Chapter Thirty-Seven

Ark of Safety

“On the very same day Noah and his sons, Shem and Ham and Japheth, and the three wives of his sons with them entered the ark. And the rain fell upon the earth forty days and forty nights.”  Genesis 7:13,12

            Atarah huddled under the branches of a low hanging fir and pulled her robe about her, alone in a frightening forest. In the underground complex temperatures had remained constant and comfortable, but in this forest an unearthly chill had rolled in with the darkness. The shrill chirping of crickets which pulsed rapidly at dusk, gradually slowed with the falling temperatures until the sound died away completely. Now she heard nothing except the scuttling of unknown creatures and distant howling.

            She shivered, hastening the light of dawn.

            Splintered trees stripped of bark and limbs marched up this cursed mountain. The tree sheltering her was the only one sporting branches of green on the entire slope. Everything else hung on in ruins. Since an earthquake couldn’t cause this kind of devastation, the most logical explanation for the destruction must be the ark built on top of the mountain. The gods intended to obliterate all signs of Noah and his ark.

She assumed the man who rescued her must be one of Noah’s sons, and that led her to believe he planned to take her to the ark for safety. But the ark was no safer than her city or this mountain. In her exhausted state all the horror stories drilled into her about Noah’s ark from her youth had come rushing back and she couldn’t erase them.

They’d tormented her when Noah’s son came looking for her as she hid in a shallow cave behind falling water. He poked his head into the cave, calling her name, but instead of answering she curled into a fetal position, weeping silently. He couldn’t see her in the dim recesses of the cave. She stayed there until her soaked clothes rendered her so cold she was forced to leave to dry them.

She wondered if she should have at least let him know she was alive. Some part of her chided herself for not appreciating the risk Noah’s son took for her, but she couldn’t force herself to feel too badly. She no longer cared about anything. The bronze god, assisted by the priests and Zaquiel, had reached inside and ripped out her very essence. She felt raw. Empty.

Gadreel was gone. The Light was gone. And Shua was gone.

Shua, her slave, her friend, her betrayer, her protector.

And Mother. An image of Mother turning her back on Gadreel flashed into Atarah’s head. She would never forgive Mother. Though Mother still lived, she was dead to Atarah.

How could Atarah ever come to terms with any of those things? She wanted nothing more than to sink into oblivion. But because her death would mean victory for Dagaar, she refused to die.

Atarah pressed back against rough bark. She smelled pitch and moist earth in the air whistling through her one unclogged nostril. Her robe still clung damply to her arms, but her clothes no longer dripped and her tunic was surprisingly clean. Though she shivered from the cold, her face was hot and her brain felt thick and solid when she tried to figure anything out. She needed sleep, but frigid wind and agonizing thoughts kept her awake.

She’d heard Dagaar and his cronies searching the woods for her after the rhinos chased them away. Once darkness fell she no longer picked up any of their noises, but they’d start again at first light. With only a few hours remaining until dawn, she still couldn’t decide on a course of action. Her head ached trying to figure it out.

She saw only two choices: Dagaar or the ark. Neither sounded good. She would rather die than suffer horrors at Dagaar’s hand. Conversely, the vague dangers lurking inside the ominous structure at the top of the hill also terrified her. After meeting Noah and his son she wanted to believe the rumors false, but couldn’t shake her fear. Maybe she could find her way around the ark and down the other side of the mountain. Despite all the eruptions there had to be places left where she could live.

Through the crisp darkness, light filtered into Atarah’s hiding place and flowed around her. The Dream! But she wasn’t asleep. She closed her eyes and welcomed the intense Light, relaxing into the warmth and comfort like a weaned child cradled in her mother’s arms.

The voice of many waters seemed to whisper her name, “Atarah.”

Yes. Had she thought the word or spoken aloud? Had the Light spoken aloud?

“I call you by name. I name you though you do not know me.”

Who are you?

“I AM the God of Noah. The One True God. I AM the first and the last, the Creator. Before me no God was formed, nor shall there be any after me. Besides me there is no God.”

