Chapter Forty

Danger on the Ark

“But from this day on I will bless you.” Haggai 2:19

Atarah huddled with the women in a corner of the room as far from the thumping sounds as possible. A familiar fear crawled across her brain like a long slow slug. Dagaar. The fear whispered his name. Dagaar. Even here. Even here on the ark Dagaar could find her.

A work-hardened hand squeezed hers, and Shem’s mother’s face crinkled into a comforting smile. “Don’t worry, dear. It’s nothing but a lost animal,” she whispered. But Atarah smelled the fear that belied her words. Eudocea encircled Atarah’s waist with a trembling arm and drew her close.

Japheth quickly collected whips and the men approached the door en masse, knives in one hand whips in the other. Atarah’s eyes found Shem. The muscles in his jaw were corded tight and he marched toward the door with spine-stiffened determination ahead of his brothers and father. Fearless. He was protecting her again. Heat rushed up her neck and spread into her cheeks.

Father nodded at Shem and gestured toward the door. Shem eased it open a crack.

Immediately, a massive reptilian head poked into the room, eye level with Shem. Time stood still for Atarah as man and beast stared at one another, nose to nose. After a moment, Shem recovered himself and gave the head a swift bonk with the flat of the door. The reptile yelped and withdrew. Shem slammed the door and dropped the latch into place.

Atarah sucked in a relieved breath and held it for a moment before blowing the air quietly out through her lips.

“Should’ve cut a peephole in that door,” Ham quipped. The room rocked with laughter.

“Sounded like a wounded puppy,” Eudocea snickered, adding to the hilarity. 

“That was just a harmless dragon.” Shem’s Mother touched Atarah’s back in a reassuring gesture. “Big and scary-looking, though. I’m ashamed to confess I’m still shaking.”

“Nothing to be afraid of,” Shem’s voice close to Atarah jolted her heart into a quivering drumbeat. She glanced up and he grinned. “That kind cowers in the lotus blossoms in a lake about halfway down the other side of the mountain. Ever see one before?”

“Once as a child when I traveled in a caravan with my father,” Atarah responded. “For his business. He’s a merchant dealing in exotic goods.” She was aware Shem’s presence had driven away her fear and replaced that negative emotion with a furry  warmth. “What happens if one of the dangerous dragons shows up?”

“Already did,” Shem said. The other men had claimed wives and the pairs meandered off to other parts of the living area, leaving Shem and Atarah to talk. “A Tyrannosaurus wandered onto the ark yesterday and Japheth found the pair of them in a cage downstairs waiting to be locked in.”

She stared at him open-mouthed. “Truly?”

“Truly.”

“Just like that?”

“Bizarre, isn’t it?”

She nodded.

            “Lots of bizarre things here lately.” He guided her to one of the rooms stacked with firewood she’d seen earlier and picked up an armload of logs for the fire. “Pairs of all sorts of animals have rambled up the ramp, found an empty room and gone inside where they could be alone.”

            Like she’d like to be with Shem. Atarah’s cheeks scalded at the unbidden thought.

            “Father has been telling us for years that when the time came, two of every animal would come onto the ark. I just never really believed it would happen.” He carefully arranged the logs on the fire and then walked over to open the door leading to the corridor opposite the one where she’d seen the dragon. “Ventilation,” he explained. “The dragon will find one of the ramps and go to the lowest on the side closest to the ramp.”

            “How many dragons are aboard now?”

            “Maybe half of the fifty different kinds, but a lot of them are no bigger than chickens. Besides there’s nothing to be afraid of. We think all the animals aboard are harmless . . . just for awhile. Just during the Flood. Maybe.” He dropped his gaze and she suspected he worried his words would sound nonsensical to her.

“Chickens can do a lot of damage. A rooster spurred my leg and brought blood on one trip with Father.” She waited until he glanced up quickly, concern etching his face, before she grinned.

His eyes danced as he returned the grin.

“My brothers and father and I have a couple more hours of work to do tonight. You can stay here with the women and have my bed tonight. I’ll sleep in a hay-storage room and see you in the morning.”

“May I go with you?” She couldn’t believe she had the temerity to ask.

“You’re not afraid?”

