People of the Ark (Ark Chronicles 1) by Vaughn Heppner Read Free Book Online Page A

“Rahab!”
    The girl whipped up her head, wide-eyed.
    Gaea berated herself. She mustn’t shock the poor dear. “Rahab, when you’re done feeding the chickens I want you to come inside and card wool.”
    “ Yes, madam.”
    “ Now, Rahab,” Gaea said, “you know I want you to start calling me mother.”
    Rahab dipped her head, keeping it dipped, while tossing bigger handfuls of grain and faster than before.
    Gaea sighed and once more smoothed her pleats. She had strong hands, worn now at her age, with too many wrinkles and veins. When her hands had been soft like Rahab’s, bronze shears hadn’t yet become universal. Over a hundred years before Gaea’s birth the discoveries and inventions of Tubal-Cain the Master Smith—that of smelted ores and metal daggers, swords, spears and sheers—had exploded out of the land of Nod. Yet even before that time, there had been wool to card and spin. Sheep before Tubal-Cain’s time had been sheared with flint knives. Gaea suspected that long after she passed away countless young girls would spend many otherwise idle hours carding wool as they had when Eve first invented the process.
    Carding was the method of arranging woolen fibers after sheep had been she ared, readying the fibers for spinning. Two boards with teeth, similar to dog brushes, were used. Wool was distributed on one card and brushed with the other until the fibers all lay parallel and uniform, rid of all debris. The batt was taken off the cards and rolled into a rolag . The rolag could then be wound onto a spindle.
    A pile of wool lay in the corner . The carding boards lay on the big wooden table behind Gaea, where Europa arranged baskets full of sweet-smelling narcissus, hyacinths, violets and yellow crocus, while the most radiant of all, the crimson splendor of wild roses. Earlier this morning, Europa had taken the serving girls into the fields, picking flowers. When they were done, moments ago, she had trooped them into the house and ordered them where to set each basket.
    Even though she knows, I never allow the maids into the house . It was a harsh precept, but in these terrible days, it only made sense. The evil one was full of subtlety, while the hearts of humanity had become blacker than pitch. Thus, Gaea strove to create a sanctuary for her family.
    She smoothed her pleats a last time, facing fair Europa, the wife of her oldest son Japheth.
    Europa studied the flower baskets. She was tall, with blonde hair spilling past her shoulders and with a crown of garlands on her head. The garlands matched her long white dress and fit her beautiful features, imperious, queenly and self-assured. A mere sixty years of age, the girl had the aplomb of one of six hundred.
    Gaea wondered sometimes what Europa had seen in Japheth . He was a bright lad, but given to airy speculations and bouts of rhetoric. Perhaps that’s how pagan kings acted and Europa had found familiarity in it.
    “ My dear,” Gaea said, “these are lovely flowers.”
    Europa smiled softly.
    “But you know how I feel about the maids tramping through the house.”
    Europa grew still.
    “It may seem like a strange rule,” Gaea said, “but… these are dangerous times. The hearts of people have grown dark and unpredictable.”
    “ Of course, Mother. I’m sorry. I forgot. Please forgive me.”
    Gaea moved to her, touching her arm . Europa, for all her noble aspirations, was strong like an amazon, not some dainty sprite fit only for perfumed halls. Although Europa frowned on manual labor, when pushed to it she worked as hard as any of the children.
    “ The matter is already forgotten,” Gaea said. She smiled, trying to take the sting out of her reprimand. “Now tell me again. What’s the occasion for all these flowers?”
    “ Must there be an occasion?” Europa asked.
    Gaea patted her hand, the smile widening.
    “Well… I love flowers,” Europa said. “And the house could use brightening.”
    ‘ True, true,” Gaea said.
    Europa made a