He Who Lifts the Skies Read online

  HE WHO

  LIFTS THE

  Skies

  KACY

  BARNETT-

  GRAMCKOW

  MOODY PUBLISHERS

  CHICAGO

  © 2004 by

  KACY BARNETT-GRAMCKOW

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Editor: LB Norton

  Interior Design: Ragont Design

  Cover Design: Barb Fisher, LeVan Fisher Design

  Cover Photo: Kamil Vojnar/Photonica and

  Paul Burley Photography/Photonica

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Barnett-Gramckow, Kacy, 1960-

  He who lifts the skies/Kacy Barnett-Gramckow.

  p.cm.—(Genesis trilogy; #2)

  ISBN-13: 978-0-8024-1368-4

  ISBN-10: 0-8024-1368-0

  1. Noah (Biblical figure)—Fiction. 2. Bible. O.T. Genesis—History of

  Biblical events—Fiction. 3. Noah’s ark—Fiction. 4. Deluge—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3602.A8343H4 2004

  813′.6—dc22

  2004005169

  We hope you enjoy this book from Moody Publishers. Our goal is to provide high-quality, thought-provoking books and products that connect truth to your real needs and challenges. For more information on other books and products written and produced from a biblical perspective, go to www.moodypublishers.com or write to:

  Moody Publishers

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  Printed in the United States of America

  To my wonderful brothers, Bob, John, Jim, and Joe,

  who could conquer any wilderness.

  And to Kerrin, Lynn, Debbie, and Janine, my perfect and beautiful

  sisters-in-law, who conquered my brothers.

  Thank you for the joy and blessings you’ve brought to our lives.

  Acknowledgments

  THANKS TO Moody Publishers editors Amy Schmidt and Dave DeWit; I appreciate your hard work. Also to Michele Straubel, blessings! Amy Peterson—Author Relations Manager and fellow author—you are a jewel for being so patient while answering my last-minute questions. Special recognition to Lori Wenzinger, Becky Armstrong, and Carolyn McDaniel for sending files on short notice, and to LB Norton for her perfect critique—and all the fun questions.

  Mary Busha, my agent, thanks for all you do—and for your gracious, timely advice. Regards to Seth Bartels/ Solidstate Interactive, for all the dialogue while creating our Web site, www.gram-co-ink.com. In addition, gratitude to John Barnett and Janine Barnett for their inspirational bow-and-arrow experiences—you didn’t know you were doing research for me, did you? I owe you each a dinner “out.” Special thanks to Chris Seeley and the Falcon 1644 Crew for all the work, fun, and support. And to Rosanne Fahrenbruch for the coaching in Hebrew; you’ve added to my family’s lore. I just wish I’d inherited sturdier vocal cords.

  Barbara LeVan Fisher, your artwork is amazing!

  I would also like to recognize Tim Wallace at www.trueorigin.org. Thanks for your courtesy and for your informative Web site. To the staff at Triple R Ranch in Chesapeake, Virginia, thank you for your eternal lessons and for teaching this coward to enjoy riding years ago! Also, to my local critic crew: Jennifer, Natalie, Celeste, Diane—I’m typing as fast as I can. To my dear husband and the whole Barnett-Gramckow clan, I love you all.

  Prologue

  IN THE FIRST AGE beneath the blue heavens, before the times of nations, all the kindred tribes of the earth yielded to the Most High as their judge.

  But from among all the kindred tribes of the earth came those who contended against the Most High in the darkness of their souls. Longing after their own desires, these rebellious ones bowed to a man of many names: the Hunter, the Grand One, the Mighty Assembler. And he became their Great King of the earth.

  Delighting in his own power, this Great King encouraged his rebels to scorn the Most High and seek other ways to ease their guilt-stricken souls. Now, because the Great King so gladly lifted the burdens of their hearts and shouldered the weight of the very heavens for their sakes, the rebellious ones gave to him a new name: He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies.

  The earth’s leaders are plotting together

  against Adonai

  and his Anointed.

  “Let us break their bonds,” they cry,

  “and cast off their restraints!”

  The One enthroned in heaven laughs;

  Adonai looks upon them with scorn.

