Chapter Twenty-Eight

Ham’s Life Threatened

© Jeannie St. John Taylor

“Now the serpent was more crafty than any other

beast of the field that God had made.” Gen. 3:1

Shem ran toward the river, alternately yelling his prayers and listening for his brother. Every time he paused, Ham’s faint voice floated to him on the breeze. As Shem neared the river, the water sounds he had earlier wished would drown out Ham’s voice, now upset him because their roar was drowning out Ham’s voice. And Shem desperately needed to hear his brother.

After a while, Shem stopped praying aloud because he could barely pick up Ham’s voice and doubted his brother could hear him above the river noises. He occasionally yelled for his brother at the top of his lungs, but Ham never answered. Not once. At least not that Shem could hear. He continually assured himself that because God was in charge he could, and would, be strong and courageous. He would believe Ham would live.

But he didn’t believe and he wasn’t strong or courageous. He was afraid.

Two red foxes appeared behind a fallen log and watched Shem for a moment before slinking away.

Soon, the river came into view and only a broad flat sandy area separated him from the water. Traveling over the beach would be faster than battling the thickets he’d  been pushing through. “Thank you for the flat beach, Almighty God,” he whispered gratefully.

But before he could step onto the sand, a warning whispered in the back of his head. There were no crocodiles sunning on this beach. No branches littering the sand. He picked up a small stone and tossed the pebble to the middle of the flat. The rock sank immediately, dragging Shem’s heart with it.

Quicksand. He couldn’t run across quicksand.

A nerve worked in Shem’s cheek as he swiftly weighed his options. Would he be smarter to flatten himself out face downward, spread his arms, and pull slowly across the quicksand? Or should he travel down the beach and fight through the thick masses of roots in the cluster of Mangrove trees he could see in the distance?

He took only a moment to decide on the grove because it offered less risk. Even though the trees would take him further from Ham, he’d be more likely to survive, and his brother’s life depended on him.

He proceeded to the trees, staying in the vegetation alongside the beach because he knew the ground beneath growing plants would hold his weight. Once he reached the Mangroves, battling through the tangled roots took more time than expected, but eventually, he arrived at the water’s edge. Fighting desperation because he’d been out of contact with his brother for so long, he waded in with all his clothes on, allowing the flowing water to wash off the venom. As soon as he felt clean, he filled the water skin and scrambled back over the Mandrake roots and up onto the friendlier solid land that would take him to his brother.

The return trip progressed in slow motion. Shem’s legs stumped along like wooden stubs. The breath locked in his lungs. Thick foliage fought him, blocking his way. A low-hanging branch smacked him in the eye. He prayed aloud. He prayed silently. He shouted Ham’s name until he was too hoarse to yell anymore. He gave himself permission to cry, but his first gasping sob sapped energy. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and ran stoically. When he finally spotted the donkeys he tried again. “Ham!”

A faint voice responded with something unintelligible. 

Still alive! With a new surge of energy Shem dashed to his brother’s side, but the sight he beheld stole his hope.

Ham’s eyes were closed. His lower leg and foot, red and hot to the touch, had swelled to something almost unrecognizable. Shem pressed a finger on his brother’s wrist to check for a pulse. Thready and shallow. So much for all the stories about the medical miracles of snake stones! Shem resisted the impulse to rip the useless piece of bone from his brother’s leg and fling the offensive thing into the weeds.

How had the poison worked so quickly? Shem should have sucked out the venom. Why had he listened to his brother? Why hadn’t Shem at least tried removing the venom with his mouth? Ham would leave a widow if he died and Shem would not.

“Ham,” Shem shook his brother. “Wake up!”

Ham’s eyes fluttered open and he smiled faintly. “My hero.”

“You have the energy to smart mouth now?”

“I tried to wiggle my ears. Can’t. Only my mouth moves.”

“See if you can raise your arm.”

Ham lifted his arm half a cubit from the ground before letting it flop back to his side.

“Not bad.” Shem said. Ham might be able to ride in a sitting position. “Take a sip.” Shem held the water skin to Ham’s lips.

“How much pain you in?” he asked as he quickly dumped the donkey’s packs.

