Chapter Three
Earthquake
“And the women have born giants, and the whole earth has thereby been filled with blood and unrighteousness.” Book of Enoch, Section One 9: 9, 10
Gadreel threw his arms around Atarah’s neck and slobbered an open-mouthed kiss onto her nose. She smiled and pulled him close, then scowled at the slave over his head. “Didn’t you hear about Father?” He had forbidden her to care for Gadreel before, but this time was different and Shua should know it.
Distress creased Shua’s face. “Gadreel wouldn’t stop crying. He needs you.” She crouched beside Atarah, apparently trying to stay out of sight, though no one could see them from their position behind the hedge. After years of being treated well, Shua still feared nearly everything. “I’ll take him back.” She reached for the baby and Gadreel scrunched up his face, poised to launch into one of his tantrums.
“Leave him,” Atarah hissed at the slave, then comforted her nephew. “Shh, shh. It’s okay, Sweetie.”
Shua pressed a fist to her mouth and her eyes shone with tears. It amazed Atarah that the slave could love the baby so deeply after her initial aversion to the boy. For weeks after Father assigned care of the baby to Shua, the slave had found him so revolting she could barely stand to touch him.
“Why are you so upset?” Atarah asked. She caressed the smooth skin of the baby’s arm.
“Your father is angry.”
“That’s not any different that usual.”
“And Gadreel found another snake.”
“Where?”
“On the balcony.”
“The balcony? How in the world? I told you to keep him away from them.”
“I try, but he seems to find them. I think they come looking for him.”
“That’s just silly.”
“He likes them.”
“Of course he likes them. All boys like snakes. They’re little wriggling toys. That doesn’t mean you let him play with them.” Atarah wasn’t exactly certain why the child shouldn’t play with snakes or why she was getting angry with Shua. She just knew she did not like snakes. She hated thinking about the time she saw one arch up and face Gadreel as he held it by the tail. He actually kissed the slimy thing before she could stop him. She shuddered. Obviously Atarah needed to hold a firmer line with her slave.
“I’m sorry.” Shua chewed on her thumbnail and looked at the ground. “It was a harmless striped one.”
“The next one might not be harmless,” Atarah snapped. The slave should not be arguing with her.
When Shua was a young child, one of Father’s caravans had found Shua cowering in a trunk after giants ravaged her village and killed everyone. Father brought her into his home because he thought she might make a suitable companion for Atarah. They appeared to be approximately the same age. Atarah and Shua had grown up more as friends than slave and mistress. But slaves, even beloved ones, should fear the masters who held the power of life and death over them. It appeared Atarah had been treating Shua too well. A good slave should remain cautions around her mistress. Shua should know her position.
“Gadreel hasn’t seen you all day.” Shua peered through the foliage, alert to danger.
“I know.” Atarah kissed the top of her nephew’s curls. She loved his ringlets.
“He cries for you. He wouldn’t even nap.”
“We’re in trouble if anyone sees us.” Atarah sat on the stone bench with her arms curled protectively around the baby. He breathed out a quivering sigh and gazed at her with large lavender eyes. “Go to sleep precious lamb,” she said softly. “Atarah is here.” Gadreel closed his eyes and leaned against her. Almost immediately, he lapsed into the steady breathing of sleep.
“Find somewhere you can watch all the doors that open onto the courtyard,” Atarah whispered, but Shua was already on her feet.
The slave disappeared from view. “I can see from here.” Her whisper came from the azalea bush where Gadreel had appeared earlier, close enough for the two to converse in undertones.
“Can anyone see you?”
“I don’t think so.”
They’d both be in trouble if discovered, Shua more than her mistress because part of Shua’s job was to care for Gadreel. She’d be flogged, or worse, if found shirking her duty. By allowing Atarah to care for the baby, the slave was encouraging an aristocrat to take over a lowly assignment. A disgrace for all involved. Wealthy young women were expected to participate in more noble pursuits than child-rearing, and that meant the slave would be in double trouble today. First, she was deliberately disobeying the master of the house. Second, slaves weren’t allowed to neglect duties. Though Atarah would be punished, the slave would shoulder the blame for Atarah’s misbehavior as well as her own.
