Chapter Fifteen

Not Alone

“He will surely be gracious to you at the sound of your cry. As soon as he hears it, he answers you. And though he Lord give you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, yet your Teacher will not hide himself anymore, but your eyes shall see your Teacher. And your ears shall hear a word behind you saying, ‘This is the way, walk in it, when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left.’” Isaiah 30:20, 21

At the sound of the voices, fear pulsed through Atarah’s veins and throbbed in her throat. She quickly gathered Gadreel and turned to scan Shua’s face. Had the slave heard the voices?

Shua stood frozen, mortar and pestle in hand, the emotion on her face mirroring the fear in Atarah’s heart. Shua had heard.

Gadreel giggled.

Alarmed, Atarah positioned her face nose to nose with the baby’s and pressed a piece of dried fruit on his tongue. “Shhhh.” Would that keep the wide-awake baby quiet? She kissed the tip of his nose.

Already at her side, Shua cupped her hands around Atarah’s ear and hissed. “Pinch his nose and cover his mouth.” Atarah drew back in shock. She would not! She was still in charge, not the slave.

“He has to learn,” insisted Shua.

Shock reverberated through Atarah. She knew the slave had suffered through severe treatment as a child when marauders raided her village repeatedly, but Atarah had no idea Shua approved her culture’s harsh method for teaching babies not to cry.

With no time to reprimand the slave, Atarah gestured toward the fire, motioning for Shua to douse it. Smells would betray their presence even if no one uttered a peep, and right now the aroma of corn cakes and scented oil lingered in the air along with the smoke. And the torches. She’d grown so accustomed to the odor of burning pitch she’d nearly forgotten the strong smell of torches.

 Atarah snatched up the leftover corn cake and stuffed the other visual clues of their presence into the goat pouch. Glancing toward the coffin she briefly considered closing the lid, but remembering the loud scraping it would make decided against it. Hopefully, if intruders came this way they would think an earlier sloppy visitor failed to close it.

Keeping her voice low, Atarah spoke tersely. “Where’s the exit?” The voices grew louder. How many people were there two? Twenty? Hard to tell.

Shua pointed in a direction away from the sound, an obvious choice. Atarah nodded for Shua to move and shoved the goat pouch into the slave’s hands, securing the baby to herself with the sling as they ran.

A foreboding darkness shrouded that side of the temple. Because she’d delegated the chore of scoping out their surroundings to Shua, Atarah had no idea what lay in the passage beyond. She made a mental note never to make that mistake again. Her decision to relax and pamper herself at the spring may have cost them dearly. For most of her life she’d passively obeyed Father’s instructions and willingly allowed slaves to coddle her.

No more. Gadreel needed a fully-functioning mentally-alert parent.

Atarah snatched a torch from the niche in one column as they passed and bent to scoop up a fresh one from the floor beside it. She strode toward what appeared another hole leading to another tunnel. The mistress silently questioned the slave with her eyes, had Shua discovered where this passage led?

Shua shrugged and shook her head mouthing, “No time.” The slave didn’t know

this place any better than Atarah. She stepped ahead of Shua. Atarah would take responsibility for the trio. Her baby’s safety rested on her shoulders.

On the other side of the doorway, images of humans worshipping Nephilim led away from the temple. After a short while they again hiked downward on a dirt and stone path much like the one they’d traversed from the ledge. Atarah kept her finger on the fruit in the baby’s mouth and hummed softly in his ear to entertain him. Better to risk a low hum than have Gadreel suddenly shriek because he wanted out of the sling.

Soon the voices grew fainter and Atarah found herself breathing more normally despite the strenuous activity. The walls and ceiling arching overhead looked no different than every other wall and ceiling in this maze. They switched mindlessly from passage to passage moving through tunnels that twisted and turned through the complex. Atarah knew they were hopelessly lost, but reasoned that as long as they continually angled downhill they would eventually reach an exit and make their way to safety. She dare not think otherwise.  She dare not worry whether they would find food again.

Yet staying on a downward slope proved difficult since most of the paths kept to the level. Occasionally one would dead end and the women would have to backtrack. At the end of one such tunnel, a waterfall tumbled over the rocks and they drank their fill. 

The possibility they might be traveling in circles niggled at Atarah’s brain, but she dismissed the thought as pointless. She could only do what she could do, and right now her job revolved around keeping the baby safe.

The slave had been her companion since childhood, but she’d been no more than a slave. Now the dynamics of their relationship had changed and Atarah saw Shua as her equal. As equals they were accountable and responsible for one another.

Numerous murky tunnels intersected their path. Every time one slanted downhill, Atarah took it. She derived comfort from the occasional arrow scratched into rock and gradually came to believe that an unknown benefactor had trekked these passages years earlier and scored markings into the wall to guide the lost to safety.

