Split Tongue

By Laurel June Thompson

In the tradition of Falling Rain, Split Tongue continues the tale set in early postdiluvian culture. In a world where the boundaries between mortal and immortal are blurred, in the dark space between myth and history, is the legend of a king. After the cataclysmic, world-wide deluge with only eight survivors, a civilization emerges. But what will this new world become?

Split Tongue is the story of destiny and free will, curses and blessings. See the cradle of civilization through the eyes of an ancient king. Experience his trials and glories, his failures and fortunes. Find that in the end he is only a man after all, and like all mankind, he must face the consequences of his life before a just and merciful God.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664169425

Book preview

Copyright © 2021 by Laurel June Thompson.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 05/05/2021

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Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1: The Childhood

Chapter 2: The Dragon

Chapter 3: The Emergence

Chapter 4: The Training

Chapter 5: The Mission

Chapter 6: The City

Chapter 7: The Twins

Chapter 8: The Gift

Chapter 9: The Fleece

Chapter 10: The King

Chapter 11: The Capital

Chapter 12: The Hunt

Chapter 13: The Slaying

Chapter 14: The Tower

Chapter 15: The Exile

Chapter 16: The Ruin

Chapter 17: The Dispersion

Chapter 18: The Trek

Chapter 19: The Sabine Women

Chapter 20: The Battle

Chapter 21: The Warning

Chapter 22: The Homecoming

Chapter 23: The Feast

Chapter 24: The Queen

Chapter 25: The Temple

Chapter 26: The Rite

Chapter 27: The Goddess

Chapter 28: The Edict

Chapter 29: The Prophecy

Chapter 30: The Mandrake

Chapter 31: The Abomination

Chapter 32: The Prince

Chapter 33: The Confession

Chapter 34: The Wonder

Chapter 35: The Encounter

Chapter 36: The Wilderness

Chapter 37: The Birthright

Chapter 38: The Epitaph

Epilogue

Author’s Note

I dedicate this book to my family—my loving husband, Troy, of thirty-five years; my son Shane, his wife Ann-Brittany, and their three sons Ethan, Elijah, and Evan; my son Chase, his wife Abbygale, and their son Damon; and my daughter Chelsea and her husband John Michael.

The love I share with these people, apart from my relationship with God, is the most important aspect of my life. They bring me great joy, pride, inspiration, and a whole lot of laughter and fun.

I thank God every day for my wonderful family.

If you do what is right, will you not be accepted? But if

you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door;

it desires to have you, but you must rule over it.

Genesis 4:7 NIV

Cush was the father of Nimrod, who became a mighty warrior on the earth. He was a mighty hunter before the LORD; that is why it is said, Like Nimrod, a mighty hunter before the LORD. The first centers of his kingdom were Babylon, Uruk, Akkad, and Kalneh in Shinar. From that land he went to Assyria, where he built Nineveh, Rehoboth Ir, Calah, and Resen, which is between Nineveh and Calah—which is the great city.

Genesis 10:8-12 NIV

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Now it was Nimrod who excited them to such an affront and contempt of God. He was the grandson of Ham, the son of Noah, a bold man, and of great strength of hand. He persuaded them not to ascribe it to God, as if it were through his means they were happy, but to believe that it was their own courage which procured that happiness. He also gradually changed the government into tyranny, seeing no other way of turning men from the fear of God, but to bring them into a constant dependence on his power. He also said, He would be revenged on God, if he should have a mind to drown the world again; for that he would build a tower too high for the waters to be able to reach; and that he would avenge himself on God for destroying their forefathers."

Now the multitude were very ready to follow the determination of Nimrod and to esteem it a piece of cowardice to submit to God; and they built a tower, neither sparing any pains, nor being in any degree negligent about the work: and, by reason of the multitude of hands employed in it, it grew very high, sooner than any one could expect; but the thickness of it was so great, and it was so strongly built, that thereby its great height seemed, upon the view, to be less than it really was. It was built of burnt brick, cemented together with mortar, made of bitumen, that it might not be liable to admit water. When God saw that they acted so madly, he did not resolve to destroy them utterly, since they were not grown wiser by the destruction of the former sinners [in the Flood]; but he caused a tumult among them, by producing in them diverse languages, and causing that, through the multitude of those languages, they should not be able to understand one another."