“Not afraid,” she confidently emphasized the not. What had gotten into her? She’d never been so shameless around a man.

It was just that Shem was wonderful and she felt comfortable around him.  Something told her he would protect her even if the animals in the ark proved wild and dangerous. He had faced Dagaar, a murderous mob and mad rhinos for her, hadn’t he? She felt safer around him than she’d felt in years. Maybe ever. 

“I haven’t seen a giraffe for years,” Atarah said, hands parked on her hips.

The taller of two giraffes leaned against one of the trees in the large space on the lowest level, his chin draped over a high branch. Shem had taken Atarah on a tour through the ark, which was massive. Most of the top two levels, she now knew, were packed with food storage for humans and animals. Noah and his sons had housed a few small animals on the second floor – just a few hundred of the thousands they expected. Shem said they planned to move more animals to the second level as supplies thinned and babies were born. If babies were born. They didn’t really know about that yet. Maybe God would hold off all births until after the Flood.

She helped him check and secure rooms and load feed onto elevators. She did her best not to steal glances at his taut muscles and strong sinews when he hefted hay bales of hay into the lifts. 

Shem paused with a flake of hay poised midair, looked up at the giraffe, then smiled down at Atarah through slitted lids. “Not his eyes. Her eyes. The smaller one is the male. It’s younger.”

“Mother and son?”

“Could be.” Shem blushed. Then laughed. “But I doubt it. The whole purpose of the ark is to rescue two of each species to populate the earth after the Flood. Mother and son may not be the best choice for that.”

“Oh.” Her turn to blush.

He dropped the flake on the floor by the tree and patted the male’s long neck. “You are watching a very unusual event,” he told Atarah. “The female is sleeping.”

“Unusual?”

“Yeah. We aren’t sure yet, but we think giraffes sleep only about half an hour a day.” Even as he spoke, the giraffe opened her eyes and straightened. Shem grinned and cocked his head toward her. “See what I mean? They nap in five minute intervals.”

“Are there any animals on the ark that have offspring with them?”

“No, they’re all breeding pairs.”

“Does that mean the only mother on the ark who has her own children with her is your mother?”

Shem looked surprised. “I guess so.”

“So when the Flood begins she’ll be the only mother with living children left on the entire earth. One of a kind. At least for awhile.”

“Wow. I never thought of that, and here you are on the ark for one evening and you come up with it. I’m impressed.”

Something new bloomed in Atarah’s heart. “I’m not sure anyone has ever been impressed with me before. My mother loved me, but . . . well, city life is difficult.” Suddenly she wished Mother could meet Shem.

He shifted his weight self-consciously and picked at the bark on the tree, visibly nervous. “I’m sorry about your son. I know you wish he could be here with you.”

Tears pricked the backs of her eyelids and she tried to hold back the one squeezing through. She couldn’t. Once the tears started they changed quickly to sobs. Her shoulders heaved. Her nose ran. Shem found a cloth somewhere for her to blow on. After a few minutes she got her emotions under control and looked up. The distress on Shem’s face mirrored her.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I made you feel worse.”

“I don’t need your help to be miserable.” She flashed a smile. “Besides, the tears made me feel a little better, so thanks.” She knew her face was puffy and red and ugly and she couldn’t do a thing about that. “Every time you see me I’m crying.”

“You’re suffering.” His face creased with compassion.

He guided her through the exit and they sat on the floor in the corridor with their backs against a wall. Atarah could think of little except Shem’s closeness. The proximity muddled her brain and made heart beat in her throat. She leaned forward and hugged her knees in order to distance herself to think more clearly, but his scent still distracted her. She closed her eyes. Once she finally found her voice she addressed his mistaken idea that Gadreel was her child. “Actually, Gadreel wasn’t my natural son. He was my nephew.”

 “You risked your life for a nephew! I assumed he was your child.”

 “He was my child. I just didn’t give birth to him,” she said defensively then cleared her throat and softened her tone. “He was my life and I loved him as much as any mother every loved a natural child.” She thought of Nympha and the women in the city who farmed out their children to slaves and sometimes sacrificed them.  “More than most.” She’d tell him the whole story some day, but not now. It was too fresh. Still, there she had to tell him at least one more thing. She wanted the important fact out and over with immediately. She felt a spark with Shem and thought maybe he liked her, too. She had to know if knowing about Gadreel would change that. She needed to know if Shem would hate her for loving a giant.