The two women had been through this before. Atarah knew if Shua spotted anyone coming from the house or kitchen she would spring into action. At her warning, Atarah would quickly pass Gadreel off to the slave and hide. The technique had worked in the past.
After a few minutes of silence, Atarah felt safe enough to chat quietly. “How did Father find out I’ve been caring for Gadreel?”
“Another slave, I guess.”
“Who?”
“Good question.”
“Do you think the elders know?” Atarah’s right leg had gone numb, so she shifted the baby’s weight.
There was a long pause before Shua said. “I don’t think so.”
“Maybe Father’s hiding the truth from them to protect me. Mother would probably know if they suspected anything, and she’d tell us.”
“Why do you want to do slave work anyway?”
The mistress could hear disapproval in her slave’s voice and she marveled that a culture’s values could become so ingrained in someone born in a distant land.
“That’s enough,” Atarah chided. How could Shua be so influenced by her adopted culture she would believe caring for a child beneath Atarah? Child rearing seemed to Atarah the best occupation a woman could desire. Atarah couldn’t understand why proper families longed for children then considered it shameful to care for them and Shua knew she felt that way. “Has my sister looked in on Gadreel lately?”
“Nympha hasn’t seen him for weeks.” Shua snorted. “All she cares about is her gentlemen callers and looking pretty and everyone cooing over her. You’re ten times more a mother to Gadreel than Nympha ever will be.”
“Hush! You shouldn’t say things like that.” Atarah said, but Shua’s words warmed her heart. Gadreel did belong to Atarah. Not Nympha. It didn’t matter that her sister had given him birth. Atarah was the one who loved him. A child should belong to the one who loved him. The one who took care of him. There was more to mothering than the physical act of giving birth.
Covering Gadreel with her robe, Atarah closed her eyes and buried her face in his soft curls, breathing in his scent as he slept against her. Content to trust Shua to keep watch, she relaxed against the arm of the bench and drifted into a contented sleep.
*******
The distant rumble of an earthquake awakened Atarah. She bolted into a sitting position, heart racing. Her arms tightened around the baby. “Help me protect him!”
The earth heaved under her. She clenched Gadreel ’s small body. Bushes and flowers thrashed about as though shaken by a giant hand. The distant shouts of slaves mingled with the crack of rock against rock. Gadreel gripped her neck and shrieked in terror.
Atarah struggled to rise, but fell to the ground still clutching the baby. Rolling earth tossed the now-empty bench from side to side. She scanned the garden for shelter. Water sloshed from the pool around the fountain. Was that Shua screaming? Unable to think, Atarah stared blankly at the wet sheen on the mosaics around the fountain.
A shadow sliding across the pavement wrenched her back to reality and her gaze jerked upward. In slow motion, the huge dragon fountain pivoted on its stone pedestal. Wobbling. Reeling. Atarah threw herself across the baby, shielding him. She heard her own voice scream. “God of Noah!”
As though in response to her words, a loud crack! from a large tree near the fountain smacked a thick branch into the side of the dragon and the earthquake ceased abruptly. The creature tottered and plunged downward toward her. She closed her eyes and braced herself.
There was a crash when the statue hit. Erie
Atarah opened her eyes and lay still, stunned. The dragon’s tail arched harmlessly over her midsection, a finger’s width above her. The body of the dragon lay smashed in three pieces on either side of her. Gadreel squirmed beneath her. Alive! Tears sprang to her eyes, “Thank you,” she whispered. She shimmied from under the statue and freed Gadreel . “Shua?” she hissed.
“Over here.”
Gadreel shrieked and clung to her. His arms wound tightly around her neck.
Father’s voice called from the house. “Atarah! Nympha!”
Atarah rolled away from Gadreel. Shua, a deep cut across her arm, snatched the baby from his aunt and ducked through an arch in the wall.
“I’m all right,” Atarah called back.
“We’re okay!” Her sister’s voice came from her upstairs bedchamber.