Flavius Josephus, Antiquities of the Jews (c. AD 94)

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Prologue

I AM REN, ONE of the eight survivors of the flood. Six months into our sea voyage, I began to feel sick. Thus far, I had felt no ill effects from the swaying ark, and thought it odd that I suddenly found myself retching from the window on a daily basis. I lost my appetite and became increasingly fatigued and nervous. My husband, anxious over my symptoms, decided to ask his mother if she knew what might be wrong. I told him it was nothing, that it would pass, and not to bother the others with such nonsense. Ignoring me, he left me to rest on my pallet and promptly went in search of Mother Na’amah. I awaited his return, my stomach churning, my face pale and bedewed with sweat, and thought about my life aboard the ark.

The days had flown past, every moment consumed with the care of the beasts. Tossed about upon a vast ocean, our vessel floated to and fro like an insignificant piece of driftwood. Other than sea creatures, we aboard remained the only life on the face of the earth. The days bled into weeks and months. Our lives fell into a careful routine, efficient and rigid, necessary to contend with the sundry needs of the animals in our care.

Shem and Ham spent most of their time in the hold of the ark with the larger creatures who required great amounts of fodder, an abundance of fresh water, and two strong backs to remove their daily excrement, casting it overboard. By and by, some of the beasts warmed to their wardens, even allowing their great heads to be stroked or submitting to a back scratch. The young pair of mammoths incessently pilferred extra grass from the neighboring rhino pen; bellowing objections from the cheated parties and ensuing violent crashes into the splintering partition markedly demonstrated their displeasure. The miscreant mammoths, unwilling to halt their thievery, eventually had to be moved to an isolated enclosure.

Japheth and Tamara tended the beasts who dwelt on the middle deck, a multitude of smaller, fur-bearing animals. Some of these species were fond of escaping their abodes and roaming about the ark. It was not unusual to find a pair of brindled lemurs curled up amongst my bedclothes, or to chase away a hungry bandicoot from the larder.

The smaller reptiles also had the knack of desertion. They preferred to slink away and hide themselves in dark niches, startling any who happened upon them. Not long into our journey, I awoke in the midst of the night to a blood-curdling shriek echoing throughout the massive vessel. I leapt from my pallet, along with my husband, and hastened to the source of the commotion. Joined by the rest of the family, we found Mother Na’amah ashen and shaking as she pointed a trembling finger at the ceramic chamber pot. Seemingly unperturbed, a yellow and black striped serpent gazed blankly from his coils inside the warm container. Its reptilian eyes reflected the soft amber glow of the tzohar¹ as it blithely lifted its scaly head and flicked a split tongue in our direction. Thereafter, we all carefully checked the bedpans before use.

My mother, Marah, could usually be found amongst the birds. Each morning at first light, they alit from their nesting boxes and flapped about the upper deck of the ark. Such a clamor arose from the extensive variety of winged creatures, the noise reverberated throughout the entire vessel. From the riotous scolding of the black ravens to the throaty warbling of the flightless grey dodos, no peace was to be found on this deck from sunup to sundown.

The insects and creeping things required the least supervision, but were frequently checked by their caretaker, Tamara. Some had gone into hibernation or formed cocoons for the duration of the voyage. The arachnids spun webs or built cone-shaped nests made of soil and clay. The scorpions hid in small stone cairns of lava rock, while the copper-hued centipedes were content to burrow in mounds of straw. The bees, stunned with woodsmoke, had been brought carefully aboard in their hive, a large, thriving colony holding court in the hollow of a great felled tree. They were provided with their own private, completely enclosed chamber on the upper deck, apart from the other animal pens for obvious reasons. Their survival was pivotal to the permanent re-population of Earth’s flora and fauna, so special attention and accomodation were afforded to the buzzing, industrious, and extraordiarily valuable little creatures. Tamara alone entered their space, unflappable, and emerged daily, unstung, to make certain their habitat remained secure and well-supplied with sustenance.

