Through the Wall
© Jeannie St. John Taylor
“Again, when a wicked person turns away from the wickedness he has committed and does what is just and right, he shall save his life. Because he considered and turned away from all the transgressions that he had committed, he shall surely live; he shall not die.” Ezekiel 18: 27, 28
Bright light surrounded Atarah. She closed her eyes, arms out, palms up, soaking in the warmth that manifested as comfort rather than searing heat. Finally. She had missed this. Longed for the Light. Through closed lids the light shone brighter than a thousand suns, capable of flashing forth and vaporizing her instantly. She somehow knew that. Felt the possibility. But the light communicated a different purpose.
“Atarah, fear not, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name; you are mine.” The voice, like the roar of many waters, came from the light. Was the light. “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you. You are precious in my eyes, and honored, and I love you. Fear not.”
For the second time in as many weeks an earthquake jolted Atarah to consciousness. She couldn’t sort out her whereabouts or how long she’d been asleep. Minutes? Days? Was that a baby crying?
Gadreel! He was still tied to her with the brown scarf.
The Dream! Fear not.
“Help me dig out!” Shua hissed. Using only her hands, the slave was frantically sweeping dirt and rocks to open a low tunnel to the outside.
Atarah hurried toward the slave, crawling on hands and knees. She kissed the top of the baby’s head. “Shhhh, shhhhh. It’ll be okay.” He shrieked and flailed as she tossed aside rocks and clawed away dirt with her bare hands. Small stones rained around them. She arched her body over the baby, shielding him. But despite her best efforts, a small stone struck the boy’s arm and his cries grew louder.
“Quiet him.” Shua snapped. “Dagaar’s out there!”
“God of Noah, help us!” The involuntary prayer shot from Atarah’s lips.
As though in response an explosion sounded in the distance. Immediately, a man’s voice began shouting terse instructions. Dagaar! Atarah could tell by the volume that he stood just on the other side of the wall. Right beside their hiding place. She stopped digging and threw both arms around Gadreel.
Pulling the baby to her chest to muffle his cries, Atarah strained to hear. The jumble of voices revealed ten or twenty men in Dagaar’s search party! Way more than she had expected. Pebbles from overhead bounced and tumbled around her. Shua stared at her with wide, terrified eyes, dirt covering her arms up to the elbows.
Suddenly, like a giant fist slamming into the earth, another violent quake hit, accompanied by the thunder of retreating feet. Fear not!
Silence followed, except for the loud shrieks of a baby-tantrum. Atarah sat without moving for several minutes. The baby battered her chest with his legs and feet. She didn’t try to stop him. Calming him was impossible when he escalated to this point.
A rock loosened by the quake smashed Atarah’s arm. She shook off the pain and began dragging rocks from the exit again. Shua stared without moving. “Dig!” Atarah commanded. “They’re gone.”
That might or might not be true, but Dagaar knew they were here. If she could hear Dagaar, he could hear Gadreel. And he had certainly heard her cry for help. He knew where they were. He’d be back.
Shua hissed at the baby as she removed rocks. “Quiet!” He continued shrieking.
“Don’t reprimand him again.” Atarah spoke sharply, finally herself again. “You’re upsetting him more.” Besides, what did the noise matter now?
Seemingly working in tandem with the women, a small aftershock rattled additional rocks from the opening and a shaft of light burst through from the other side. The hole was barely large enough to maneuver.
“Let’s go!” Atarah shouted.
She crawled through the escape as quickly as she could while holding a baby with one arm. Her leg struck a rock and the arm holding Gadreel scraped against sharp debris. Dust billowed around her. Choking, she fought her way outside. The instant she felt a change in the air, she jumped up and sprinted blindly forward. She held the edge of her robe over Gadreel to keep him from breathing dust. Her only plan revolved around outrunning Dagaar. Somehow.
Fear not!