A sense of belonging, coursed into Atarah but memories that the Light had abandoned her rode in on the back of her gratitude. Why had the light left?

“I am with you always, even unto the ends of the earth. I will never leave you or forsake you. I will take you by the hand and keep you.”

It was true. She had pushed the Light away, but it came back again when she needed help. Probably was with her all along even though she had stopped feeling.

“You are precious in my eyes, and I love you. I am doing a new thing. Do you not perceive it? Don’t be afraid to enter my ark of safety. I have redeemed you. I will pour out my Spirit on your offspring and my blessings on your descendants.”

No! Gadreel was dead. She would never have children.

With that thought, the Light vanished. Suddenly alone and chilled to the bone, Atarah wondered if she had imagined the whole thing. Was she hallucinating because of the cold?  

“Check under that tree.” Dagaar’s voice. Stark reality set in. Her chest tightened and she stopped breathing. Heart thundering, she slid cautiously forward on her bottom and peered through the branches. Dots of light approached her tree from downhill.   

“Wait!” Dagaar called out. “Something moved over there.” In response, the lights veered off in the opposite direction.

Her survival instincts kicked in and violent trembling seized Atarah. The men would be back as soon as they realized they’d erred. They’d probably mistaken an animal for her. She had to leave. Now! Scrambling from under the tree, she fought away branches slapping her in the face and started up the hill on numb tingling feet. Soon, swearing from the direction in which the men disappeared told her they’d already discovered their mistake.

“Over there! Go!” They’d spotted her.

Aware that her white robe made her nearly glow-in-the-dark visible she briefly considered discarding it for the slightly-darker blue tunic she wore underneath, but decided that action would slow her down. A stick whacked her ankle, throwing her to the ground. She jumped up and started forward on wooden legs, angling up and toward the trail she’d left before dark. Shouted threats spurred her on. Running should be easier on the smoother ground, if she could find it. She fell again and jumped to her feet once more, the blood flowing now. She prayed the darkness hadn’t confused her sense of direction, hoped the rumors she’d heard about the ark proved false.

No. She wouldn’t thinly hope against hope. She would believe the rumors were false. She firmly believed Noah’s God had spoken to her and she would not be afraid to go to the ark. What had God called it? “My ark of safety.” She’d turned away from him again when she doubted his words about offspring, but now she knew he was still with her. Always would be with her even when she couldn’t feel his presence. She would run to his ark.

Her feet found the path and she ran faster. Heated from the exertion, she again wanted to toss aside her heavy robe. Even with her increased speed, the men shortened the distance between them. Torch-flames grew larger. The shouting sounded closer. Accustomed to stamina acquired as a result of strenuous work, the men had the added advantage of torches to light their way and keep them from tripping. They would catch her in no time. Her breath came in rasping sobs.

At the top of the trail she continued forward, following the path. She couldn’t see the ark in the dark, but prayed the trail led that direction. Despite a valiant effort, she moved slower and the men pounded closer. She heard their breathing, smelled the foul odor.

Staggering on rubbery legs, she couldn’t keep going unless God sent a miracle. “God of Noah, help me!”

Suddenly, an enormous hulk loomed out of the darkness ahead. The ark! The sheer size of it stunned her and, almost supernaturally new energy surged through her. The ark seemed to pull her forward. She flew along, light as a feather. As she got closer, she could make out the shape of an opening at the top of the ramp broad enough for all the men chasing her to go through shoulder to shoulder. She ran to it. As she plunged through, she glanced back.

The men holding torches had stopped at the base of the rise leading to the ramp, afraid.

She entered a dimly lit corridor and a palpable sense of peace enfolded her, thick and smooth like cream whipped with honey. She breathed deeply through mysteriously-clear sinuses. When the comforting aroma of aged pitch and cedar welcomed her, Atarah hugged herself and burst into tears of relief and joy. “Thank you God of Noah!”