“Numb.” Ham said dreamily. “Tingles.” He turned his head sideways to throw up.

Shem hurried over to wipe the vomit from his brother’s mouth. “I’m going to carry you to the donkey now and set you on his back. We’ll be home in an hour or so.”

“I don’t need to be carried. I’m not a girl!”

Ignoring him, Shem lifted with his legs and hoisted his brother onto the donkey’s back. Ham had already commenced the twitching common to snake bite victims. Not a good sign.

Tying the second donkey to the animal Ham rode, Shem walked at his brother’s side with his hand on Ham’s back. Prepared to catch him if he lost his balance.

Shem’s thoughts swirled like whirlpools around a boulder in rapids. What was the shortest way home? Did he need to keep Ham awake and conscious, or did that matter? Why couldn’t he remember? He would stay cheerful so Ham wouldn’t lose hope. Or would Ham notice? What else could Shem do? He suspected his brother might already be delirious.

Pray! The answer came swift and sure. Shem began interceding aloud for his brother. Imploring God to heal him. Over and over. His prayers bounced back from the solid slate sky.

The whiskery face of a warthog peeked around a tree. “Hey, look! Warthog!” Shem said shaking Ham. “And another one. See that? Right behind the first one.”

No response from his silent sibling.

Shem searched for something to say that might grab Ham’s attention. Running at a slow jog as he led the donkey, Shem sweated profusely.

Ham bumped along on the donkey’s back. Eyes closed. Saying nothing. Slumped over. How was he not falling off the donkey? Was he still alive?

Shem rested his hand on Ham’s wrist, checking for a pulse. Faint slow beats rose and fell beneath his fingertips. Ham’s arm felt chilly despite the fact that his leg burned with fever. Shem removed his own outer garment and arranged the warm robe across his brother’s shoulders. The smell of death clung to Ham.

Shem needed to stop yakking and pray.

He again pleaded frantically with God. Begged without hope. Bellowed requests at the sky. How long had it been since Ham had uttered a sound?

Faith. You aren’t praying in faith. The thought came out of nowhere. “Lord, please give me faith I need faith!’ Shem screamed upward, tears pouring down his cheeks.

Ham’s eyes snapped open. “Eudoceda?”

Shem laughed. “Awake?”

“Oh, it’s just you.” Ham’s eyes drifted shut again. “I’m dying.”

“No you’re not! Remember what Father always says,” Shem spoke desperately, even though Ham was already snoring again. “'The finger of God never points where the hand of God won’t lead.’ You really think God would break his word to Father and let you die? God said we’re all supposed to safely ride through the Flood on the ark and we will. Nothing can stop God.”

A certainty that the One True God could and would save his brother settled over Shem like a cozy blanket. God had bestowed the gift of Faith on Shem. “Thank you!” he cried. “Thank you for saving my brother’s life. Thank you for giving me faith.”

**********

The path wound to the other side of their mountain as they neared the ark. Shem removed the snake stone from Ham’s still-swollen leg. Useless thing. As he tossed it over the side of the mountain he caught a glimpse of the City of a Thousand Gods with the land spread out below. The colors of ripe grain and blooming flowers no longer rippled across the fields. Instead a sinister white-gray swathed the world.

Ash. Accompanied by the rotting odors of death combined with the foul smell of feces.

“Phew!” Ham roused and sat up. “Where did that stench come from?”

The sight of his brother’s return to health and the certain knowledge that Ham would live tempted Shem to grin. But the sights and smells from the outside world killed the smile before his lips had a chance to curl upward. “I’m guessing that’s the giant smell Father described to us. Someone must be in big trouble.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

 

Face to Face with Giants

“And they became pregnant, and they bare great giants, whose height was three thousand ells: Who consumed all the acquisitions of men. And when men could no longer sustain them, the giants turned against them and devoured mankind.”

 Book of Enoch, Section One 7:3,4

Locating the giants proved simpler than expected. Because of Mahli’s earlier detailed instructions, plus information gleaned from Peleg, Atarah knew the direction to go to find Tirza and the baby. As they started down the tunnel, Atarah snatched up one of the lit torches tucked into a wall-niche and Shua did the same.