Unexpectedly, she slammed into prickly foliage and stumbled backward. Momentarily stunned and unable to see because of the dust still obscuring her vision, Atarah spun in a circle to catch her bearings. What had she run into? Where was she? Where was Dagaar and his gang? Surely she’d escaped the alley. Had she evaded them? Breathing rapidly, she fluttered a hand to clear the air and saw the city wall rising in front of her. She’d run into the cedar hedge planted in front of it.
Shua materialized out of the haze, gasping for breath. Dagaar and his men were nowhere in sight. Gadreel was quiet.
“You okay?” Atarah couldn’t remember when Gadreel had stopped crying, how long the quake had lasted, or the direction in which her home lay. But it appeared they were alone. She checked over the baby, who smiled up at her, a layer of dust coating his face. She surprised herself by smiling back at him.
She blew away some of the gray dust from around the baby’s eyes and kissed the tip of his nose, evoking a giggle. With a surge of unexpected pleasure Atarah realized her presence provided his comfort and security. A smile briefly flicked up the corners of her mouth. Squinting to see through the thinning dust past piles of rubble, she adjusted the suddenly-heavy baby.
The slave trembled visibly.
With dust settling, the walls of the covered alley that had sheltered them moments earlier should be visible by now, but Atarah could see only rubble. “Where’s the alley?”
Shua glanced around and massaged her forehead. “I-I don’t know.” She looked as frightened and disoriented as Atarah felt. “It’s just . . . gone. We barely made it out in time.”
An eerie silence hung over the landscape, adding a frightening strangeness to the desolate scene. Shua retraced their steps a short distance before turning back toward Atarah with an astonished look. “No one’s here,” she whispered.
“But Dagaar never gives up.” Apprehension gripped Atarah as she spoke his name. He was out there somewhere. Not knowing where made it worse.
Instead of responding, Shua froze, staring past Atarah with wide eyes, all the color draining from her face. Atarah whipped around expecting Dagaar. Instead, she saw a distant plume of gray ash rising above the wall. The explosion they’d heard had come from an erupting volcano. The running feet and shouting had been Dagaar and his cronies fleeing to safety. The slave’s arms hung uselessly at her side, her blank expression nearly catatonic.
“Shua!” Atarah snapped. “I need your help!” The slave slowly rotated her head to stare at Atarah, a bewildered expression on her face. Atarah would have to find the escape in the wall by herself. Fortunately the slave had already told her about a hole somewhere near the base of that wall on the other side of the hedge. But once she found the hole, she had no idea what would happen.
Fighting away thoughts of the sheer cliffs on the other side and the suffocating ash that would soon drift down to cover everything, Atarah wrapped her arms around Gadreel and dove into the spiky foliage. Surprisingly, on the other side of the aromatic greenery she found the space between the cedar and the wall wide enough to navigate.
Knowing she’d find the exit somewhere near the bottom, Atarah searched for it from a crouching position, dragging her hand along the rocky surface as she moved.
Nothing.
Her quads ached. The baby must have gained fifty pounds.
After several minutes, Atarah pushed back through the hedge to where Shua still stood staring vacantly. She gripped both the slave’s arms and shook her vigorously. “You know where it is! I don’t. Show me!”
A spark of recognition flickered in the slaves eyes. “There!” She pointed to a spot a few cubits down the hedge.
“I tried there!” Anger born of fear and frustration flared in Atarah. “There’s no hole!”
“Yes there is.” The slave sprang to life and thrust aside cedar branches. She disappeared inside the hedge. Atarah found her sitting on the ground pushing against a large flat stone with her back, inching it away from a hidden opening. Atarah knelt beside the slave and threw all her strength into the task. Soon they managed to drive the stone to the end of a groove cut for it, exposing a nearly-waist-high triangular split in the wall.
Wind blustered through the opening, but it was the sight of the vista beyond that pushed Atarah backward, trembling. In the distance, an ash cloud advanced toward them from the mounting plume. A glowing river of orange trickled down the slopes of the mountain beneath it. Directly in front of her, vertical cliffs dropped away to rocks far below.