A menacing shout from Dagaar stopped her in her tracks. “Atarah!” Her back stiffened. “Listen to me Atarah!” Staying in the shadows, she peeked carefully out the door. The group hadn’t moved. “Do you think Noah’s God is going to protect you in there?” His cruel laughter prompted guffaws from the men around him. “Who do you think told me to chase you here? Noah’s God. He knows you’re evil and he wanted you trapped in that place.”

Atarah wanted to flee further into the ark, but she couldn’t force her body forward.

“Come out to me, Atarah. I’ll take good care of you. I protect the things that belong to me.” Dagaar’s slimy tone reminded her of a gliding serpent. “I’m not the one you should fear. You’ll find that out soon enough.”

With Dagaar’s taunts ringing through the corridor at her back, Atarah fled the sound of his voice. She passed door after closed door, down one stairway and up another. She had completely lost her bearings by the time she paused to catch her breath and, to her surprise, realized that being lost on God’s ark felt good.

It was baffling that two labyrinths could feel so different. Dagaar and Zaquiel belonged to the dark tunnels swirling with evil beneath the city. Noah and his son who rescued her belonged to this peaceful place.

She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, her mouth curled upward in a smile. The presence of Noah’s God hovered around this place and he would not permit evil here. With a certainly she didn’t understand, she knew her God would not allow Dagaar aboard. She had no idea how God would stop the fiend, but he would. She remembered the men still standing outside the ark afraid to enter. God had already stopped them.

She started walking again, feeling safe. And tired. Occasional torches dotting the corridor illuminated the way sufficiently to keep her from stumbling, but she would need stronger light to see inside the rooms if she planned to find a place where she could  spend the rest of the night. Atarah lifted a lighted torch from a wall sconce. Was the family occupying this place tonight or were they sleeping in a home somewhere? 

She shivered, suddenly conscious that her body heat was dropping rapidly since she stopped running. She removed her still-slightly-damp robe and draped it over her arm. Bringing the torch close she held a hand palm-out beside the flame, warming herself. She needed to find a place soon. 

Easing open a door, she held her torch inside. Piles of a yellowish-white substance climbed nearly as high as the ceiling, sparkling and dancing in the light. What in the world? Curiosity overcame her and she stepped inside to test it with a forefinger. When she touched the finger to her tongue she tasted salt. Noah had filled this room with the preservative.

The next doors opened to all manner of storage. Barley and oats filled one room. Rice was in the room next to it. Wooden boxes had been stacked to the ceiling in another. When she lifted the top of a near one she found it brimming with seed. Though the exotic opulence Atarah had grown up taking for granted didn’t exist here, every room overflowed with natural delights. Aromatic dried plants hung from the rafters in her favorite one – lavender, roses, sage, yellow marigolds, purple statice and hibiscus. She breathed in the heavenly fragrance for a few moments before continuing on her quest for a soft place to rest, confident she’d find something comfortable.

Atarah forgot her exhaustion and explored eagerly. The ark was a fantasy. Who could have dreamed of a boat on a dry mountain filled with treasures of food and exotic dried plants? The more wonders she stumbled across the more clearly she understood that Noah truly believed his dire warnings to her people. He believed a giant Flood would wipe them all out if they didn’t come onto the ark with him, and he had spent his life preparing to survive the waters. Surprisingly, he really had built his boat large enough to house thousands of people for the duration of the deluge. His invitation to the citizens of her city was not an empty one.

Straight ahead, a wall blocked off the hallway. The door set in the middle of it caught Atarah’s attention. Someone had carved vines and pomegranates into the surface, making it look like a place intended for human habitation. Though slightly apprehensive about snooping uninvited through someone else’s private space, especially when they might be sleeping, Atarah eased open the door.

She’d correctly guessed the purpose of the place. 

In front of her, a large room displayed everything a family might need to live comfortably. Several doors, including the one framing her, were set in each of its four walls. Like the temples under the city, a fire pit situated near the center of the room seemed intended to radiate heat through the space – only this one was covered with a metal covering. Maybe the metal enabled the fire pit to function as an oven. The acrid aroma of smoke still hung in the room and the space felt comfortably warm, but that was the only similarity between this room and the underground.

