Noah by Mark Morris Page A

to the ground and became one with the earth.
    It was death on a massive scale, and although it was horrifying, Noah saw that it was cleansing, too, and therefore necessary.
    Og’s words, however, were bitter.
    “Those who lived remained prisoners in these stony shells, marooned upon this barren land. For eons we begged the Creator to take us home. But He was always silent.”
    Og’s head bowed, his shoulders slumped, and he fell into silence. For a moment the family neither moved nor spoke. Then Ham walked forward and took the Watcher’s massive, rock-fingered hand in both of his own.
    Slowly Og raised his head and looked at the small boy, who stared fearlessly up at him in return. Then Og did a remarkable thing. He smiled. With a grinding of rock, his dark slash of a mouth curved upward at the edges.
    The huge Watcher leaned forward, gently picked Ham up and held him in the crook of his arm. When he turned, Noah saw that his black eyes were glistening.
    “We should carry on,” Og said gruffly. “We still have a long way to go.”

6
THE MOUNTAIN
    T he mountain seemed to deflect light, or perhaps to absorb it. When they first saw it creeping over the edge of the horizon, some time the next morning, it looked as if darkness was beginning to rise directly from the earth, making a renewed attempt not merely to blacken the sky, but obliterate it.
    The closer they got the more the mountain seemed to loom over them, as if stretching forward to draw them in. Even so, it was a welcome sight, if only because it meant they had reached their destination and could set up camp and rest a while. Naameh wondered briefly where the next stage of their journey might take them, once Noah had spoken to his grandfather—assuming, of course, that Methuselah still lived, and that he was still resident, if the tales were to be believed, within his mountain cave.
    As they trudged toward the base of the mountain, Og, still carrying Ham, turned his head to peer downat Noah, who was walking by his side. It had been some hours since he had told his story, but he picked up the thread of his earlier words as if he had uttered them mere minutes before.
    “It has been a long time since the Creator last spoke to us, and now you claim that you have heard His call,” the Watcher said. “Samyaza cannot accept this. A man? When it is men who broke the world?”
    He stopped, and motioned for Noah to do the same, then turned and leaned forward to peer deep into Noah’s eyes.
    “But I look at you and I see Adam again,” he said, his voice a soft rumble. “The man I knew. The man I came to help.”
    Noah stared back at him. He knew that the Watcher’s words were more than a compliment. They were a profession of his utmost faith. Although almost overwhelmingly touched, Noah simply nodded, his expression unchanged.
    “Thank you,” he said.
    * * *
    They spent an hour setting up camp, Noah, Shem, and Ham quickly and expertly pitching the tents, while Naameh unpacked their belongings and fed Japheth. As soon as the first of the tents was ready, Noah picked up Ila, carried her inside and laid her gently on a bedroll so that Naameh could tend to her and change her bloodstained bandages.
    Og, meanwhile, created a fire pit, scooping out great mounds of hard-packed dirt with one of his hands, while using two of his others to fill it with stones carefully selected to absorb and retain the heat. When it was ready he called Ham over and heldup a small whitish-yellow stone that seemed to glow with its own inner light.
    “You know what this is?”
    Ham nodded. “Tzohar.”
    “That’s right. Do you know how to make fire with it?”
    Ham nodded again.
    “Clever boy,” said Og. “Would you like to make fire now?”
    Ham glanced over at Noah, who nodded his permission. Puffing his chest out a little at being trusted with such an important task, Ham stepped forward and took the piece of tzohar from Og’s hand. Holding it as though it was a delicate egg, he