I made a point to visit the aged long-toothed panther almost daily. The feel and redolence of his musky pelt pulled my thoughts unerringly back to one of my earliest childhood memories—the uncanny day I found friendship with the most dangerous predator to stalk my village, heralding the realization that I had been born different from others.

Later, I discovered I was one of the Halfling race, a wicked line of bastards never meant to exist. I had been sired by one of the immortal spirits banished from Paradise—a Watcher—who had seduced my mother when she was a young maiden and impregnated her. Despite my heritage, the Maker of All mercifully blessed me with a chance to play a role in the purification of the earth. I eventually became daughter-in-law to Noah, a righteous man whose family had been spared to replenish the world.

Noah kept careful inventory of all our supplies, and determined the exact allotment of feed and bedding for each creature aboard. On clear days he could be found pacing atop the outer deck, lost in secret thought whilst he gazed across the featureless, watery expanse. Noah spent much time in deep meditation. He kept his own counsel and rarely spoke of the concerns brewing in his soul. The responsibility laid upon him by the Maker weighed heavily, though his faith helped him bear the burden with grace and assurance. I am certain the future of mankind and his part in becoming the patriarch of a new human race filled his thoughts. On many evenings, he called his sons aside and admonished them to remain steadfast in their faith and worship of the One True God—the Maker of All. He seemed consumed with urgency in this matter, as though he feared the evil ones lurked nearby ready to devour and corrupt the new line of men. Though devout and unshakably certain of God’s sovereignty, he clearly remembered that in ten generations, men had departed from their Maker and were swept away to worship false gods and engage in all sorts of vile debauchery. The thought of his own progeny falling prey to such wickedness filled Noah with a fervent desire to protect us all from whatever plans these demons might be hatching.

Then it happened. Soon after the ark had settled upon dry land, the first small trespass wormed its way into our family—a jealousy that became a seed of resentment, grew into a rash deed, and led to a curse. While our firstborn son thrived in his childhood, my husband, Ham, began to shape his destiny and the destiny of all mankind with a covetous thought—a thought he might have banished but instead fed and nourished in secret until it matured into a dark and ugly sin. He desired the Fleece.

The first man and woman, created by the Maker and placed in a verdant garden, disobeyed Him in an effort to become wise and were banished to toil upon the earth instead of receiving freely the provision of God. They had been pure in their nakedness, but with their stolen knowledge also came shame; wherefore, the Maker clad them in animal skins, resulting in the first death of a beast on the new earth. The creature had been a ram—the first of its kind—sprung from the virgin soil upon the word of the Maker. He had grown large and proud, for he was the father of all sheep. His horns curled about his noble head like a crown, and his wool grew luxuriously thick and golden-hued. King of his flock, he presided over his ewes and lambs with strength and majesty. It was this ram—a perfect beast—who spilt his blood for the sake of man, providing a covering for his disgrace. Thus, the rite of sacrifice was birthed into the world; a lamb would henceforth provide atonement for the sins of mankind.

Adam wore a tunic fashioned by the hand of God made from the Golden Fleece. The Maker placed a powerful charm upon Adam’s garment—a blessing that repelled danger from sword or spear, tooth or claw, whenever he donned the ram’s skin. Adam lived long upon the earth, and escaped many perils due to the divine protection of the Fleece. It then passed from son to son until, eventually, it came to Noah.

Noah kept the charmed tunic hidden away, for over the centuries it had become a symbol of power and invincibility—an object of lust before all who gazed upon it. Noah had long feared the Fleece and so never wore it himself, nor did he speak of it until one night a few years after the ark had landed. Aware of his own mortality, Noah knew the Fleece must be passed to his firstborn son, Shem, according to the tradition of his forefathers. Reluctantly, he finally disclosed its existence to his three sons. He explained its origin and special properties. He moreover shared his fears regarding the Fleece, and exhorted Shem to likewise keep it secret and not allow it to become an idol in the hearts of men. Shem agreed with his father and promised to be wise in caring for the enchanted Fleece. Japheth reflected upon the Fleece with wonder and curiosity, but Ham coveted Shem’s birthright, and wished the ram’s skin for himself.