 “Gadreel was a young giant. The child of my sister and a Nephal, but she didn’t want him. Since I had longed for a child for years, I broke all the rules and cared for him. I loved him desperately.”

Shem paled and she thought he might have passed out had he been standing. Her heart shriveled. “You had no children of your own?” he asked.

“Well no, I . . .” As the implications of his statement dawned on her, a bemused smile quirked one corner of her mouth. “In order to have children you have to marry or . . .” She dropped her gaze, humiliated by her shamelessness. 

Shem jumped to his feet and paced with his fingers laced against the top of his head. “I don’t understand.” She felt as though she was peering into his mind watching him sort through information and store facts away where he could savor them later. “You’re not married?”

“I’m not married.”

“You’re certain?” The poor man paused, stunned.

Her smile broadened. “No. I’ve never even . . . kissed a man.” Her face flamed.

“You’ve never . . . ?” A mishmash of joy, perplexity and outright disbelief tumbled across his face. “I thought all the young woman in your city. . . I mean . . . I thought the temple . . . required . . . those things.”

Though she should have expected he would think that, her cheeks scalded with shame. “I’ve never been inside a temple.” Well, except underground, but that hardly counted and she’d tell him about that another time.

“So you’ve never . . . “

The man couldn’t finish a sentence. Though she couldn’t be certain if he was asking whether she was a virgin or if she had participated in temple rites, the answer would stay the same. She flashed a grin his direction and answered, “No. I never.”

Delight sparkled in eyes which seemed to change from blue to green to hazel and back again. Did the cleft in his chin deepen? The dimple in his left cheek had. He walked slowly to Atarah and reached out strong hands. With those magnificent eyes fused to hers, he drew her to her feet.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured. His gaze dropped to her mouth and she willed him to touch his lips to hers. Instead, after a long moment he brushed her forehead with a kiss and started toward the stairway. “We should join the family,” he said, huskily. “It’s late and there’s a lot to do tomorrow.”

He waited for her to catch up so they could climb the steps side by side. He didn’t look at her, but halfway to the top he took her hand. Heat from his palm rushed through her arm and spread to her feet. She couldn’t look at him either.

He dropped her off outside his bedroom door. Once inside, she readied herself for sleep and slipped between the smooth sheets, a flame flickering in the oil lamp by the bed. Not as exhausted as the last time she fell asleep in this room, she was able to leisurely admire the intricate carvings, graceful pottery and elegant bed coverings. Her large chambers at home couldn’t compare to this.

She loved this room. She loved this ark. She loved the peace here. She loved Shem’s family. She loved Shem.

Yes. She loved Shem. He was different from any man she’d ever known. Noble. Pure. Handsome. She smiled. She thought he might love her, too, and if he didn’t, at least she affected him deeply.

Strangely, the byproduct of all the love and peace was a change of attitude toward Mother. Though Atarah hadn’t completely forgiven her mother, she didn’t want Mother to die in the Flood, and she longed for Mother to experience the peace filling the ark. But even if Mother chose not to come aboard the ark, Atarah felt compelled to let her know that her daughter loved her, no matter what. Atarah didn’t excuse her mother’s betrayal, and she fully recognized Mother’s weaknesses, but she had already stopped punishing Mother by hating her.

Atarah understood how to navigate the underground without detection now. To avoid risk, she would take her time finding a tunnel up to the city and she’d pray for the One True God to help her every step of the way. And he would. The One True God would keep her safe and bring her back to the ark. Even if accomplishing her goals took a month. More than a month. After that she could return to Shem knowing she’d done the right thing.

With a sigh of contentment, she snuggled into the feather mattress. So why hadn’t he kissed her? She drifted off to sleep in a pink cloud.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

No Hope

“And God said to Noah, ‘I have determined to make an end of all flesh, for the earth is filled with violence through them. Behold I will destroy them with the earth.”  Gen. 6:13

While the women bustled about preparing everyone’s first meal in the ark’s family quarters, Shem sat like cold marble in a chair beside the loom fighting a dark depression. Across the room, Father lay on the floor, knees up, pampering his aching back. Japheth snoozed before dinner old-married-man-style splayed out on a couch with his feet propped in a chair. Ham trailed after Eudocea helping with her chores like a love-sick buck. Whatever that meant.