Shua’s light fizzled and Atarah handed her the extra torch she’d picked up before they left the temple. Her slave held the new torch to Atarah’s still-burning one.

In some spots the trail grew wider. In others the path narrowed until they were forced to turn sideways to squeeze through. In those places Atarah shifted the baby to her hip, drawing him through after her. Shua brought up the rear.

Step after repetitive step they fled toward safety until, without warning, the path switched to a gradual winding ascent. Atarah trudged up the incline and around several turns, expecting the trail to adopt a downhill pitch again. When it didn’t, she stopped and looked at Shua. “Think we should turn around?”

The furrows on the slave’s forehead matched Atarah’s. Shua sighed deeply and sagged against the wall. “We’ve come such a long way.” Shua’s face was flushed from exertion, her shoulders slumped. She looked as exhausted and confused as Atarah felt. “I don’t know . . . I can’t.”

Exactly. Atarah also felt incapable of making decisions and she was beginning to thirst again. She sighed. “Let’s just keep going.”

The incline rose steeper. Progress slowed. The baby seemed heavier now than at any other time since they’d left home. Atarah’s labored breathing echoed in her own ears and, though she couldn’t have articulated the reason for the feeling, warning prickles ran down her spine. Why were they traveling up rather than downhill? “This can’t be right.” She stopped to trace her light along the wall. An arrow pointed back in the direction they’d just come. When had that happened?

She sucked in a sharp breath. “Where are we?” she asked the slave. It was a rhetorical question;. Shua knew no more than her mistress. “Maybe we better retrace our steps.”

“Maybe.” The slave tiptoed a few paces backward and returned. “There’s no sign of anyone back there.”

Atarah leaned against the wall and released a shaky sigh, unable to render a clear decision. Retracing their steps seemed pointless, but the darkness behind prickled the hair on the back of her neck. Gadreel fidgeted, wanting out of the sling. She reached to lift him from his confinement, but a hunch she couldn’t explain changed her mind. “Not yet, Sweetie.” She rocked back and forth to placate him and cast a worried glance up the trail. Since no one was within earshot, she no longer tried to keep him quiet. Let him babble all he wanted while he could. She patted him absently. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“That this leads to a house in the city?”

“Uh huh.”

Silence hung between them in the semi-darkness. The slave evidentially agreed with her. “Maybe they people who live there will be sympathetic,” Shua offered tiredly. Her tone betrayed her words. She didn’t believe her statement any more than Atarah did.

“Can you think of a single soul in the city who wouldn’t turn us over to Dagaar and Father?”

“Or give Gadreel to the priests?” Shua finished the thought for her. “Not really.”

Unexpectedly, a gentle breeze flowing down the tunnel blew a tendril of hair into Atarah’s eyes and she automatically reached up to brush side a curl. With the next puff of wind, a cold ball of fear dropped into her belly. A draft from above might possibly indicate a ventilation tube like the one they’d encountered on the way down from the ledge. But if so, wouldn’t they have felt the air stir sooner?

“People?” Atarah exhaled the word. As though in answer to her question, a buzz of voices drifted down the tunnel. Panic clutched her heart.

“God of Noah, help us.” Atarah breathed the involuntary prayer at the same moment Shua grabbed her arm and starting pulling back in the direction they’d just come. “Stop!” Atarah hissed. She planted her feet and firmly gripped the slave’s hand, stopping the slave’s mad rush down the tunnel. In the flickering light, Atarah recognized raw fear in Shua’s expression.

Gathering her emotions, Atarah spoke slowly and deliberately with a confidence that belied her quivering heart. “We need to move at a cautious pace. We have no idea where we are. If we dash wildly back the way we came, we could run headlong into the others.” She waved up the tunnel toward the last voices they’d heard. “They don’t know we’re here yet.” She rubbed her hand in a circle on the baby’s back, quieting him while her thoughts spun. How many people were down here and why? Had the trio unknowingly circled back toward the temple?

 “We’re totally lost,” murmured Shua.

“I’ll lead.” Atarah had little idea where they’d come from let alone where they were headed. She patted the slave’s shoulder as she squeezed past. “We have to keep moving if we’re going to find a way out.” She moved briskly back in the direction they’d just come. The adrenaline rushing through her had made a decision easy: She would check every intersecting tunnel until she found another with arrows to guide them.

Behind her the slave wept quietly and guilt seized Atarah. No one had required Shua to risk her own life by accompanying her mistress. She’d done it voluntarily out of love and probably hadn’t expected all the troubles they faced. Did she remember Shua saying that she would return home once Atarah was safely on her way? Atarah couldn’t remember for sure. No matter. Shua had stayed because Atarah needed her. Shua deserved to indulge in a temporary meltdown.

Atarah understood all that.