Thus, at the dawn of the new beginning, the end had already begun.

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Soon after we left the ark and gratefully set foot upon dry land once again, I birthed my firstborn son and pledged him to the Maker of All. Though Ham and I strove to rear him in the ways of righteousness, he proved a willful child determined to test the veracity of the limits set for the people by the precepts of God. Thus, as he grew and gained strength, our son defied our counsel and warnings to stubbornly go his own way.

As he matured he became a slave to his passions, driven to explore all that he found desirable. He ventured into forbidden realms, heedless of the edicts the Maker had passed down through his grandfather, Noah. He killed animals for sport to prove his prowess with a bow, and left their skinless, headless carcasses to rot in the sun. He slaked his lust with any woman he wished, sparing no thought for her reputation or the honor of her family. He drank and ate to excess and took pleasure in games of chance, often to defraud his own kinsmen. His life became an abomination before the Lord, but he did not bow to graven images—for he was his own idol. His great pride overwhelmed him, overshadowing any charitable attributes his father and I had tried to cultivate. Therefore, much to our sorrow, he came to value experience above morality and sensuality above restraint.

Years passed, and our family expanded until we found it exigent to divide into tribes. We spread out from one another to find enough food for all, and built villages to house the growing number of children born to us. Men lived long in those days, so our kinsmen multiplied whilst few perished. By and by, we developed into three distinct nations of people. The Hamites cast an eye on the fertile valley south of the mountains and migrated to the vast plain, recently devoid of floodwater and lush with vegetation. We traveled far from the Urartu Mountains and eventually pitched our tents in the grasslands of Shinar between the two great rivers. I missed my mother and my dearest friend, Tamara. I missed Noah and Na’amah and my brothers-in-law. The mountains were my home, and I had not wished to leave. But my husband was determined to find a new land of our own, where we could increase and hunt the multitude of beasts that roamed the valley. I felt exposed and vulnerable in the sweeping landscape after living so long in the sheltered bosom of the mountains, but our son thrived in the new environment.

A dark and strikingly handsome young man, he had no need to court the favor of his female cousins, for they flocked to his hut in jealous bids for his attention. Though many found themselves in his virile embrace for a season, none satisfied his longing for the perfect mate, and were discarded abruptly without so much as a kind word to remember him by. His reputation for preying upon the hearts of young virgins earned him the scorn of many of his kinfolk. His name soon became a curse on the lips of mothers, and a warning proceeding from the mouths of protective fathers.

His talent with a bow and a spear exalted himself in his own eyes. He boasted to his younger brothers of his exploits, both as a hunter and a lover, until they intentionally departed the vicinity whenever he drew nigh. He thought them to be envious, but in truth they were repulsed and embarrassed by him, and called him an insolent braggart behind his back.

Isolated from the culture of the tribe, he was friendless and despised. Yet, I loved him still. He was my son, and though my heart wept for him, I could not change the man he had become. We had named him Kish² for his dusky complexion, but his name came to signify a dark soul rather than dark skin.

After many years of bachelorhood, he finally married a comely young woman and proceeded to sire five healthy sons. Proud of his family, Kish determined to bequeath to his line all the power and wealth he could amass. His fortune grew along with his arrogance.

His wife died in childbed with their fifth son. Satisfied with a fine clutch of strapping sons, Kish did not wish to marry again for a long while. After his children were grown with families of their own, the famed and beautiful daughter of his cousin Gomer, from the house of Japheth, became the object of his desire. In his latter years my son wed again, but this time, he fell in love.

Though I know it seems improbable, I clearly recall the night my new grandson was conceived. I knew the very moment from a dream—a vivid dream that pierced my mind like an arrow from the Otherworld. I awoke with a start and soundlessly crept from the bed, careful not to wake Ham, who was slumbering deeply by my side. I threw a shawl about my shoulders and stepped outside to breathe the cool night air and calm my racing heart. A full, milk-white moon shone down upon our village, its ghostly glow brightly illuminating the collection of wattle and daub houses, though it remained several hours before dawn. I trod lightly in bare feet along the earthen path past my neighbors’ dwellings when I espied a tall figure by the community well, drawing water and drinking thirstily. It was Kish. I stole up behind him, my dream still tenaciously clinging to my memory like the threads of spider silk.

