Chapter Six
Awake
© Jeannie St. John Taylor
“Who can bring a clean thing out of an unclean? There is not one.” Job 14:4
A shapeless voice seeped into Atarah's drugged slumber.“Wake up!’ Someone gripping her shoulders . . . shaking her. “Wake up . . .” The faint voice faded in and out. “Atarah!” Hands pulling . . . pushing . . . heavy darkness . . . . “Wake up.”
Shua? Crying . . . Gadreel ? Atarah struggled against numbing stupor. Leaded eyelids refused to open.
“Lady Elika!” Shua’s voice wooly. “Her eyelids fluttered.”
“Thank the gods!” Mother’s voice at a distance. “Thank the gods!”
Quick footsteps. A cool hand stroking her face and hair. “Atarah!” Mother’s urgency drifted through the haze. “Dagaar’s due with another dose of sleeping drug any moment. Wake up!”
Atarah strained against the spidery threads of sleep that entwined her, tugging her back into nothingness.
“We’re losing her again.” She could barely
hear Mother’s voice now. “Quickly! A
wet cloth.” Hands grasped Atarah’s shoulders, shaking her again . . . “Atarah, stay with …” Mother’s voice faded.
Atarah undulated down into warm quicksand. Nympha pirouetting on the head of Ninlel . . .head thrown back in laughter . . . loose hair cascading to her ankles . . . kissing Gadreel . . . gracefully tossing him from a balcony . . . Atarah screaming . . . screaming . . . open mouthed . . . soundless . . . pumping legs . . . Gadreel . . . arms stretching toward Atarah as he falls . . . soundless cries . . . twirling in slow motion . . . arms extended above her head . . . reaching for him . . . loud crying . . .
Shua’s voice sifted through the void swirling around Atarah. “Shhh, Gadreel . You mustn’t cry.”
“No, let him,” Mother said. “The sound seems to be rousing her.” Atarah wrapped her mind around the child’s persistent cries, using them to pull upward. She fought, forcing open unfocused eyes. Concentrating on the blurred baby and the slave pacing the floor and bouncing him.
“Only you can save Gadreel .” Mother sounded desperate, her face directly over her daughter’s.
Atarah opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Slowly, she lifted a weighted hand and let it flop back onto the bed. Something terrible was about to happen . . . but what?
“Wake up, Atarah! Take Gadreel away from here.”
Memory trickled back. Father. The library. She ran her tongue over thick, dry lips. “Gadreel ?” Did that husky whisper come from her?
Mother held a cup of foul-smelling liquid under her nose and Atarah turned her face from the pungent odor.
“Drink it.” Mother’s voice was sharp. “You need it to wake up.”
Yes. She had to wake up.
Mother’s arm slipped behind her back, helping her to a sitting position while she tipped the cup to her lips. Atarah sipped, then shuddered. Ghastly.
“You’ve been asleep for days,” Mother said. “Nympha will be here for Gadreel any
moment. She has asked the priests to come here to consecrate him for tomorrow’s sacrifice.”
Tomorrow? Mother’s words wrenched Atarah back to reality. Fully conscious now, she understood the danger. Nympha had dedicated Gadreel to the gods and the child would die if Atarah didn’t rescue him.
Nympha’s giggle drifted in from the hallway and panic flushed Atarah.
“She’s coming for the baby,” Shua whispered through pale lips. “The gods help us.”
“God of Noah!” Atarah whispered.
Mother snapped a look her direction. The look told Atarah she heard the prayer. As if he understood Atarah’s desperation, Gadreel began to shriek.
From just outside the door, Nympha purred, “Do we really want to get him so soon? We could spend a few more minutes together first.”
A masculine voice murmured something Atarah couldn’t quite make out and the door to Nympha’s bedchamber opened and closed. Nympha would be occupied elsewhere for a while.
Mother gripped Atarah’s shoulders. “Hurry!”
Atarah knew Mother and Shua would be killed if they were caught helping her. They risked everything. Atarah’s head throbbed even as gratitude overwhelmed her. “Mother, you shouldn’t be doing this. Father will…”
“I can’t let my grandson die. The gods forgive me I won’t let them have Gadreel . If you hurry maybe no one will ever find out I helped.”
Atarah tried to stand, but her knees wobbled and she sank back onto the bed. “I can’t. My head is spinning.”
“Fight.” Determination hardened Mother’s voice. “Get moving and it’ll help the sleeping potion wear off.”
Shua set Gadreel on Atarah’s lap. She kissed the top of his head, but didn’t have enough arm strength to hold onto him. Shua hoisted him up where he could place an open-mouthed kiss on Atarah’s chin. Immediately, he stopped crying and snuggled into his aunt with the slave supporting him.
“I need more time,” Atarah murmured.
Voices floated in from the balcony outside that ran the length of the private quarters. Her sister and a male companion ambled past the windows of the double exterior doors and leaned against the balustrade, never taking their eyes from one another. Atarah stiffened then breathed a sigh of relief as they moved out of her line of vision. If she couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see her.
“That buys us a little time,” Shua whispered.
