landlost | ONC 2024

twelve.

MY TIME AT Noah's camp passed quickly, filled with never-ending chores delegated by Emzara, laughter with the men, and interrogations with the women to further probe about their God. I learnt quickly how to handle Japheth's jokes, how to manoeuvre around Shem's silences, how to make Noah's tea perfectly right ——

And how to murmur quietly to Ham without my cheeks growing heated with a blush.

"Na'el? Na'el?" Ada's annoyed voice shattered my daydreaming, and I shot her a guilty look and hastened to uproot more carrots from the soil. "Thinking about your betrothed again?" she teased, and I knew she was talking about the wildflowers I'd woven into my hair.

Ham had given them to me that morning, his cheeks ruddy with boyish charm and wearing his chuffedness as earnestly as any adorned simlah. Despite the simplicity of the gift, I'd been delighted to show them off whilst it was the men's rest day, so that they could all see his efforts in courting me.

I kept my eyes on the ground, begrudging to admit that she was right. "What does Elohim say about patience, Ada? I need some encouragement."

"Maybe you should build your own Ark," she replied, "that way you'll learn."

I groaned at her response, wishing she would be serious sometimes. Often I would go to Sedeqet instead of Ada for advice, as I didn't want to bother Noah — lately his eyebrows looked permanently pinched, his blue eyes dull with exhaustion — but now she was tending to Shem's hand. I'd learnt his injured wrist gave him trouble, and had to be massaged when it ached, although I'd never mustered up the courage to ask him how his accident had occurred.

I guessed it was similar to Ham's own. The men had been but boys when Elohim had told Noah to build the Ark, though I struggled to picture them as children. It was too sad to imagine, their boyhood replaced by frightening concerns about the end of the world.

The Flood, Noah had called it, once.

"I'm worried, Ada," I admitted, hoisting my basket full of vegetables on my hip. "Sometimes I wonder if Noah will ever let me marry Ham." It had kept me up at night, before —— remembering how my father had bartered with Shem for a bride price, more than a year ago, and I was still not yet a bride.

Had I not done enough to earn Noah's approval? I bit my lip at the thought. Under Ezmara's watchful gaze, I knew I could provide for him —— I could cook, and make clothes, and I knew I wasn't barren, by my monthly bleeding. I'd learnt about Elohim.

And I cared for his son. Deeply. It was still something I had to fight to get myself to admit. Often the guilt was unbearable; it felt like I was replacing my love for Naamah with my growing affections for him.

Ada halted, and pressed a hand to my shoulder. For once, I didn't mind that her hand was coated with dirt, and she was touching my beloved green kēthanoth. "Noah is a man of his word," she said firmly. Her eyes searched mine, imploring me to believe her. "He knows Elohim is his judge, and wouldn't dare wrong Him."

Flickers of uncertainty still burnt in my chest, but I knew that much was true, at least. Elohim didn't take kindly to liars. Sedeqet had told me the story about Cain and Abel; the brother who'd killed his own kin out of jealousy, and tried to hide it from God. He'd been banished from his lands for being the first murderer, and an awful liar.

That alone could inspire anyone to be a truthsayer for the rest of their days. And Noah would be the most devoted one.

"Na'el, let me take this." Ada tugged on my basket, and I released it gingerly, askance. "You go bathe. You need to relax."

"But lunch ——" I protested. Ezmara had put me on cooking duty, and I couldn't disappoint her.

"Sedeqet and I handled the food just fine before you arrived," Ada rolled her eyes good-naturedly, then jutted out her chin. "Go! And don't come back until you've gotten over these foolish worries of yours."