Memories of the eruptions she’d lived through as a kid flashed through her head. They had been deadly. Animals and people who couldn’t find shelter, suffocated and died as a result of the ash and toxic fumes. She remembered playing with a doll on her bed as she watched through the window, delighted when nearly-white ash covered the balcony and wrapped over the balustrade. She’d been completely unaware of the tragedy beyond the walls of her own house.
More than one eruption deposited ash in the streets. It took slaves and men of the city employing wagons pulled by camels and horses more than a year to haul away the ash from one volcanic event when the heavy ash mounded more than two feet deep. Later she’d heard a messenger claim no ash had fallen on Noah’s mountain. Father had scoffed.
Atarah gazed up at the plume. Dagaar didn’t need to find them. The ash would bring on their demise.
“I’ll go first,” Shua said. “I know how.”
“Go where?” Atarah saw only empty space.
As though on a mission, the suddenly-energized slave scooted through the triangle and seized a rope hanging on the other side. Holding onto the tether, she disappeared over the edge feet first. Moments later her faint voice floated up. Atarah couldn’t hear what she said.
Atarah ran her tongue over dusty lips and spit out grit. She inched forward on her bottom until her feet jutted out into thin air and she could see Shua. The slave balanced on a ledge below, holding onto an outcropping of rock and beckoning to Atarah. Wind whipped Shua’s clothing and hair. “Grab the rope,” she yelled.
Atarah closed her eyes and leaned her forehead on the arm braced against rock, taking deep breaths. They didn’t settle her. At all. She was so afraid of heights that standing on a stool buckled her knees.
Gadreel wriggled one hand free and poked two grubby fingers into her mouth. “Not now, lamb,” she murmured.
She could hear Shua speaking to her, but the wind whistling past the triangle drowned her out. Atarah had no idea what the slave was saying, but it didn’t matter. She could not do this.
But she had to.
She tucked the baby’s hand back into the wrap, pressed her lips to his forehead and moved closer to the opening where she could fasten her eyes on the ledge instead of the dizzying heights and the rocks far below. After checking the sling one more time she kissed Gadreel and whispered, “God of Noah keep him safe,” into his hair. Easing her feet further out into space she drew a calming breath and with surprising confidence, reached out and seized the life line.
“Tie the rope around your waist,” Shua called.
“Won’t work.” She’d have to wrap the rope around Gadreel, too, and that would be too risky.
With her mouth set in a determined line, Atarah carefully wrapped the rope around her left wrist and grasped it firmly with the opposite hand. She closed her eyes and took a moment to relive The Dream, drawing courage from the memory. Fear not. Sucking in another deep breath, she pushed away from the safety of the triangle, dangling in space above the chasm. Wind whistled past her, thrashing her hair into wild patterns about her face. She twisted in the wind.
The baby squealed with joy.
Focusing on the ledge, Atarah lowered herself bit by bit in slow motion, the rope burning her wrist and hand. When her feet finally made contact with solid ground, Shua grasped her arm and guided her backward to a shallow cave someone had long ago hacked into side of the precipice. Atarah crumpled into a heap, her body shuddering.
“Press back against the rock until you stop shaking,” Shua’s face registered anxiety. “Let go of the rope.”
“I-I d-don’t think I c-can.” Atarah meant it. Her fingers were frozen in place. “You’ll h-have to p-pry my fingers free.”
Atarah’s lips quivered. She couldn’t seem to regain control of her body even though the ledge was wider than she had expected. She could sit with her legs stretched straight in front of her and shouldn’t have feared falling, but she did. Every time she opened her eyes the sharp drop into nothingness just a few hand-widths away sent a surge of nausea through her. She worried she might pass out.
Worse, she could now see that the ledge narrowed a just few cubits beyond. “Is that the way?”
Shua nodded.
Atarah leaned forward, threw up over the rim of the cliff and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. Gadreel wriggled and giggled in her lap. “Hold still, precious lamb.”
Shua flicked the rope several times until the section looped over a rock near the opening above fell free. She coiled the rope, looped it over her shoulder and eased into the depression beside Atarah.
There was no going back now.
Atarah craned her neck to look at the hole above. “You think Dagaar knows this place?”
