Lamech?"
"Ha!" the son roared, his head thrown back and the veins in his sleek black neck thick
with urgency. "When could I ever talk with you?"
At this, Ham's tormented eyes moved toward the door and he rushed for the garden, to the
one who had spurred
his rebellious soul.
Ham would not find Carise in the little bower. Skittish as a wild doe, she had retreated
up the mountain at the
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sounds of turmoil in Lamech's house. It would, in fact, be Noah who unexpectedly came
upon her along the trail to his favorite glen of solitude.
In his brooding mood, shoulders stooped and fists clenched, the preacher kept his
eyes to the ground, as he hiked into the outback, speaking to himself in characteristic
manner, hoping to collect his wits and analyze the domestic furor. He would not have
noticed Carise lingering beside the trail, had she not spoken directly to him.
"Do you sense it? " she called.
Noah stopped abruptly and found the mysterious girl staring at him full-faced.
"What?" he asked.
"You must be the preacher. Ham has spoken of you these past days." She smiled. "I
am Carise."
The Sethite was awed by her natural glamour and cleared his throat with new
understanding. "So . . . ," he concluded, "you are the lady who has turned my son's heart."
"Oh," she laughed dryly, "I would guess his heart was turned years ago. All I have done is
catch in its shadow."
Noah studied her and clicked his tongue. "You underestimate your powers," he
observed. "Now—what did you ask as I came upon you? "
" `Do you sense it?' I said. The stillness in the air? You speak of my powers, but I have
only a few. I know you have many more, for your son insists you are a prophet, that you
have seen the future in your mind."
Noah was surprised at Ham's endorsement, but did not grasp at it. "I do not consider myself
gifted," he hedged.
"Well—that depends on your point of view." Carise nodded, her eyes twinkling with
interest. "Now—as for this strange stillness in the air—have you noticed it?"
"I cannot say that I have—until just now."
"At dawn, as Ham and I came down from the hills, I saw the deer and the birds take
flight into the high coun-
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try. I perceived their fear—not fear of our approach—but of something greater."
Noah surveyed the jungle growth and a shudder crossed his shoulders.
"You feel it. The nearing of the end," she whispered, leaning toward him.
Noah did not like to admit, especially to a stranger, that he had of late experienced a
kind of urgency, as if the visions neared fulfillment. Again, he shrugged and was silent.
"Did you know that animals sense the movement of the earth?" she inquired, her voice
heavy with conviction. "Just as you discern things which other men do not, so they
perceive the changing of the times. I have observed that they have a second sense," she
asserted, raising a finger to his face. "I have an affinity for wild things."
Noah swallowed hard. "I can believe that you do." He smiled.
"Then believe this," she said soberly, "that of late the beasts are wary"
Carise turned from him now, vanishing into the depths of the wood, and as he watched
her go he pondered the truth she spoke and wondered how Ham had found such a
creature.
EIGHT
For nearly a century Noah, the son of Lamech, Noah the preacher of righteousness, Noah,
who would be among only ten generations recorded from the time of Adam to the deluge
—for nearly one hundred years he had proclaimed judgment and salvation to the
Adlandian world. By now the story of the peculiar north country wildman and of his
'strange ship had quite literally reached the entire continent. It was safe to say that
there was not a soul on the planet, human or superhuman, who had not heard the
message.
And though this fact verged on the miraculous, for there were millions of folk spread
across earth's single land mass, it was even more astounding that it had happened
without Noah setting foot outside his mountain village since the ark was begun.
The preacher found wonder in this knowledge, but also sadness. For though he had
longed to tell the world, he also sensed that once each soul had the message, the end
would not long be held back.
During these years of exhortation, however, the hope that many would believe and be
saved had kept Noah's zeal at a high pitch. When any other man would have long since
given up, he still carried on with evangelistic fervor.
But the way had not been easy. Obad had predicted that the prophet's path would be
extremely hard. And the words had proven true time and again.
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N O A H
Noah rarely lifted a hammer or drove a nail these days. For many months his waking
hours had been consumed with preaching. The throngs who daily filled the little valley
necessitated this. For the great landlocked vessel of Lamechtown was now simply
known, worldwide, as "Noah's Ark," and tourists from every nation made their way daily up
the mountain highway to view it, and to listen to the peculiar teachings regarding it.
The preacher's safety and health had more than once been subject to danger during
these months, as his words provoked anger in most listeners. After the first few times he had
been pummeled by stones or sticks, he had constructed a scaffold far up the side of the
vessel from which to preach.
This had not done away with the threats to himself and his family, but it had made it
possible for him to address the hoards who perpetually came before him.
The boat project which, after over nine decades, had been nearly completed, now
suffered major slowdowns. Progress had never been speedy, but now, due to continual social
pressure, many of the Sethites who had been committed to the extra earnings if not the
philosophy behind the ark, were dropping out of the force. And if they were not persuaded
to quit by social assault, Seltan and his kind had infiltrated their thinking, persuading
them that Noah's doctrine was contrary to tradition.
"He does not teach the laws of righteousness by which we have always distinguished
ourselves," Seltan argued. "He teaches some insipid form of salvation by 'faith alone'!"
His comrades laughed at the thought, nudging one another with pious scorn.
Often now except for the work of Shem and Japheth, and an occasiNal lift from Ham,
labor on the vessel was at a virtual standstill. When others cooperated it was for monetary
gain only, and Noah wondered where the Lord was.
All these years he had sensed God's presence in the
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work of his own hands, and in the slow but steady materialization of his dreams. But
sometimes now, when he realized how few on earth believed in his vision, he despaired.