  (Adapted from Psalm 2:2–4)

  One

  STEPPING OUT OF HER lodge, Annah breathed in the soft spring air as she studied the evening skies. Dawn and dusk were her favorite times—if it was not raining—for then she could see the colors she had loved from the heavens of her childhood. The first faint tinges of rose and violet soothed her now, as always.

  Have I stopped mourning for the skies of my youth? she wondered. I think I will change my mind every day of my life. Today yes, tomorrow no.

  As she stared up at the sky, Annah felt thick, heavy woolen folds descend upon her tunic-clad shoulders. Her husband, Shem, was wrapping her in her gray wool shawl. He scolded her gently, his voice soft against her ear. “You’re as careless as the children of our children. It’s too cold for you to be outside without your shawl.”

  Annah smiled, patting her husband’s long brown hands as he wrapped his arms around her. “After all these years, beloved, you should be tired of following me around and fretting about me.”

  “I’ll never grow tired of following you,” Shem murmured teasingly. “As long as you know where you’re going.”

  “I’m going for a walk.”

  “Then I will follow you.”

  Almost as one, they turned and went down a well-trampled path, traversing the sloping fields surrounding their lodge. As they walked, Annah looked up at her husband. Shem smiled at her, his warm brown eyes glinting in his darkly bearded face, as irrepressible as a little boy.

  Your smile is more wonderful than all the skies of my childhood, Annah thought. Why should I mourn for them? As lovely as they were, they covered nothing but violence and hatred. “You almost look younger than your own sons,” she told him.

  He became somber, as if troubled by the truth of her words. “Annah, beloved, I’ve been thinking about our children.…” He stopped.

  Wondering, Annah turned to see what had caught his attention. A young man’s cheerful voice echoed up to them from the forest-hedged slopes below.

  “Father of my Fathers! Are you leaving because we’ve arrived?”

  “That depends upon how many people you’re bringing with you,” Shem called back, laughing. “Come greet your Ma’adannah.”

  “Who is it?” Annah whispered to Shem as they watched the dark outlines of the woods. Almost as soon as she asked the question, Annah saw a lanky young man emerge from the shadows of the trees. He was clad in leather and fleece, burdened with a thick bentwood-and-leather traveling pack and armed with a flint-tipped hunting spear and a knife of stone. The young man’s cheerful face, his smooth, deep brown skin, lustrous dark eyes, and straight black hair all marked him as one of Annah’s own descendants: Eliyshama, the youngest son of her grandson Meshek.

  Delighted, Annah called out, “Eliyshama! Is your father with you?” She had not seen Meshek and his family for nearly three years.

  “Ma’adannah.” Eliyshama waved a greeting, then pointed his hunting spear toward the shadowed trees. “My father and my I’ma are coming. And we’ve brought Metiyl, son
of your son Asshur.”

  “Metiyl?” Annah gasped. She hadn’t seen Metiyl in more than ten years. Almost dancing, she hugged Eliyshama, accepting his hearty kiss. “It’s so good to see you again. You’ve grown! And thank you for bringing Metiyl.”

  Shem greeted Eliyshama with a fond hug, then caught his arm eagerly, asking, “Is our Asshur coming to visit us too?”

  “Only Metiyl, not his father.” Eliyshama sighed heavily. But his dark eyes sparkled, betraying his joy. “Are you grieved, Father of my Fathers? Should I go to your Asshur and beg his presence here?”

  “No, because then my Asshur would keep you with him for ten years,” Shem answered, his tone half laughing, half serious.

  By now, Annah could see her grandsons—the tall, black-haired Meshek, and the shorter, stockier, wild-haired Metiyl—both armed with stone knives and flint-tipped hunting spears. Just behind the two men, Annah glimpsed a blue-shawled head: Meshek’s wife, Chaciydah, walking slowly, her head bowed. Immediately, she grew concerned. Glancing up at Eliyshama, Annah asked, “Is your mother ill?”

  “My I’ma is worried,” Eliyshama answered, the light fading from his dark eyes. “Ma’adannah, she’s had a daughter; we’ve hoped the child would improve.”

  “Improve?” Annah clasped Eliyshama’s wrist. “The child is ill?”