Shem reached for a hank of yarn, sorted out the end and began lethargically winding the fiber loosely around stretched-out fingers. Though he loved his family, cooped up with all these happy people could drive a miserable man crazy. He would need to stay busy to keep sane.

Mother came up behind him and positioned her cheek close to his. “Why don’t you take a little nap? You were up early.” She held doughy hands stiffly while she squeezed his shoulders with her arm, kissed his cheek and returned to her kneading. The well-meaning gesture only made him feel worse. Lonelier. He removed the yarn from his fingers, flipped the loop sideways and wrapped in the other direction, beginning a ball.

From his position he could see the carved door of his room. His ridiculous fancy stupid room. He turned his chair sideways to shut out the embarrassing sight. He no longer needed or wanted it and planned to trade spaces with Ham and Eudocea soon. Tonight. Someone should enjoy his hard work. He’d rather sleep on a pile of hay in one of the food storage rooms than spend time in the place where he’d hoped for so much for so long only to be bitterly disappointed. Time had run out. The family was already on the ark, they wouldn’t be leaving any time soon and a wife wasn’t going to saunter up the ramp calling his name.

His sister-in-laws set platters mounded with fruit and vegetables on the table and called the family. They’d brought freshly picked produce and recently-butchered meat aboard with them this morning. The perishable fruit like peaches wouldn’t last more than a few weeks, but even after that rotted and supplies ran low they’d have abundance. Even after foods changed from fresh to dried and smoked. Even if their time on the ark lasted longer than the year Father predicted.

Shem held back while the rest of the family gathered to eat. He knew his behavior mimicked that of an immature youth, but he couldn’t force himself  to engage in the festivities. He’d make himself do so later. Just not yet. Mother and Father exchanged significant glances.

“Shem, come have a bowl of this delicious goat stew,” Mother urged patting the bench beside her.

“You’ll need the energy,” Father said.

Obviously they knew what he was feeling and were trying to help. Or thought they knew. If they truly understood, they’d know he couldn’t eat. He cast around for a way to avoid sitting at the table with them. Just for tonight. He could see his plight caused them pain and he hated that but . . ., “Uh. My stomach feels sour. I don’t think I can eat.”

“Go lie down,” Father said. Father wasn’t suggesting. He was commanding. “We have work to do tonight.”

Okay then.

With no other choice, Shem drew a resigned breath and stepped inside his room. He reached for the oil lamp by the door and lit the wick. A warm glow suffused the room helping him find the large chair in the far corner of the room. He sank into the chair’s pillows and, hoping not to think of Atarah, closed his eyes.

Immediately, a rustling from his bed startled them back open. His hand moved to the knife at his side and his heart thumped, beating so hard he could feel it in his throat. Holding the lamp before him to light the way he crept toward the bed, following the circle of yellow light.

A woman lay sleeping between his sheets, her soiled robe crumpled on the floor beside the bed. The blue-embroidered tunic showing above the top edge of the linen quilt rose and fell with her soft breathing. Shem’s eyes drank in her delicate features and the line of her jaw. Framed by glossy dark hair, her smooth skin glowed like the pearls studding the embroidery of her neckline. Air locked in his throat. How could she still be so beautiful after all she’d been through?

“Atarah.” He didn’t realize he’d breathed the name aloud until her eyes popped open. He lurched backward. “I’m sorry.” His voice was raspy. He cleared his throat and repeated, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . I . . .” He should stop talking now. “I’m Shem.” He couldn’t stop talking. “Um . . . I didn’t introduce myself before.”

“My name is Atarah.”

“I know. I heard . . .” He heard the men who killed her baby say her name. Shut up, Shem.

Tension hung in the air between them. Did she have a husband somewhere? Was her husband one of the men trying to kill her? Neither moved or spoke for several seconds. Finally, Atarah pushed herself into a sitting position.

“I’m sorry,” Shem said again. With his gaze still fixed on hers he took a step backward, knowing he should leave the room and give her some privacy, but unable to make himself go. “I should leave you alone.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

“You stole my line.” He forced a playful grin, hoping to alleviate any fear she might have. They both giggled.

