landlost | ONC 2024

fourteen.

"WHAT IS IT?" Ham asked, looking up at the sky from beneath my hands as I gently poured water over his hair.

"Stay still," I murmured, trying not to tense as he settled, his shoulders against my knees. He lied in the river, pressed up against me as I sat on the bank and washed his hair. Usually Emzara did this —— helping Ham to wash his wound, and ensuring he didn't hurt himself again in his frail condition —— but Noah had pulled her aside to talk with him.

"Noah called it a 'cloud'," I answered his question, kneading my fingers through his dark curls. His hair was thick, and I hoped the small wooden bowl of oils Emzara had given me would be enough to wrangle out the knots.

Ham made a monosyllabic noise in the back of his throat, and the sound vibrated through my legs. He raised his hands and let the water run down his wrists in rivulets. "Of course he'd know."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, raising a brow, even though he couldn't see me. I lathered my hands in oil and gently worked against his scalp. He tilted his head back a little, maybe in pleasure, maybe to give me a better angle.

"He always knows everything. But he never tells us anything." He let his hands fall into the water, splashing the hem of my kēthanoth. "He won't tell us when the Flood will happen. He won't tell us that the Ark is complete, even though we have no more use for the wood, and the pitch has sealed every nook and cranny of that blasted ——"

"Maybe he doesn't know," I interjected, knowing I had to defend Noah in his absence. He'd been nothing but kind to me, and Ham was being unfair. It was plain to see that Noah's focus had been —— and likely always would be —— on his family. Else, why would he have built the Ark in the first place? If he was as selfish and haughty as Ham seemed to think, then wouldn't he have just let us all perish in the Flood?

Ham snorted. "Don't be foolish, Na'el. He can't even tell us when we are to be married. Elohim reveals everything to him, and as for us, he gives us the dregs. Enough to keep us from mutineering on his plan, on his timing."

I held my tongue. Ham had been in this mood for weeks, ever since he'd woken up from his accident. Maybe some part of him blamed his father for his state, and this was his way of releasing his frustration.

I couldn't fault him for that. It was a miracle Ham's leg had healed in the first place; an open fracture across the femur that had grown infected, and even now, after being set and bandaged in torn linen from one of Ezmara's kēthanoths, the wound was an agitated pink scar that marred his sun browned skin.

And he still couldn't walk, which I knew vexed him greatly.

"You shouldn't be so harsh on him," was all I said. I remembered how feverishly his father had prayed for him, when he'd been so close to death, and involuntarily clenched my fists. Ham hissed and raised his hand to catch my wrist.

"I'm sorry," he said, grazing his thumb against my palm. "But you didn't grow up with him. You don't know."

He released me, and my pulse throbbed where his fingers had rested. I heaved a sigh I hoped he didn't notice, and rested my hand on his bare shoulder, appraising his muscled back.

"You have knots," I told him, gently digging in my fingers. He hissed again and squirmed, his hand brushing against my submerged ankle. "And not just in your hair," I ruffled his curls for good measure, trying to make him laugh.

I smiled when I succeeded, but pressed down against the nape of his neck as he tried to turn to face me. "Don't move too much, Ham. Your leg."

"So I'm just at your mercy?" His voice betrayed a smile. "You would torture a crippled man?"