“No.” Worry creased Shua’s forehead. “Maybe.”
“We should pull up our knees so if anyone looks down . . .” An abrupt shiver jolted the ledge. Atarah screamed and immediately smacked a hand over her mouth. Gadreel began to cry. The odor of her vomit on her sleeve assaulted her nostrils and she fought the urge to upchuck again.
“Aftershock,” Shua said breathlessly.
“We have to go.” Atarah crawled to her knees, then pulled herself to her feet, steadying herself against the side of the cliff.
“Not yet.” Obviously reluctant to move, the slave held her position. “A stronger shock could. . . .”
“Get up!” Atarah commanded. They weren’t safe here either. They weren’t safe anywhere. Finally in charge of her emotions again she ventured forth, placing one foot in front of the other. Her legs wobbled. “Get up now!”
Accustomed to obedience, Shua carefully stood.
“We can do this,” Atarah said. They had to.
The path stretched endlessly ahead.
Terrifying.
Impossible.
Atarah led the way, trailing one hand over the face of the vertical rise for balance, holding onto stones that jutted out no more than a finger-width.
“Been here before?” Atarah called over her shoulder in an attempt to keep the slave’s thoughts occupied..
“Yes.” The wind blew Shua’s voice away.
“When?”
“Last . . . week.” The slave sounded short of breath and even more exhausted than Atarah felt.
“You sleep at all last week?”
“Not much.”
Stoically Atarah plodded forward, placing one foot in front of the other. On and on. Step after deliberate step. Growing more tired by the second. She could no longer risk even a brief glance backward to check on the slave.
Mercifully, the steady rhythm of her body soon lulled Gadreel to sleep. The limp baby felt heaver than before they left, but though Atarah found it difficult to maintain her equilibrium on a ledge that was sometimes little wider than her body, her job was easier with a quiet baby than a bouncy one.
Grey-white flecks of ash like the ones she’d seen years earlier began drifting around her. Atarah quickened her pace, her head throbbing with alarm. She couldn’t bend to catch the hem of her garment to draw up as protection for her face, but she did make sure cloth covered the baby. She managed to keep a hand over her nose most of the time.
“Breathe through your scarf,” she shouted back to Shua. The slave made no response.
A thin layer of grey coated the path rendering it potentially slippery. Atarah slowed her pace, her steps more timid. She expected the ash to puff in a cloud around her each time she set her foot, but the ash was apparently too heavy for that.
No one spoke now. The only sounds came from labored breathing and scuffing footfalls. Mist rolled in. Years earlier, the cloud after one eruption had masked toxic fumes. Did this one? She could no longer hear the slave behind her.
She paused to listen. Nothing.
After what seemed like hours, the ledge veered under a natural overhang and into the mountain. The uneven floor of a cave spread out beneath Atarah’s feet. She could no longer stand straight, but she could touch overhead rocks for added stability and the vertical cliff now dropped away several arms lengths behind her at the cave’s mouth. The ash below her feet thinned, then after a few steps, cleared completely.
No longer afraid of falling she stopped and peered behind her through the haze. “Shua?” She tried to shout, but her voice barely functioned. Wheezing coughs wracked her body. “Shua?”
Nothing.
Panic fluttered in Atarah’s chest. “Shua?”
A bent form appeared through the gray and Shua collapsed onto the floor of the cave gasping for breath. Atarah grabbed the slave’s arm to help her and together they staggered further into the cave where they’d be protected from the ash. Once there, still hunched over beneath the low ceiling, they fell into each other’s arms, sobbing with relief. Squeezed between them, the baby woke up crying.
Sinking to the floor, Atarah swayed back and forth in a futile attempt to console him. He couldn’t be comforted. She tried to spit on the edge of an inner clean garment to wash his face, but her tongue was too dry.
Water. They needed water.
Dismay swept through Atarah. They’d forgotten both the water and food when they fled the alley. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? What was the point of everything they’d been through without water or food?
“Water.” Shua’s voice came out as a hoarse crackle. She crept to the side of the cave and drew two containers from behind a boulder. Handing one to Atarah she tipped the other to her lips. Atarah let the baby guzzle down all he wanted before she drank.