Save for the faith of his eldest and youngest, and the lip service of Ham, Noah could
count none of the younger generation who trusted in the word he taught. And among his
peers there were even fewer, if any, whom he could call believers. Not only was Seltan a
stumbling block, but Jaseth, his own brother, was cool toward the project.
Just a month ago news had reached Lamechtown of the death of old Shubag. And Noah
marveled at his father's diminished generation. Moricahn was still a devoted kinsman,
but tended, on his rare visits, to sympathize with Jaseth, who increasingly questioned
the validity of Noah's calling. While Moricahn had rebelled against Sethitic tradition
quietly, retreating into the wilderness for peace, Jaseth turned his eyes toward the
pleasures of the coastlands, and spoke of travel a bit too often.
Somewhere there was Tubal-Gain, who apart from his sister Naamah, was likely the
only Cainite on earth to express faith in Yahweh.
Noah sighed, thinking on his wife and her patience. Had it not been for her persistent
support, he should have given up many times. And now, even she was put out with him.
The Sethite sat in the cool of evening on the veranda of Lamech's estate. The crowds
had dispersed for the day, many returning to homes far away, and others quartered in the
tourists' camp which had sprung up and remained in semipermanence within the Valley
of Turtles.
On his lap he held the little journal in which he had entered his memoirs faithfully over
the years. The leaves had been replaced countless times as the leatherbound volume
had been filled again and again, and the numerous booklets had been stor@d in a cedar
chest.
He thought just now on the sweet face and pleasant
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ways of his wife, considering the numberless times she had brought him cool drinks on
hot days and joined him with a basket of lunch at the work site. He wondered if he had,
indeed, slighted his family through the years. Could he have managed his time better, to
be more attentive to their needs?
As he pondered this, he did not hear Naamah's footstep behind him, but when she placed
a warm hand on his shoulder, he turned happily to greet her.
"I was just thinking of you." He smiled. "Sit with me."
The woman was quiet this evening, her face marked with sadness. She nestled
beside him, sitting at his feet and resting her head upon his knee. With one finger she
stroked the top of his sandaled foot where the dust of the day's labors had settled.
"Husband," she whispered, turning soft eyes toward him, "forgive my harshness this
morning."
Noah caressed her dark head and shook his own. "No—it is I who must ask forgiveness.
You are right. I have not been all I should have been to you or the boys." His voice broke and
he looked far off to the hills where Ham so often retreated. "If only there were some way to
go back," he sighed.
Naamah did not refute his self-castigation. But she wished to speak of matters even
weightier. "You have been a good man," she insisted. "Your calling has been heavy on
your shoulders. What more could you have done?" And turning her gaze to the journal,
which she had always honored as Noah's private property, she asked, "Has Yahweh spoken
to you of late? Do you think we have much time?"
Noah could feel her tremble at the question, and wondered if she really wished to hear
the answer.
"There are rumblings," was all he would say. "Rumblings in the earth."
Naamah sat erect and drew her knees to her chin. A
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tear glimmered at the corner of one eye, and Noah leaned forward quickly. "Oh, wife, what is
it? Do you fear?"
"I fear, husband," she replied, her voice a quiver. "I fear for our . . . for Ham."
The preacher slipped from his chair and knelt beside her on the pavement, taking her
hands in his. "As to Ham," he began, "I have met this lady of his. Naamah, she is an
intriguing creature."
The woman drew back and studied him narrowly. "Intriguing? Is that the word men use
for such females?"
Noah's eyes grew wide and he laughed heartily. "No, no! I do not mean that. I mean—I
have spoken with her, and. . . ."
"Spoken with her?" Naamah bristled.
"Yes—indeed," he said, trying to soothe her. "Do not take it this way. Now listen—I have
met her and I sense she is a girl of some depth. She is unusual. . .."
"Ha!" -Naamah retorted.
. . unusual . . . ," he repeated, "in her perceptions."
The Cainitess rebuffed him squarely. "It sounds as though you have come to know
her very well in so short a time!"
Noah laughed again, and drew her rigid body close. "You will see," he insisted. "She
will be of value to us in time."
The woman tried to absorb this assurance and yet still shook her head. "But, what of
Ham? His heart is so rebellious! Is Yahweh offended?"
Noah could read beyond her words to the true fear of her mind. "Do you worry that Ham
will be left behind—that he will . . . perish?"
The mother turned her face away and did not answer. But Noah reached for the little
journal which he had left on the chair.
"Here," he directed turning to his favorite passage. "Listen to the promise of our
God." And then he read,
237
N O A H
"But I will establish my covenant with you, and you shall enter the ark—you and your sons
and your wife, and your sons' wives with you."
Naamah longed to see the words for herself, and when he obliged, handing her the
open volume, she scanned the writing urgently. Yes—it did read thus!
She closed her eyes and sighed deeply, serenity easing the tension in her face.
"You see—," Noah went on—"this is the grace of Yahweh. For my sake, he has
made this covenant. My sons are not perfect—they may even be unbelieving. But for my
sake he has made this exception."
The woman listened carefully and pondered the meaning a long time.
"Then," she marveled, "the new world will not be perfect. It is destined for strife from its
beginning, for the deluge will not wipe out selfishness or pride."
Noah wondered at his wife's conclusion. "No—," the man agreed. "For that to happen—
there would not be one soul left alive."
P A R T IV
RAIN AND THE BOW
All the fountains of the great deep /were] broken up, and the windows of heaven
were opened.
And the waters prevailed upon the earth. . . .
And God said ... I do set my bow in the cloud, and it shall be for a token of a
covenant between me and the earth.
Genesis 7:11, 24 ; 9:12, 13