*****
In the entry, Mother sat on the staircase, dazed. Dust and the odor of plaster hung in the air. Large chunks of the brightly painted ceiling were strewn about the tiled floor. Atarah could see an enormous crack running vertically up the frieze of Gug on a wall in the Room of Candles. Father barked directions. Slaves scuttled about cleaning up the mess.
The slave Dagaar brought Mother a drink to settle her, then handed a silver goblet filled with the ruby liquid to Atarah. She tried not to give him the satisfaction of looking at him, but he hung onto her goblet until she had to glance up. Menacing dark eyes held hers while he reported to Father. “No household slaves were injured.”
Atarah withdrew her gaze.
“What about Gadreel ?” asked Father.
Before anyone could answer Father’s question, Shua descended the stairs with the babe in her arms. The rag she had wrapped around the cut on her arm was soaked with blood. Atarah noted she appeared shaken but well. “He’s not hurt.”
The baby had stopped crying, but when he spotted Atarah tears welled up again and flicks of anguish sparked red in his lavender eyes. He held out chubby hands arms for her. She looked away knowing she dare do nothing else in front of Father. Gadreel began kicking his legs and screaming. Her heart broke. How must her apparent rejection make the sweet little guy feel?
Mother sipped her wine and nodded to Dagaar when he dipped his head and exited the room.
Coming from the third floor, a giggling Nympha, her hair piled high with braids and curls intertwined with strands of pearls, strolled down the stairs on the arm of a Nephal. How could anyone who had just survived a disaster look so perfect? And be so happy.
Atarah was careful to avoid looking at the Nephal. It was the only way to shield herself from his hypnotic powers. She wondered idly if the monster’s charm had prevented her sister from noticing the earthquake.
Nympha stopped halfway down the stairs and surveyed the damage. “What a mess!” she said. “This won’t prevent the ceremony, will it?” She smiled and tapped her son’s nose with her forefinger, blowing him a kiss as she passed. He fussed louder.
The Nephal ran the back of his hand over the baby’s fingers. “You’re okay, little guy.” Zaquiel! Why was Nympha with Gadreel’s father again?
“We’ll still hold the celebration tonight,” Father said. “Gadreel is fine.”
“What celebration?” Atarah asked.
“Take the boy upstairs,” Father instructed Shua. As they exited, a screaming Gadreel twisted his body, stretching out his arms to Atarah.
The Nephal reached out to stroke each of the baby’s toes in turn. “You’re my little guy.”
Bile rose into Atarah’s throat. The baby had never even met his father before. Why was the Nephal here today?
Father raised his eyebrows and indicated Atarah’s nearly full goblet. “Drink it. The wine will calm you.” Atarah obediently lifted the goblet to her lips, grateful that Father no longer seemed so angry. Maybe some good had come from the earthquake.
“How can we continue with the celebration as though nothing happened? Where would we put our guests?” Mother wrung her hands. Misery added wrinkles and years to her countenance.
“The severity of the earthquake only proves that plans must go forward. The slaves can clean this up in a few of hours. Dagaar!” Father barked. “How are dinner preparations?”
The slave appeared miraculously at Father’s side. “I’ve checked the kitchen. A few dishes broke and some food was ruined, but things are basically intact. There will be surricient food and wine.”
“Are there enough slaves to serve?”
“Yes. Only one was killed.” Dagaar cast a sideways smirk at Atarah and a chill shivered through her. He knew something.
Father helped Mother to her feet and she clung to his arm. “Well…I suppose our guests’ houses were damaged, too.”
“I’m sure they were. They’ll understand if our home isn’t in perfect order. Unusual times call for unusual action,” Father said. “Tonight’s ceremony is all the more urgent now; we must appease the gods.”
An uneasy feeling grew in Atarah’s stomach.
“Even the earth is out to ruin my big day,” Nympha complained. Zaquiel leaned over and kissed her pouting lips. She twinkled up at him.