That action proved a lifesaver once they left the lighted corridors leading from the community complex to the cave and plunged into the impenetrable darkness of the unlit underground. Even with torches illuminating their steps, they nearly missed the first staircase in the semi-darkness. Fortunately Atarah had decided to lightly drag her hand along the wall as they ran even though it slowed their progress a bit. As soon as she felt empty space she shone her flame that direction and saw the stairs. They descended without missing a beat.

At the bottom of the steps uncertainty set in. Mahli’s instructions were to always go right to get out of the underground, but Mahli hadn’t known Tirza would kidnap the baby. So they now traversed a different level than the one Mahli had described. All Atarah could do was hope the principle layout was the same throughout the complex and assume Tirza would be talking to the giants on that side of the mountain. Peleg had mentioned a fresh air vent which would mean Tirza was at an opening big enough to hand the baby out to the giants, but too small for the giants to enter the complex.

Atarah paused for a moment on the last step before squaring her shoulders and choosing to once again turn right – this time into a long corridor. The tunnel wound downward, and changed directions so often she soon completely lost her bearings. Worse, she heard nothing -- hadn’t heard battle sounds since leaving the cave. She assumed she’d find giants wherever the battle raged and, if Tirza was negotiating with giants, that’s where she would find Tirza. And Gadreel.

Time crept along. Seconds felt like hours. Panic began to build in Atarah. They should have reached the second flight of stairs by now. Atarah considered turning and retracing her steps. Fears that they were going too slowly and Tirza had already handed the baby over to the giants tormented her. She struggled to deaden her emotions and focus all her energy on finding the path. An impossible task. Every moment away from the baby tortured her.

Atarah concentrated on regulating her breathing and resisting the urge to run faster. She understood she couldn’t afford to be too out of breath when they found the baby. She pushed negative thoughts away and forced herself to think only of kissing the tip of Gadreel’s nose and puffing raspberries on his tummy until he giggled.

Eventually, it was the smell that led them to the giants.

The odor didn’t develop gradually the way Atarah had expected, but slammed into her suddenly as though swept in on a tidal wave. The stench like the smell of snake feces, a combination of human elimination and dead bodies, hit her full in the face and she stumbled backwards.

So did Shua. Both torches spluttered and then flared. Both women bent forward coughing and gagging. Evidentially they hadn’t missed a staircase. The tunnel itself had lowered them to the next level and taken them directly to the giants.

Every cell in Atarah’s body screamed to flee the suffocating odor, but she drew  the neck of her tunic over her nose and pressed toward the stench rushing from an air tube which was waist high and just big enough to crawl through. When she reached the opening she could hear Tirza’s voice -- carried on the same wind that brought the odor. Even though she picked up the terrifying sounds of battle in the distance, joy leapt in her chest.

“Tirza’s still talking,” Atarah whispered over her shoulder. “That means she hasn’t given Gadreel to the giants.” Yet.

When her slave didn’t respond, Atarah glanced back. Shua crouched on the floor rocking, knees drawn to her chest, face ashen, eyes vacant. Atarah understood instantly that the smell had flung the slave back into the horrors of the giant attack on her village many years earlier, forcing her to once again relive those events.

“Move back! Away from the smell,” she hissed. Lost to reality, Shua continued to rock.

Atarah was powerless to help. Right now she had to save the baby. Wrapping several thicknesses of scarf around her nose and mouth, she dropped to her hands and knees and started the gently-angled upward crawl in the air tube. She breathed through her mouth, but instead of preventing her from smelling the putrid odor, she tasted it. Bile rose to her throat.

Before long, worried that her torch would divulge her presence to Tirza and the giants, she wedged her only light into a crack in the rock and continued without it. Darkness closed around her. A sense of malevolence far worse than the smell enveloped her. A dense wall of wickedness seemed to rise up before her, blocking her way. The wind grew stronger, driving her backward. The optimism she’d experienced at hearing Tirza dipped into thick black depression. She lay face down in the tube, unable to move, fighting to breathe.