  Eliyshama shrugged. “We don’t know. We’re praying that you and our First Father Shem can tell us what to believe. My I’ma has been half crazed with fear.”

  Chaciydah has always allowed her fears to rule her mind, Annah thought, trying to soothe herself. Perhaps the child’s illness is Chaciydah’s own nothing-whim. Quickly, she descended the slope to meet her grandchildren.

  As the elder grandson, Metiyl claimed the privilege of kissing Annah first. Laughing, he jarred her with an enthusiastic hug, scratching her with his coarse beard and almost rapping her head with his spear. “Ma’adannah! You’re as young as ever. Here’s a kiss from my father, with his most respectful greetings; he misses you.”

  “Then where is your father, if he misses us so much?” Shem demanded, his genial question echoing Annah’s own feelings of quiet disappointment.

  “He couldn’t leave his lands or his flocks.” Metiyl curled his hands around his hunting spear reflexively, his brown face suddenly grim. “They need his protection.”

  Annah frowned. “His lands need protection? From what? The wild animals?”

  “No, Ma’adannah. My father protects his lands and belongings from the sons of his cousins.”

  Metiyl’s growling hostility made Annah shiver.

  Glancing from Annah to Shem, Metiyl said, “I’ll tell you everything at the evening fire. Here are Meshek and Chaciydah. And …” he whispered, “their youngest child.”

  Annah’s heart thudded. If Metiyl was concerned, then obviously there was something wrong with this infant girl.

  Annah kissed the tall, silent, black-bearded Meshek. Then she turned to Chaciydah. The younger woman’s large, tender brown eyes were shadowed with fatigue, and her slender, tawny face lacked its usual ruddy glow. Before Annah could greet her, Chaciydah dropped her leather supply pouch, babbling like a frightened child.

  “Ma’adannah, after seven healthy sons, the Most High finally grants me a daughter—then He allows her this affliction. Look at her, Ma’adannah! I’m in despair!” Chaciydah pushed aside the light blue folds of her woolen shawl, revealing a small bundle nestled against her chest in a soft leather carrying pouch.

  Gently Annah lifted the small bundle from its carrying pouch and opened the gray folds of the outermost blanket to reveal the sleeping child’s face. Annah could not prevent herself from gasping in shock. This child has no color. O Most High, what does this mean?

  Even in the growing dusk, Annah could see the pale translucency of the infant girl’s skin and the extraordinary noncolor of her hair. Shem was beside Annah now, his long brown fingers holding back the gray woolen blanket. Lifting her gaze to his, Annah questioned her husband silently: What do you think?

  His lips faintly puckered, Shem lifted one dark eyebrow, cautioning Annah without words: I don’t like this. He spoke to Chaciydah and the others soothingly. “Come, let’s go visit with my father and my mother. They’ll want to welcome you. We’ll present your daughter to them and ask their opinion. Don’t look so worried, Chaciydah; I’m sure your daughter will live.”

  Still carrying the infant, Annah followed Shem up to the path traversing the hillside. By the set of his shoulders and his brisk pace, Annah knew that her husband was profoundly disturbed by the sight of this child. As if in response, the tiny girl emitted a thin, angry squeal of protest, her cry becoming louder and more shrill as Annah carried her up the path.

  Annah’s discomfort grew with the child’s cry.

  As she warmed herself near the glowing, crackling fire in the stone-lined hearth in the lodge, Annah studied the colorless infant girl. The tiny child was alert in her mother’s arms, her young eyes wide, flickering here and there in apparent wonderment.

  “I believe she’s perfectly healthy,” Annah told Chaciydah. “She sleeps well, she cries loudly, she feeds well, and she’s watching everything. You shouldn’t worry, Chaciydah.”

  “But her lack of color is dreadful,” Chaciydah mourned. “And look at her eyes. They aren’t even brown. They’re smoke gray!”

  “Let me hold her,” Shem’s mother, Naomi, urged Chaciydah. “It’s always good to hold an infant.” Her silver hair gleaming in the firelight, Naomi crooned to the child. “I agree with your Ma’adannah, little one; your mother shouldn’t worry about you. Even now, your little mind is busy.”