I laid my hand gently upon his shoulder. He spun around suddenly, dropping the ladle and sloshing water upon the ground.

You startled me, Mother, he spluttered. Only you have ever been able to approach without my notice. It is as though you spring from the ground! How did you learn such a trick?

You have another son, I stated plainly. I had discovered long afore that the only way to approach my eldest son was with boldness and brevity. Anything else he mistrusted and then dismissed.

Not yet, Mother. I have just now come from servicing my new bride. Perhaps she will bear, perhaps not. I am not the potent young man I once was, he dissembled.

His remark was in jest, for I knew he believed himself more virile than ever before.

She will bear, Kish. You shall have a son nine moons hence—I have seen it.

You are not given to visions, Mother, he demurred. In fact, you shun those who would cast bones or invoke the spirits of knowledge. Have you then abandoned your scruples and become a sorceress?

No, my son. This vision comes from the Maker of All—the One True God, to whom you refuse to submit.

At that he raged, "I submit to no one—god nor man! I find my own way, and my destiny is subject to my will. Have I not prospered? Look! I have become rich in cattle and grain. I have built many villages, and the people pay me a duty to live in my huts. I outstrip all men in my ability to hunt game, and my accuracy with a bow has no equal. All this, and more, I have gained without the blessing of your god. Your greedy god, who demands a sacrifice from the best of what we own, and restraint from the desires he placed inside us all. A cruel prank, it seems to me, to give us urges and then require we deny them for the sake of obedience! Pah! I will suffer no such god to rule over me! Never!"

Even so, you shall have a new son, and he shall inherit your godlessness. His infamy will last throughout the ages. He will rule the world through fear and violence. The hearts of the nation will turn away from the Maker to instead exalt the endeavors of man. His achievements will stretch beyond anything you can imagine; yet, he will find himself confounded and his dreams frustrated in the end. Though he shall be the strongest warrior, the greatest builder, the mightiest hunter, and the most powerful king ever to live, the One True God shall thwart him. Still, the damage to humanity will be done, and countless generations will suffer for his arrogance—your arrogance. You have spawned an evil son. He shall be your legacy. May God have mercy on your soul.

Kish stood before me, a satisfied grin spreading slowly across his face. He had heard only one portion of my prophecy; in this knowledge he took deep pleasure.

My son—the most powerful king ever to live….

As I realized the depth of his depravity, my heart broke in two and I turned to leave. He called to me as I departed.

Will you not be proud to become the grandmother of a great king?

I did not respond loud enough for him to hear my reply, yet I could not help but whisper to myself, Nay, never could I be more ashamed.

Chapter 1

The Childhood

L OOKING BACK, I find I have regrets. For many years I convinced myself I rode the irresistible course of events like rapids of an untamed river, hurtling toward my destiny. I believed fate dictated all that I accomplished, the empire I raised, the culture I established. Preordained—I thought. For to presume I was simply a pawn of the gods, moved and swayed by the power of their hand, I need not be responsible. To dwell upon the repercussions of my actions—the blood spilt, the families torn asunder, the suffering meted out to those who opposed me—only pressed more firmly in my mind that I was not—could not—be to blame. I was used.

Yet, as I stare into the face of my own death—my own torture—a single memory garishly presents itself as a moment of choice. I realize now it was, perhaps, this decision that set me upon my irrevocable path and drove me thus. It seems clear to me now that whilst standing at that fork in the road of my far distant past, I possessed the power to choose. I determined my fate in a single moment—a single breath. The bargain I brokered so long ago sprung not from worthiness or nobility, but rather from cowardice and fear. I stood willing to do anything to avoid a life of mediocrity, commonness. I craved greatness to the hurt of all else—even my own soul. I allowed myself to become the creature I am.