What was going on? Was she imagining the wickedness? Was she simply afraid of the tight space? Could the smell be causing confusion? Or was the evil real? Despite what Mahli had said about Noah, Atarah suspected his God had helped her every time she called to him. In desperation, she whispered, “God of Noah, protect me from evil.”

The malice surrounding her seemed to shift. The wind still blustered. The stench still saturated the air. She still had to struggle to breathe. But the heaviness no longer pressed down on her. She could move again. 

She edged forward until the tube widened, allowing a clear view of a small cave. Benches carved from rock lined both sides. Tirza stood at the far wall with one hand over her nose and mouth talking to a giant through an opening to the outside. The hole was slightly larger than the baby – just big enough for her to hand him through. But the giants couldn’t get in. Atarah guessed this place had been hollowed from the rock to protect the people of the underground in precisely this situation. Apparently Tirza didn’t plan to offer the giants an opportunity to accost her.

Further back in the cave, midway between Tirza and  herself Gadreel cheerfully banged a rock on one of the benches, oblivious of the stifling smell. Safe for the moment. At the sight of the baby, and despite the chill of danger hanging in the air, instant relief warmed Atarah. Carefully emerging from the tube she stood in the shadows where her eyes could drink in every detail of Gadreel while remaining invisible.

From her position, she could observe two male giants through this opening clinging effortlessly, almost magically, to a narrow out-cropping of rock on the face of the smooth granite cliff. Tirza had lied about their size, possibly to calm Shua’s fears so she wouldn’t cause trouble, but more likely because Tirza had never seen the beasts in the flesh before. Approximately the size of the Nephilim, they held onto tiny outcroppings of slippery rock with six-fingered hands and bare six-toed feet, displaying the agility of gorillas. How had they gotten to that height? Leapt like toads?

 Tirza stood well back from the opening. Apprehensive, but more relaxed than Atarah would have expected. She removed a hand from her nose and mouth long enough to speak a quickly, “He’s staying with me until you bring food.”

“Tell us how to get in.”

“No. Bring the grain right here.” Secure in a space the giants couldn’t access, her voice rang out confidently.

“Why do you want so much food?” The giant’s words flowed smoothly with the mesmerizing power of a Nephal.

Standing at a distance and knowing the baby was out of harms way for now, Atarah scrutinized the creatures. The giants only slightly resembled their Nephilim fathers. The angular features which were handsome on the Nephilim, were twisted almost imperceptibly on the giants, rendering the creatures grotesque. The furthest giant sported a long scraggly beard and what Atarah at first assumed was a multi-colored turban. Except that the turban lay across his head at an unusual angle. Atarah squinted to examine the head-dressing more closely only to realize with a shock that the turban was an enormous serpent coiled atop the giant’s head. She tensed, swallowing a gasp. 

The closest giant, the one conversing with Tirza, was clean-shaven and nothing but unkempt soot-colored hair adorned his head. Festering sores held more appeal than either of these corrupted beings. Rotting potatoes exuded more charm. Carnivorous dragons ranked higher on the scale of innocence. It was as though all the evil the Nephilim managed to keep hidden in their souls visibly flaunted itself on their giant offspring.

When Tirza hesitated, confused, the smooth-chinned giant repeated the question with more force. “Why do you want us to bring you so much food?”

With each word the monster spoke Atarah felt intense evil like the thrusts of a poisoned sword stabbing into the cave. And yet, though she couldn’t explain why or how, she knew something held the evil at bay. Something that wouldn’t allow the wickedness to harm her.

“My people will go hungry if you don’t give us food,” Tirza replied.

“There are many more humans with you, aren’t there?” The giant wasn’t asking a question. He knew. “Show us the way in.”

Suddenly, the rumors about giants as cannibals rang true for Atarah. These evil creatures were the consummate monsters. Given the chance, they would eat the people of the underground as well as the people of the city.

“There are no more people here.” Tirza’s expression and posture revealed a different story.

A smirk quirked the corner of the giant’s mouth. “You can trust us.” The cunning spark of red in his lavender eyes belied his wheedling tone. The hairs on the back of Atarah’s neck lifted. The giants might be lousy actors, but the overt presence of evil was confusing Tirza. Atarah could see uncertainty in her eyes.