“No! You mustn’t wait any longer.” Mother said.
“We can’t leave by the balcony stairs now. They’ll see us!” Shua argued.
“Dagaar’s late with Atarah’s drug, but he could show up any moment.” Atarah noted Mother didn’t reprimand Shua’s insolence. The two women worked together as unlikely equals today.
Apparently remembering that Atarah was finally alert enough to comprehend, Mother explained. “I sent him on an errand, but that won’t delay him much longer.” She edged to the balcony doors and peeked outside.
“Dagaar has kept me drugged?”
A shadow passed over Mother’s face.
“At your father’s instructions,” Shua said.
A sense of betrayal and loneliness flickered through Atarah, but she pushed it away. No time for indulging in self pity. She eased Gadreel off her lap, kissed his cheek and rose from the bed, holding Mother’s arm to steady herself.
“Change of plans,” Mother said. “Balcony’s out of the question.”
Shua sat on the bed and pulled the baby onto her lap.
While Shua entertained the baby, Mother quickly helped Atarah out of her silk tunic. “I’ll call a meeting of the household slaves. While I keep them busy, you leave by the secret door in my chambers.” She handed a brown slave tunic to her daughter.
“But we have to walk right past the main stairs to get there and Dagaar will see us.” Atarah dragged the rough fabric over her head and paused, panting from the effort.
“I’ll try to divert his attention.” Mother tugged down the tunic then held onto Atarah’s arm, supporting her as she tested wobbly legs.
“Father will never let you do this.”
“He can’t stop me. He’s not here,” Mother responded grimly.
The determination in Mother’s voice, along with the feel and smell of the unfamiliar itchy fabric, made Atarah wonder what the future held for all of them.
Shua stayed near them to keep the baby close to his aunt so he wouldn’t start crying again. “Your color is returning,” she said approvingly.
Atarah heard the downstairs entry door open and then Dagaar’s voice. Footsteps ascended the stairs. Urgency surged through her, pumping power into her limbs. She grabbed Gadreel from Shua and shifted him to her hip.
Throwing her free arm around Mother’s neck, she buried her face in the graying hair to say her farewells. Mother wrapped both arms around her daughter and grandson and for a brief moment they held each other. “I’ll never see you again.” Atarah’s voice, choked with tears, was barely audible. She could feel her mother trembling.
“I love you, my sweet.” Mother kissed Atarah and Gadreel before she drew away, tears coursing down her cheeks. She looked forlorn, as though the world was coming to an end. “Goodbye, precious lamb,” she whispered to Gadreel, using Atarah’s pet name for him.
Dagaar’s footsteps continued up the stairs. Trapped.
“Hurry!” Shua hissed.
Mother stroked her grandson’s head one last time, then turned abruptly and strode toward the door. She hesitated with her hand on the metal handle before squaring her shoulders and walking through the arched doorway, head held high. She closed the door behind her. Grief coiled around Atarah’s heart like a serpent. Mother’s hands would weave the dark colors of pain and loneliness into her carpet tonight.
“Dagaar,” Mother said just outside the door.“Assemble the slaves.”
“I’ll tend to your daughter first.” Dagaar’s footsteps didn’t pause.
Atarah’s heart flipped and she met Shua’s eyes. They were big with fear. Mother spoke
again, sharply this time. The door handle moved almost imperceptibly, and Atarah guessed Mother was holding it closed. Dagaar muttered something Atarah couldn’t make out.
“You will call the other slaves to the Room of Candles.” Mother’s adamant tone demanded obedience. “You can handle your other tasks after we’ve finished.”
The footsteps paused. “I will not disobey my master.” Rebellion congealed in Dagaar’s
voice.
“You will obey me.”
“Will you answer to your husband then?”
“Call the slaves. Now!”
Atarah felt a rush of pride at the resolute way Mother whipped words like a sword.Where had her sudden courage come from? Slowly, Dagaar’s footsteps descended the stairs followed by Mother’s lighter ones. Outside, opposite Atarah’s rooms, Nympha and her companion crossed the balcony on their way back to her chamber.
Shua waited for a couple of beats before binding Gadreel to Atarah’s stomach with a
long brown scarf that functioned as a sling. She could now move hands-free.
“Hurry! Balcony’s clear.”
“No.” Atarah had her wits about her now. “Nympha might go back out there for some reason. We’ll stick to Mother’s instructions.”
“We’ve defied the gods and we’re going to die,” Shua moaned.
With the baby comfortably in front of her, Atarah dropped back onto the bed, suddenly faint. Shua pawed through her bag and held a wedge of cheese toward Atarah. She scowled and pushed the food away.
“Eat.” The command sounded strange coming from a slave accustomed to taking
orders. “You’ll need your strength.” She was right. Atarah had no idea when she’d eaten last.
Behind the thick door, she could hear the voices of slaves filing through the downstairs toward the Room of Candles and Mother’s meeting. Occasionally the low hum of voices wafted in from Nympha’s bedchamber. Now was the time to eat what she could force down.