An hour later, Atarah and her slave relaxed side by side, backs against a boulder, well away from the mouth of the cave in a section protected from ash and fumes. A torch flickered on the wall above. The baby played beside them on the scarf Atarah had spread on the cave floor. As they ate bread and cheese Shua explained how, over the course of the last two weeks, Mother had first dispatched her to find out if the cave actually existed and then to stash supplies near the mouth.
“How did you manage? You’re as scared of heights as I am.”
“I had no choice.” Shua looked bewildered. “I’m a slave.”
“But . . . “
“You just made the trip and you were scared.”
“I guess you’re right. I did because there was no other choice.” Atarah cocked her head to study the slave. “I’ve never thought of you as a philosopher before, Shua.”
The slave grinned. Atarah changed positions and groaned. “Ohhhh. Everything hurts.” She gingerly manipulated an egg-sized bump on her forehead.
“That’s turning blue. Got a headache?”
“Bad one.” A fit of coughing overcame Atarah for a moment. “I feel like someone beat me up.” She pulled in a wheezing breath.
“Your mother sent a small flask of wine in case of injury. Need a sip?”
“No. Let’s save it in case we need a sedative for Gadreel at some point.”
Shua glanced up in surprise. “You’ve always criticized mothers who did that.”
“If sucking on a wine-soaked cloth at some point might keep him quiet and save his life, let him suck.”
Cuts and bruises covered both women. Only the baby had survived the ordeal unharmed. The slave coughed less often than Atarah, probably because she’d been able to cover her mouth on the trek. But she looked drained.
The baby crawled to his aunt and fell forward onto her lap. She smiled and kissed him. His lips were blue from the cold. She settled him against her chest to warm him, enjoying the warmth his body offered her. She’d been so dog-tired and hungry she hadn’t realized how cold she was. “I hope its warmer further inside the cave.” Atarah’s statement was actually a question: Would the temperature warm?
“Should be.”
“Dagaar can’t find his way through the ash, can he?”
“Probably not. Besides we took the rope.” Shua grinned and kicked the coil she’d tossed over a half-buried rock poking out of the cave floor.
“Are you sure there’s fresh water further on?”
“Yes.”
Why had Shua stopped giving her eye contact? Doubt poked a small hole into Atarah’s heart. “You don’t know what’s ahead, do you?”
“They say we’ll find water and tunnels all through the mountain. And several exits to the outside.”
“They say? Who says?” Mistrust rushed acid-hot through the place doubt had opened.
“Other slaves.”
“How many others know about this place?”
“I think just one. She showed me the triangle and rope just before she escaped her master several months ago. I pushed the rock into place to cover the opening in the wall to keep everything secret.”
“You don’t know what happened to her? If she lived or died?”
The slave studied the cave floor.
“Did you tell Mother all this?”
Tears welled up in Shua’s eyes. “What choice did we have? Gadreel would have been killed if we didn’t do something.”
“Mother doesn’t know?”
Shua shook her head vigorously, flinging a tear onto her sleeve.
“Are you certain Dagaar isn’t aware of this place?”
“No.”
Atarah’s mistrust and fear manifested as a burst of anger. “You brought us down here not knowing if he knows how to find us or what lies ahead! What if the cave ends? What if there’s no water? No food? I’ve heard about caves ending in deep holes that can’t be crossed.” She was on her feet, holding the baby against her while she shouted. He started to bawl.
“I didn’t have time to explore inside the mountain.” Shua mumbled.
Calming herself with a few deep breaths, Atarah got her outward anger, if not her emotions, under control. There was no profit in scaring her slave. Or Gadreel. “We can’t stay here. Do you have any idea where we’re going?”
The slave said nothing.
“Then I think we’ll be better off if I lead the way.”
“I’ll pray for the gods to keep us alive.”
Was Shua trying to make her feel better? Atarah thought maybe it would be smarter to ask the God of Noah to save them since the other gods appeared to want them dead.