She deliberately bumped into a chair and scraped the wooden legs across the floor, announcing herself. When no one appeared, she knocked loudly on one of the doors. No one answered her knock. The place must be empty. Though she felt a little bad about snooping, she could look around without disturbing anyone.

A polished plank floor ran the length of the room in smooth lines under a long table flanked by benches. Chairs stood at each end of the table. Beyond the table, a loom with a half-woven blanket in shades of yellow and orange adorned one side of the room. Skeins of yarn and fibers of all colors poked out of baskets on the floor beside it. Atarah couldn’t help thinking of Mother.

One wall held all manner of bronze musical instruments. Atarah’s favorites included two flutes and a harp. Both tallow candles and beautifully-decorated oil lamps were set into niches at eye level. Every lamp, pot on the floor and cooking utensil on the walls had been fastened securely in place. Sturdy wooden crates were fastened to the floor with decorative bronze plates and held every useful object imaginable, from large pots to additional pillows to eating utensils. Each box had been custom-built to fit the object it held. Atarah shoved against one to see if it would move. She couldn’t budge it.

Waist-high shelves topped with an oiled wooden work surface apparently intended for food preparation or mending broken objects spread across another wall. The doors separated the shelves at regular intervals. Identical shelves occupied the opposite wall, bisected by an alcove holding an elegant desk inset with several types and shades of hardwood which someone had carved with a grape and leaf design. Corbels with matching grape clusters decorated the corners at the entrance to the alcove where the ceiling met the walls. Four lidded pottery vessels nearly as large as water-pots clustered beside the desk.

Everything in this room, from the desk to the pottery to all the items stored on the shelves below the work surfaces were secured by wooden bars or set in barred enclosures built specifically for them. Even the four sets of benches facing each other around the space had been secured to the floor.

It appeared Noah expected violent movement once the Flood commenced, and he’d made certain his ark would remain intact through the entire cataclysmic event. Only the harmless pillows on the benches were free to tumble freely in a storm. Well, he’d had plenty of time to do the planning and building. Mother said he’d been working on it for a hundred and twenty years.

Mother.

Gadreel.

Shua.

Atarah sank onto the bench and allowed herself the luxury of giving in to dark grief for a few moments. Then she stood erect, squared her shoulders and distracted herself by opening doors while she fought away the unbearable emptiness.

The door directly across from the one she’d entered led to another hallway. Three of the doors opened to simple homey bedrooms, all vacant. Supplies and work implements occupied other rooms. Row after row of sweet-smelling firewood crammed one room, rising all the way to the ceiling. Noah’s family would stay warm if the weather turned cold.

Another room contained stores of all sorts of preserved foods. The largest side-room housed a blacksmith shop and tools. Another held a pottery wheel. But the most unbelievable space was a large bathroom tiled with white stone and completed with a flushing-trough commode and shower, just like the homes in her city. She pumped a spout over the hands-cleansing bowl. No water. Well, of course not. They expected the Flood would bring in the water.

With the excitement wearing off, grief niggled at the edges of Atarah’s mind and squeezed her heart. Fatigue weighed her down. She could barely keep her eyes open.

The bedrooms beckoned, but she refused to take advantage of Noah and his family. She’d collect the pillows from two benches and sleep quite comfortably on the floor. As she gathered pillows, she noticed that she’d missed the last door. Unable to resist the unknown, even in her exhausted state, curiosity won and she opened the door.

This bedroom with its four-poster linen-covered bed and carved walls took her breath away. Who had crafted this room? Obviously the same person who’d made the desk and the main door.

The pottery jars lining the wall were exquisite. Atarah had never seen their match in the expensive pots Father imported. She’d never seen anything so magnificent as the colors of the pillows on the bed. Silk, weren’t they? She caressed the fabric. Unable to resist, Atarah tossed her robe on the floor by the bed to keep from soiling the beautiful covers and crawled in between silky sheets. She closed her eyes and snuggled into the sumptuous feather mattress.

She had no idea how long she’d slept when something startled her awake. Her eyes snapped open and her mind tripped and jumbled at the sight before her.