She scooted to the edge of the bed and swung her legs over the side. Shem averted his gaze, his mouth suddenly dry.

“This is your room?” she asked. “Your bed?”

 “Yes.”

“I’ve never slept between more luxurious sheets.” She ran the flat of her hand over the silk. “And this quilt . . .  beautiful. The entire room is remarkable. But I had no right.” Regret shimmered on her features.

“Of course you did.” He longed to tell her that every detail of the room had been crafted for her. Belonged to her. “You’re welcome here.”

Did she have a husband or was the baby conceived . . . ? He couldn’t think that way. God had said she was his wife.

“Not without being invited.”

Shem grinned. “You have to know Father’s been begging people to come onto the

ark for years.”

“I guess he has.” Atarah laughed.

Excitement threatened to burble out of Shem. God had actually brought her here! His wife. And he’d actually spoken to Shem when he told Shem Atarah was his wife --just as he spoke to Father. Maybe not just like he spoke to Father since Shem hadn’t heard an actual voice. Shem could hardly hold his emotions in check.

“Did you create all this?” Atarah asked.

“Just this room.” He’d never seen such thick, long lashes.

“That’s what I meant. This room. Amazing.”

She looked well, but he wondered how she’d fared during the night. Had those men hurt her? Concern overrode his better judgment and he asked a direct question. “Are you all right?”

An overwhelming sadness filled the room making Shem regret he’d asked such a personal thing. Atarah dropped her head and traced the quilt’s stitching with her forefinger. He chided himself, realizing she barely knew him. He shouldn’t have been so intrusive. “Of course you’re not all right,” he apologized. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” What a dolt he was!

“It’s warm in here.” She looked at him as though willing him to understand something difficult to explain.

“My brother built a fire. The heat filters through.”

“No. I mean I have a warm feeling here.” She tapped a hand against her heart, looking him with large sapphire-blue eyes that made his heart flutter. “Your ark feels peaceful -- like a safe haven.”

A blank look must have settled over Shem’s countenance, because Atarah continued. “As soon as I stepped into the ark I knew I was safe.” Apparently she guessed he still didn’t understand. “What did you feel in the city?”

Finally Shem understood. Darkness and oppression characterized that place. “You’re right. I’m so used to the ark I think of the atmosphere here as normal.”

“But it isn’t. Wickedness is normal for the rest of the world.” Her eyes glistened with raw grief. “Like an evil bog threatening to suck you down.”

“You’re right.” Shem longed to pull her into his arms and kiss away the sorrow in those lovely eyes.

“I’m trying to answer your question about how I’m doing.” She tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear. “I feel safe here, so I’m doing better. But I’m still sad and I don’t know if the sadness will ever go away.” Her eyes pooled.

He wanted to comfort her, but he could only say, “I’m sorry.” She twinkled through her tears as he spoke the words. He laughed with her then sobered and said, “I truly am sorry.”

She blinked, and a single tear escaped the fringe of lashes. He wiped away the moisture with his thumb and electricity surged through him.

“This all defies logic,” she murmured. “I’m a stranger here yet I’m home for the first time in my life. The peace is so thick I think I could float.”

He paused to regain his composure. “You’re feeling the presence of the One True God. His protection surrounds the ark.”

Her face lit with joy. “I know! I was pretty sure, but I wanted to hear you say so!” The happiness faded and anguish filled her eyes. “We chased him away from our city when we chose to serve other gods, didn’t we?”

We? She was including herself in those who chased away God. Atarah was telling him that she had been fully integrated into the evil City of a Thousand Gods. He’d dared hope otherwise when he witnessed her try to rescue her son.

His heart tumbled off the mountain of hope and slogged through the swamp of gloom. If she’d grown up in the city, and he assumed she had, how could she be otherwise? He shouldn’t blame her, but he couldn’t help himself. She had chosen false gods and all the depravity required by those monstrous spirits. He needed time to sort through his emotions.

“We told the One True God to get out of our city and leave us alone, didn’t we?” She didn’t intend to let the question slide. She needed an answer.

