landlost | ONC 2024

nine.

THE JOURNEY TO town was uneventful, save for Shem and Ham's bickering about who would sit in the seat at the front of the cart, and who would sit amongst the wood at the back. They settled on switching on the return trip, and I could feel Ham's stirring against my spine as he tried to get comfortable amongst the timber.

"How was growing up in the town?" Ham asked me, once he'd found a suitable spot. He stretched out across the wood, his head behind Shem's back. I only had to look over my shoulder to meet his gaze.

His eyes flickered meaningfully to my bouncing knee. I fought to reign in my impatience, and humoured his willingness to ask questions. It wasn't like Shem was an exactly stimulating conversationalist.

"I enjoyed it, as a young girl." Before worries about marriage had marred the freedom of my youth, I had roamed the streets with the children of my neighbours, teasing stray dogs and playing foolish games that took the edge off of the boredom that festered during the hot months.

I told Ham as much, explaining that once Naamah had been born, Mother had restricted me from going out, preferring I learn the ways of a woman's duties. I had only been ten harvests old.

He looked sympathetic. "I was also ten when we began building the Ark," he explained. So he understood the feeling of being wrenched away from the carefreeness of childhood.

I remembered he and Noah's argument from a few weeks prior. His father had asked him if he needed another decade working on the Ark to learn patience. Was that how long its construction had taken? I didn't doubt it —— the structure was massive, but built with precision that may have taken months, if not years, to execute.

That made Ham twenty harvests old. His eyes were shut in bliss —— his brother's shadow protected him from the glare of the sun —— and that allowed me to freely examine him, for once.

His stubble was growing thicker, but now I recognised signs of youth Shem and Japheth had been lacking. His nose was straight, still to hook like his father's. And his cheeks were smooth, not yet roughened by the unkindness of the sun. His hands, resting on the sides of the cart, were the only things that betrayed his laborious work; marred by little white scars.

His eyes opened, and I wasn't quick enough to avert my staring. He raised a quizzical brow, but didn't look annoyed. He ran his fingers over the scarred flesh of his other hand.

"As we were making the second deck," he flexed his digits, his veins rolling with his knuckles, "I fell into a pile of scrapwood. It was a miracle I didn't crack my skull open. But Elohim left me these, to remind me to be more careful." He waggled his hand, then reclined once more.

We otherwise traveled in silence. I didn't mind this time round, compared to when I had journeyed with Shem, but I did wish that the horizon between us and the town would shorten. We were going at a painstakingly slow pace, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from harrying the men once we stopped to refresh ourselves, and I was first back on the cart.

We reached the town by late afternoon, and I eagerly scrambled off of my seat, recognising the familiar dirt roads. Shem split off from Ham and I in the direction of the market where a few stalls were just beginning to pack up, and I guided him along the way to my old stone house, weaving through throngs of people.

I frowned and casted a glance behind me as I escaped the crowd. The stream of dark-eyed men was coming from the street I knew held a brothel and an abandoned home that served as a gambling ring for men with money and idle hands to bet on fighting slaves. Ham followed after me, but moving more slowly. His eyes searched the faces of every stranger, and he stopped at my side, his kēthanoth sleeve almost brushing mine.