So I am forced to consider, what if I had chosen the other path? What if I had harnessed my pride, suppressed my greed, and shunned the power offered to me? How would the world be different? How would I be different? I know now it was I who made the choice, and it is I who shall bear the consequences for all eternity. I wish it were not so.

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I was not a bad child. I remember well how Mother would muss my hair with her slim, white fingers and affectionately call me her dear, sweet babe. For a blissful, fleeting moment her silvery voice fell upon me like a balmy breeze, blowing away the dark fears that crouched inside my mind. When very young, not long away from my mother’s breast, I had felt haunted by some unknown dread. A baleful shadow dogged my path, disturbed my slumber, and harassed my childish sensibilities. Impossible to explain my plight to those charged with my care, I dealt with it the only way I knew how; I tried to drown it out with brashness and incorrigibility—anything to create a diversion from the black chaos plaguing my every step. My willfulness was often followed by a sound thrashing with a willow switch by my rather buxom and ill-humored nurse. She seemed to believe the welts on my legs and buttocks would purge my disobedience and mold me into the compliant ninny she plainly wished I would become.

Her name was Magda, and she had been nursemaid to the royal children since her youth. She remained unmarried—one can easily imagine why—and had been in the employ of my grandfather, followed by my father, for the last sixty-something years. She bustled her robust figure about the nursery and children’s quarters, forever looking for someone to punish. This seemed to be the only sport the poor woman enjoyed. A perpetual grimace marred her leathery face, and a mistrustful gleam in her eye bore its way into whichever unfortunate youngster she could conveniently accuse of mischief. It mattered not whether the alleged deeds were true or not; her scoldings were meted out according to her whim and her mood, which was almost always frightfully bad. We children avoided her when possible, but she had the uncanny knack of catching us at the most inopportune moments.

I recall the clear, sunny afternoon my cousins and I spent stalking and catching salamanders in the garden, an innocent enough pastime. For hours we collected the lazy reptiles warming themselves in the sunlight on the limestone rocks that lined the garden paths; yet, the instant young Jameth snuck up behind his baby sister and dropped one of the speckled wee beasties upon her head, Magda appeared. She sprang from the garden like a nettle weed and curbed his fit of mirth forthwith. His mouth firmly cuffed with the back of her hand, he went howling back to the nursery, dragged by the ear. The woman was the scourge of my childhood.

Then, everything changed. One bright morning, around mid-summer, I awoke to my small bedchamber awash with golden sunlight. As I blinked and shook the cobwebs from my head, a strange peace enveloped me—a sensation I had never experienced before. The familiar restless demons—my constant companions—suddenly vanished, and the day dawned unique and breathtakingly sweet. Though still a child, I understood perfectly that this day portended a new beginning in my life, like an unexpected crossroads in a path erstwhile straight and predictable. I lingered upon my cot to contemplate what this special day might bring. Certainly there must be a reason for this unusual refreshment of my spirit. Unseen and unknown, the very air around me prickled with anticipation.

Anxious to discover what awaited me, I rose from my bed, hastened to the low window, and threw open the sash, the arid breeze rippling over my naked skin. Magda had apparently been to my chamber earlier, for I saw the familiar wooden tray with a breakfast of curds and apricots, along with a small jar of ale, neatly laid out upon the stand in the corner. For once she had allowed me to sleep past cockcrow instead of rousting me at first light to begin my lessons and chores—another surprising delight.

I leaned over the window’s ledge and, closing my eyes, let the sun’s rays bathe my face and torso in its warmth. I heard, as though for the first time, the gentle wind soughing through the palm branches, the redundant tremolo between a lark and its mate, the melodic tinkle and splash from the alabaster fountain in the courtyard—familiar sounds all, but somehow, this day, heartbreakingly sublime. Reluctant to relinquish the caress of the sun and the breeze through my hair, I nevertheless pulled myself back into the room and turned to fetch my tunic from the small painted chest at the foot of my cot. Slipping it on over my head, I then quickly consumed the fruit and curds, intermittently swigging from the stone ale jar to wash it down. Before even swallowing the last bite, I hastily pulled a comb through my hair and strapped on my best pair of sandals. Well-being cloaked me unlike anything I had ever known before. I pressed the latch, padded silently down the tiled corridor, and ventured into the common room of our large house.