He hesitated before answering, unwilling to hurt her. “Yes. God allows each of us to choose our own destiny.”

Strangely, his blunt reply calmed her and she reasoned through the situation aloud. “And now it’s too late. Nobody in the city will change.” She narrowed her eyes in thought, “Maybe think they can’t. That’s why the Flood. God has to wash the earth clean with water to cleanse away the evil of the people. Even more so the Nephilim and the giants.”

“You understand the reason for the Flood!” he exclaimed. Atarah had stated the cold facts in a way Shem had failed to see them. She was either very bright or God had revealed the truth to her. Maybe both. He watched her mind continue to click along.

“God is saving the human race by preserving your family on the ark when the water falls from the sky. And Noah is not hiding giants here like everyone says, is he?”

“No.” Shem stared at her in awe. “How do you know all that?”             She hesitated as though afraid he wouldn’t believe her. “Your Father’s God spoke to me. First in dreams and then when I was wide awake last night. Back home I might have tried to convince myself the vision was a hallucination, but here the peace helps me think more clearly. I think evil causes confusion.”

“God told you all that?”

“No. He told me other things. But while I slept, I dreamed about something I heard your Father say and that woke me up. I remembered information from my mother and puzzled everything together before I drifted off to sleep again.”

“You met Father?”

“Once.” She seemed lost in thought for a full minute before looking up at him, eyes shining with hope. “Even when I rejected the One True God, he still loved me. He told me so last night. Since he never left me, maybe there’s still hope for my mother.”

Shem only partially followed her zigzagging logic. He opened his mouth prepared to warn her that just six days remained until the Flood and the time for hope had passed. He started to remind her how unlikely it would be for her mother to come up to the ark on her own as Atarah had. He fully intended to remind her that if she tried to go back to the city to find her mother she’d certainly be killed. Worse, with weather conditions in the valley and city growing worse every day, it would be impossible to get to her mother.

“There’s always hope with the One True God,” he said. Though he knew that her mother and everyone else she’d ever known would die in the Flood in less than one week, he couldn’t bear to hurt her by removing all hope. She’d been through too much.

With Atarah at his side Shem tentatively opened the door and stood waiting for someone to notice. No one looked up. Nothing but the clink of metal on pottery broke the silence as the family ate without the customary jovial conversation. Shem could see that his plight was causing them all pain. Father pointed at a fruit platter still piled high with paw paws, mahogany-colored Jujube and thin sweet-tart slices of quince. Ham scooted the fruit toward him. Father nodded thanks and reached for a fragrant golden-brown paw paw as long as his hand. So like Father. No one in the family cared for the wild-banana flavor of the fruit – not even Father, but he always saved the best of everything for others.

Ham took a persimmon from across the table. He hated paw paws, of course, and would eat Jujube only when it was crisper and yellow with red spots. And he didn’t like quince. At all. Shem wondered if Ham would be a picky eater once the Flood had been under way for a few months.

Shem cleared his throat, inexplicably embarrassed. The six people around the table froze, eating utensils midair, staring at Shem and Atarah open-mouthed.

After a beat, Father jumped to his feet and strode toward them with open arms. “Daughter!” He clutched Atarah’s shoulders and kissed each of her cheeks before standing at arms’ length to examine her, his eyes shifting back and forth over her face as though he wanted to drink in every detail. Atarah’s cheeks flamed.

“I knew God was speaking to your heart!” Father said.

The rest of the family swarmed Atarah, welcoming her. Shem studied her face as she interacted with each of them. The word innocent fit best. And kind. She seemed extraordinarily kind. Even better, her eagerness to hear about the One True God was evident in her face and posture at every mention of his name. She treated Mother and Father with respect. Maybe even admiration. Shem didn’t take long to decide he didn’t care what she’d been, he only cared who she’d become. A woman of character. A woman he could love. Maybe already loved.

A dull thud in the corridor outside the door brought the introductions to a sudden halt. Father held up a hand for silence and Atarah glanced immediately at Shem for reassurance. His palms began to sweat. Not because of the very real possibility of danger, but because of Atarah’s eyes. If necessary, he would give his life for her.

Father gestured the women to the back of the room for safety. Shem wrapped his hand around the knife he always kept at the ready and moved toward the door.

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.