While she reluctantly nibbled cheese, Shua outlined the plan of escape she and Mother had concocted during Atarah’s sleep. They would first make their way to a secret passage leading from the slave quarters to a covered alley. From there, they’d have to find a way through the city wall. Something Atarah had always heard was impossible.
The buzz of voices from the floor below faded and Atarah opened the door a crack
to check the hallway. Cradling her nephew, she rocked from side to side quieting him, hoping he wouldn’t scream again once they started. Even if he remained silent, they had only a slim chance of pulling this off.
“How many earthquakes while I slept?” Atarah asked as she listened.
“I lost count.”
“Did boulders block the passage from the slave quarters during the first one?”
“Yes, but the path got more treacherous with each additional quake.”
“You’re sure we can get through?”
“I spent nights digging out rubble while the other slaves slept. The passage still looks blocked, but there’s enough space for us to squeeze through since we’re both small. Of course we’re in trouble if another quake hits.”
Shua indicated the bag hanging from her shoulder. “Food. In case we need to modify our plans. I have more hidden along the way. As soon as we get past the wall behind the summer kitchen, I’ll lead you out of the city over the route only a few slaves know.” She pulled a brown scarf over her hair. “If we don’t go now we won’t make it.”
Appreciation for Shua rushed through Atarah, but she said only, “I’m ready,” and tightened her hold on Gadreel. He was already asleep.
Carefully, she cracked open the door. Mother’s muffled voice rose from below. Atarah inhaled deeply through her nose then exhaled. “We can’t wait any longer.” For the first time in her life, she drew a brown slave scarf over her hair, grateful the rough scarf would keep anyone from recognizing her as the daughter of an aristocrat.
Shua looked at her grimly. “Think you can keep your baby quiet?”
“I hope so.” Warmth spread through Atarah at the term “your baby.” She angled her face away so the slave wouldn’t see her smile, but she knew Shua understood the impact of those words on her mistress. They were Shua’s way of encouraging Atarah.
The two women entered the hallway. Two cubits ahead, the main staircase wound
down to the entry on the main floor. Ararah looked quickly left. Nympha’s door remained tightly shut. Still safe. Past her sister’s chambers, at the far end of the hallway, the entrance to Father’s private library stood open, but the interior of that room was dark. Not a threat. The closed door on the other side of the library led to Father’s spacious chambers and usually stayed locked. Also no problem.
The difficulty lay in the fact that Mother’s chambers occupied the opposite end of the hallway, to the right of Atarah’s room. Atarah would have to walk past the stairs to reach Mother’s door, but they had to go to Mother’s room.
With no walls separating them from the lower level, Mother’s voice rose clearly from below. Atarah could see Dagaar leaning against the door frame of the Room of Candles, his back to them. Beads of perspiration broke out on her forehead as she tiptoed past the winding stairway in full view of anyone who might happen to glance her way. She kept fear-filled eyes fastened on Dagaar, praying he wouldn’t turn around. He didn’t. Every slave faced away from them, listening to Mother’s speech. Bless her!
Atarah kept her breathing shallow and nearly silent as they crept the length of the
corridor. Reaching Mother’s chambers, she eased open the door. The hinges didn’t squeak.
“Praise the gods!” Shua whispered as soon as the door closed behind them.
Atarah released a shaky breath. “We have to move quickly.” They crossed the room, hurrying past Mother’s bed hung with opulent red velvet brocade tapestries.
On one side of the room, windows and double doors led to the outside balcony that ran the length of the second floor. Atarah peeked out to make certain Nympha hadn’t reappeared. The balcony was empty.
“We can use the outside stairs now.” Shua started for the balcony doors. “That’ll be faster.”
“No!” In charge once again, Atarah placed a restraining hand on the slave’s arm. “It’s not safe. We’ll stick to the plan.”
She led the way to a fireplace flanked by mahogany paneling. Pressing on the face of a lion carved into the wood, she slid open a secret door. The two women slipped through and Atarah closed the door behind them. They found themselves on a rickety landing in a dimly lit passage. Atarah had been here before, but not for years.
When she was a child, Mother made a game of teaching Atarah and Nympha how to quietly hide inside this secret space from imaginary intruders. Mother taught them the game herself since she couldn’t allow even her most trusted slaves to know of the hidden place. They practiced over and over. Sometimes Mother would playfully awaken them in the middle of the night to play. The game had been fun, but eventually Atarah caught on that Mother feared real danger from gangs or giants. As a result this place made Atarah uneasy.
“Mother thought ahead to light a torch for us.” The recognition of her mother’s foresight along with the familiar musty odors from childhood brought a choke of emotion. “The darkness down here feels like a solid wall when there’s no torch burning.”
They made their way carefully down the uneven steps that would lead into a place concealed by bushes under the balcony. Atarah trailed her hand along the wall to avoid a misstep. Feeling the warmth of breath where her lips rested against the line of curls on Gadreel ’s head, she wondered who was comforted more by the touch, her or the sleeping baby?
The small door to the outside scraped noisily over loose stones when Shua pushed
it open. Atarah sucked in her breath hoping no one heard. She squinted against the sudden burst of bright light and peered outside. The sight in the garden ahead stunned her.