Father had departed on business nearly two weeks afore. His important duties kept him away most of the time. He was a man of great prominence in our community, who left his household in the capable hands of trusted servants and guards. Mother retained two eunuch slaves who were responsible for her protection. Both uncommonly tall and well-muscled, they were physically intimidating men versed in the arts of combat, their missing manhood notwithstanding, and they accompanied her whenever she ventured from her private quarters. The nursemaid Magda had been charged with my care. With strict instructions from Father, she almost never let me out of her sight. I escaped whenever I had the chance, but I think my harsh punishments were partly a result of the fear she harbored of disobeying Father’s orders. He was a stern man, not to be trifled with. He held absolute authority within his household, as well as over his people and among his peers. No one dared defy him.

However, in the company of my mother, Father softened. Unlike everyone else, she did not tremble in his presence nor cower to his demands. She showed an easy respect that bloomed from genuine love. It gave her pleasure to satisfy his needs in every way. They shared a rapport unique unto themselves, and he guarded her affections with jealous resolve.

As I stepped into the common room I found it empty, except for a young, simple-minded maidservant absently scrubbing the terra cotta flagstones in the far corner. I smiled warmly at her when her gaze drifted to rest upon my face, goodwill inexplicably oozing from every pore of my body. Her expression remained vacant and unchanged as she lazily brushed back an errant strand of auburn hair and then resumed her chore. I looked about and peered into adjacent rooms, including Father’s library and the dining hall, but found no sign of my mother. I thought she must still be in her private quarters, spinning or weaving with her ladies. She occupied a large wing of the house that afforded every convenience within. Thus, she rarely had reason to leave.

I made my way back through the common room and, pushing open the heavy double-doors, crossed the oaken threshold of the main entrance. The sun shone brightly, and I shaded my eyes against the glare. Several guards loitered in the door yard, gossiping and laughing about seemingly trivial matters I could not discern. They hardly noticed when I passed and leisurely headed for the eastern gate. I took note of the grounds I trod through, the details before seemingly unremarkable and mundane, suddenly fresh and astonishingly vital. The property surrounding our holding bloomed with all manner of vegetation. Father employed expert gardeners who kept the landscape exquisitely manicured. Date palms stood like sentinels, marking the perimeter in neat rows along the outer wall; hyacinth, verbena, and trailing roses sprouted from great painted urns dotting the courtyard. A man-made brook issued from a large fountain near the main gate, complete with water lilies and exotic fish imported from southern lands. Father spared no expense, and as a result our homestead remained the envy of the neighboring villages.

We lived near the center of the Valley of Shinar. My father and grandfather had migrated to the region many years afore. Our family originally hailed from the high mountains north of Shinar, but we had long since settled in the lowlands replete with black, fertile soil in which to plant crops, its limitless grasslands supporting vast herds of livestock. Father had grown up here, and helped build the first village in the province nestled between the two great rivers that irrigated the whole valley. He had sired five sons in his youth—my elder brothers—now men grown with adult children of their own. Their mother had died long since, and eventually my mother had become the wife of Kish, though she appeared to be decades younger than he. I was born the son of his old age. Sometimes, I wondered if my begetting was meant to be at all.

I had heard the rumors about my mother, and the oft told tale of how she came to wed my father. Servants whispered that she was a witch, and ‘twas sorcery kept her young and lovely despite the passage of time. She had sprung from the royal house of Japheth, my great uncle, and was the daughter of his eldest son, Gomer. Though by my reckoning she should be advanced in years, she remained as youthful as a virgin maid.

Celia’s resplendence and charm was legendary throughout the tribes. Though she had been pursued by many who wished her hand in marriage, she had steadfastly remained in her father’s house and refused all suitors, no matter their wealth or fame. Over time, she became so reclusive her very existence came into question. She was reputed to spend her days learning the secret arts. Though forbidden by Japhetic law, her father turned a blind eye to her activities and passed them off as harmless female pursuits, thus leaving her to her own devices. He had a mind only for his sons. A daughter who defied time’s natural aging mystified