  As Naomi whispered to the child, Annah glanced at the men, who had gathered on the opposite side of the hearth. Her father-in-law, Noakh, was sitting on a comfortable heap of mats and fleeces with Shem, Meshek, and Eliyshama. They were facing Metiyl, whose deep voice was rising with anger as he lifted his broad, work-roughened hands in the firelight.

  “Now my horsemen-cousins ride through my father’s lands and threaten his tribes with new weapons they’ve made. Everyone’s afraid to oppose them. And,” Metiyl added ferociously, “their ‘Great King,’ Nimr-Rada, encourages them to take whatever or whomever they please!”

  Annah felt her stomach churn at this news. Raising her voice, she asked Metiyl, “They take whomever they please to serve them?”

  “To serve their Great King, Nimr-Rada—the Subduer of Leopards,” Metiyl snorted, nodding to Annah. “That Nimr-Rada has made himself ruler of us all, whether we want him or not.”

  Annah shut her eyes, heartsick. She remembered Nimr-Rada as a young boy, dark, powerful, full of courage. He had always led his brothers and cousins during their games, and later, during their hunts. Even Noakh and Shem had been astonished by his physical abilities.

  Now, however, Noakh shook his gleaming silver-curled head sorrowfully. “Nimr-Rada abuses the gifts of the Most High. No man should set himself above his brothers and use them for his own will.”

  “But, Father of my Fathers, how can we stop him?” Metiyl pleaded, leaning toward Noakh, seeming almost desperate. “You or one of your sons should come and reason with him; perhaps he will listen to you and quit tormenting us.”

  When Noakh remained silent, Shem answered Metiyl quietly. “Nimr-Rada has heard our words from the first days of his life. He knows the stories of the Great Destruction and of the heavens that existed before this new earth. He knows the truth of the Most High, the Word. But he has chosen his own will above the Most High’s. Our words won’t change his rebelliousness.”

  “Then listen, O Shem, Father of my Father; I haven’t told you everything.” Metiyl straightened, still indignant, his dark eyes kindling in the firelight. “Our Nimr-Rada has been given a new name. As if he doesn’t have enough names already! The young men who follow him are calling him ‘He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies,’ because they claim he protects them from the judgment of the Most High. Some are even saying that he’s the Promised One, w
ho will free us from the curse brought upon us by our Adversary, the Serpent, in the Garden of Adan. Worse, Nimr-Rada allows them to say this. They even put their noses to the ground and all but worship him!”

  Annah pressed her hands to her face, feeling as if she had been slapped. Unable to breathe, she looked at her husband and his father. Shem’s eyes had widened in shock.

  Equally affected, Noakh groaned, “O Most High, how should we deal with this Nimr-Rada, son of Kuwsh?”

  From her place beside Annah, Naomi huffed audibly. Her lined, brown face stern, she lifted an eyebrow at Metiyl. “Kuwsh knows his son can’t be the Promised One, because the Most High revealed to my Noakh that the Promised One would be a son of our Shem’s son, Arpakshad. We have no choice in the matter. What does Kuwsh say about his ‘Great King’ son?”

  Metiyl lowered his head, obviously unwilling to speak. At last, he said, “I’ma-Naomi, you won’t be pleased; Kuwsh rejoices in his son’s power. He encourages this adoration—though he knows it is wrong.”

  Clearly disgusted, Naomi handed the colorless infant girl back to the anxious Chaciydah. Then she looked past the crackling flames of the hearth toward her husband, Noakh. “My dear one,” Naomi said stiffly, “we should send a message to warn Kuwsh and his ‘Great King’ son. They cannot be allowed to set themselves against the Most High; they invite another Destruction to pour down upon us all.”

  “You are right, beloved,” Noakh agreed, his eyes distant, lost in thought. Quite suddenly, Noakh stood and, with a hint of an ancient limp, went outside.

  Shem followed him, casting a sidelong glance at Annah, silently encouraging her with his eloquent eyes: Wait for me.

  Annah knew that her husband and father-in-law were troubled beyond words. Shem and Noakh would consider the situation and pray at length before giving an answer. They had to be alone. To prevent Metiyl, Meshek, and Eliyshama from following them, Annah lifted her hands in a cautioning gesture. The men relaxed and waited, facing her. She was one of the First Mothers of all the tribes. They would listen to her.