Atarah always did her best to stay clear of all Nephilim because she didn’t understand the strange sway the handsome creatures held over women. She sensed evil in them. The city’s inhabitants worshipped them as gods and, though Atarah didn’t believe they were gods, she suspected they were not human. Any time her thoughts lingered momentarily on one she could feel desire rise in her. Her solution: Don’t look at a Nephal. Don’t talk to a Nephal. Don’t even think about a Nephal. And don’t listen to one chat with Nympha. Then they couldn’t have their way with her.
“I need to go rest.” Atarah said.
Mother and Father exchanged glances.
“Come with me, Atarah,” Father said.
She followed Father to his library, lightheaded with dread.
He closed the door behind them. “I’m afraid I have some bad news. I’d like to ease into this, but there is a lot to do in the next few hours, so listen and don’t speak.” Fear coiled around her heart. She tried to wipe all emotion off her face. She hadn’t had the Dream of Light in a long time and she desperately needed it. The Light always kept her from fear for several days.
“Obviously you have determined not to obey me and go to the temple.” Restrained anger rippled beneath his words though his demeanor still appeared calm. “Mother thinks if you pretend you went to the temple, no one will ever know. At first I disagreed with her, but now with the confusion brought on by the earthquake, I tend to agree. I think everyone will be so consumed with their own troubles they’ll forget all about you and the temple.”
She should feel relieved, so why didn’t she?
“One of the reasons for tonight’s celebration was so everyone could congratulate you on your big step. It would have boosted my business, but obviously that’s pointless now.” He narrowed his eyes and they bored into her. “Still, if anyone asks about about the experience you will lie and tell them how wonderful the worship was. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I don’t think there’s any way they will find out the truth.
Dagaar is most trustworthy. Now,” Father tented his fingers and tapped them against his mouth. “I have been lenient up to this point. You didn’t want to obey me. I let you have your way.” The deadly look in his eyes chilled her. “So instead, Gadreel will be sacrificed to Ninlel.”
“No!” Atarah gasped as an image of the hideous grinning fertility god gobbling up her precious Gadreel flashed through her head.
“You made that choice when you disobeyed.”
His icy tone raised gooseflesh on Atarah’s arms. Desperation mingled with bitterness prickled down her spine and she shivered uncontrollably. “I’m sorry! I was wrong! I’ll go to the temple. I want to. Right now! I promise. Don’t let them take Gadreel!” Atarah begged like a bad child trying to avoid punishment. “I should have obeyed you. I will from now on.”
“You’re too late. Gadreel belongs to Nympha and Zaquiel. Not you. She made the decision to dedicate her son and you have no say in it. This is not easy for her either. The poor thing is suffering over this.”
The room swirled around Atarah.
“Don’t look so shocked. Gadreel was born for this.”
“No!”
“You could have forestalled this by simply doing your duty.” Father’s voice thickened with emotion and he paused before turning away abruptly. He cleared his throat. “The entire city is grateful for Nympha’s generosity. I can’t tell you how proud of her I am.”
Atarah felt as though a claw had reached in and ripped the still-beating heart from her body. As though she participated in an ugly temple rite. The heavy fog closing around her made it difficult to concentrate.
With his back to her, Father continued speaking. “We’ve invited the most influential people of the community here for a celebration tonight. The actual sacrifice to Ninlel will take place in ten days.” He squared his shoulders and turned to level his gaze at her. “Feeling drowsy?”
His words sounded garbled and her tongue grew thick in her mouth. Someone stepped from behind a curtain and gripped her arms, keeping her erect.
“I’m sorry.” Father’s voice held uncharacteristic regret. “I couldn’t afford to have you make a scene. So Dagaar suggested slipping a sedative into your drink. It will be easier for you this way. You will sleep for the next couple of weeks and when you wake up it will all be over.”
Father drooped like an aging empty wineskin. “He’s my grandson, you know.” He straightened himself and lifted his chin. “Even though he’s . . . who he is. Consecration gives his life purpose. It has to be done. Take her to her chambers, Dagaar.”
“Gadreel. My precious lamb.” Atarah didn’t know if she whispered the words or simply thought them.
© Jeannie St. John Taylor