What Atarah couldn’t understand was where her own strength was coming from. She’d always been the placid, scared rich girl, submissively waiting for everyone to care for her needs. The only place she’d ever stood her ground was in her refusal to worship at the temple and she’d managed to keep a low profile concerning that thanks to Mother. Of course rescuing Gadreel required courage, but she couldn’t have done that without Mother and Shua taking the lead.

Now, after the initial flush of fright brought on by the new voices, determination rather than fear pumped through Atarah’s veins. She hurried rapidly onward, aware that fear lurked just beneath the surface and could bob up in a flash.

The first tunnel they found was narrower than the one they currently followed and large rocks littered the floor. Atarah reasoned that if the people behind them were looking for them – and she was relatively certain they were – they would expect two inexperienced women to stick to the wider smoother path. So she and Shua needed to turn into this new passage. But they couldn’t afford to get trapped at a dead end. Did they have time to check out the tunnel to see which direction looked most promising before the people behind overtook them?

They had to take a chance. 

She motioned Shua to the passage on the left and barked, “Walk twenty paces and see what’s there then meet me back here as fast as you can. Hurry!”

Atarah darted into the opening on her right, counting her steps. “One . . .” No arrows. Level. A large boulder jutted directly out of the center of the path. She squeezed past. The rock might provide a hiding place if they needed one. “Two . . . three . . .” The passage turned sharply and sloped downhill. “Four, five, six . . .” Looked good. If her suspicions were correct, this was the way to go. She ran back to get the slave. Apparently, the running excited Gadreel and he giggled and babbled.

A breathless Shua met her as she emerged from the passage. “We can’t go that way. It’s uphill.”

Atarah heard voices. Already close! Did they know about Shua and Atarah? How would she silence the baby? What should she do? Paralyzing fear gripped her and she froze.

Unexpectedly, the warmth of the dream enveloped her and her mind cleared. Fear not! “This way.”

Without a word, Shua followed her down the tunnel. “They’re close. I know they can hear the baby! We’ll never make it. Can’t you shut him up?”

Since she could do nothing about Gadreel’s noise at the moment, she ignored the slave’s question. “If we can just get around that first bend I don’t think they can see our lights.”

She welcomed the comfort of the dream as she ran. Fear not!

“We lost time back there.”

Didn’t Shua understand they could have taken the wrong direction and ended up in worse trouble? Atarah wondered who and how many people might be in the underground with them. There could be people both behind and ahead of them, but it took too much energy to say that to Shua.

The voices were louder now. Was that because the people had had spotted their torchlight bouncing off the walls? Or heard the baby? Atarah increased her speed, fighting tears, breath tearing at her lungs with every hoarse gasp. Moving quietly was impossible.

Fear not!

Just beyond another sharp corner the tunnel overhead swooped suddenly lower forcing Atarah to stoop and run in a crouched position. The configuration of walls and rocks looked entirely too much like the temple entrance they’d left behind hours ago. Moments later a familiar-looking opening loomed ahead and Atarah’s heart plummeted to her belly. They’d exhausted themselves fleeing in a day-long circle. “God of Noah! Help us!”

At her heels, Shua cried, “No!” She must have recognized the temple entrance.

Shouts and running feet reverberated through the passage behind. Louder. Atarah could recognize individual voices. Shouting. Cursing. She heard Dagaar’s familiar malignant laugh followed by a wheezing cough. Her worst fears had come true.

Gadreel escalated to a shriek and Atarah didn’t bother to shush him. Too late for that. Atarah heard Shua, gasping for breath, slow down. Frightened for her slave, she glanced back. Shua had stopped to catch her breath, a disoriented expression on her face.

A few cubits behind Shua, the grinning torch-lit face of Dagaar bounded toward them glistening with sweat. The serpent tattoo on his neck bounced.

A thousand cords of terror slithered around Atarah like a nest of vipers. “Now!” She shrieked – whatever that meant. She had no breath for more. She could only hope her slave understood: Dagaar was behind them, the temple ahead was empty. If they could only get there they had a chance to seal the entrance and keep him out.

Summoning her last bit of strength, Atarah plunged toward the temple through the hole. From the other side, hands grabbed her roughly and yanked her through. Simultaneously she heard an “Oof!” as Shua was hauled in after her. With no help from her, the stone seal slammed behind them.

Dagaar’s muffled curses raged from the other side.

Breathing hard and shaking uncontrollably, Atarah crouched warily on the floor looking up at a group of about twenty men and women who stood, arms crossed, glaring at her. She pulled Gadreel close and rested a clammy hand on Shua’s arm to reassure her. Gadreel ’s screams escalated.

A scowling woman with unkempt gray-streaked hair stepped from the group and faced Atarah, hands on her hips. “You’ve put us all in danger.” An icy rivulet of fear down Atarah’s spine. “And for nothing. They’ll just circle around and find you.”