“We can’t deal without trust between us,” the giant continued.

“I do trust you.” Tirza’s voice faltered and Atarah caught a glimmer of fear. “It’s just . . . The space here is too small for you.”

Dropping all pretense, the giant roared. “The ash destroyed the crops. There is no food anywhere.”  He moved nearer the hole and hatred like red fire flamed from his lavender eyes. “You think us stupid?” His sizzled with murderous scarlet.

Tirza shrank back and the giant resumed his position on the rock. A chill skittered down Atarah’s spine on spider legs. Gadreel crawled closer to Tirza and Atarah’s lungs compressed.

“You will supply our food.” His voice smoldered with fury. “You will hand over our young one.”

Tirza jutted out her chin. “Bring food and I’ll give you the youngster.”

“You can’t keep him from us.” Raucous laughter burst from the giants. “He belongs to us!”

The shout startled Atarah and she jumped. That movement caught Gadreel’s eye. Squealing with delight he crawled rapidly toward her.

Momentarily distracted, Tirza glanced back -- first at the baby then her eyes met Atarah’s. In that instant, the giant lunged. Shooting a long arm through the opening he yanked Tirza through quicker than a rattlesnake strike and tossed her over the side of the mountain. She didn’t have time to scream.

Atarah stood paralyzed with shock. One moment the woman was standing there. The next she was gone. It wasn’t possible. She couldn’t fit through. But she did fit through -- like a snake sliding into a too-narrow crack in the rock.

Time stood still. She could see Gadreel’s upturned face at her feet while the face of evil watched through the opening. Matching faces. One huge, the other small. She struggled to breathe, to think.

Two small six-fingered hands gathered handfuls of her hem. Her vision cleared and the innocent face of the babe once again smiled up at her. She scooped him from the floor. He smelled of monster.

Chapter Twenty-Six

 Paw Paw patch

©  Jeannie St. John Taylor

“Also take with you every sort of food that is eaten, and store it up. It shall serve as food for you and them.” Gen. 6:21

            Not even the river rushing beyond the trees had been able to drown out Ham’s nasal complaining. He’d been griping nonstop since early morning. Shem assumed his brother was upset about having to leave Eudocea for the day, but disappointment was no excuse for whining and Shem was weary of listening. “Go ahead, Ham,” he snapped sarcastically. “Tell me again why you don’t like paw paws.” Shem reached up and plucked one of the shiny green fruits with dark spots.

“Well . . . ” Ham tilted his head, looking up and to the side in an attempt to feign concentration.  “Let’s see . . . I don’t like the slimy texture. I don’t like enormous black seeds in my fruit. I don’t like that wild-banana flavor. And especially I don’t like the snakes that lurk around here.” He scratched his arm.

“Were you unable to detect the sarcasm in my tone?” Shem walked to his donkey, shaking his head, and tucked the rest of the oblong paw paws he’d collected into one of the packs slung across the animal’s back.

“I detected your tone and didn’t care.”  Ham grinned and wiggled his brows, then scowled and scratched his other arm. “Don’t ask me to tell you something if you don’t want to hear.”

“We’ve got enough paw paws for now,” Shem said. He had to admit Ham won that battle of wits. “Let’s grab a few huckleberries from the bushes by that rock over there before we start home.”

“Stupid chiggers!” Ham scratched harder, his arm a raging red color. “I hate chiggers.”

Shem sighed and led his donkey toward the low shrubs heavy with blue berries. “I don’t like chiggers either, but I choose not to yammer on about them.”

Completely disregarding Shem’s words, Ham followed with his own donkey. Still complaining. “I think we should keep chiggers and paw paws far away from the ark. I, for one, would prefer a world without either of them and we have the power to make that happen, don’t we?”

He waggled his brows again, further irritating Shem who felt like popping him one.

“Won’t keeping chiggers off the ark be hard to do since you appear to have a whole family of the miniature insects living under your skin and as soon as you walk onto the ark . . .” Shem turned to flash a grin at Ham so he could observe his brother’s reaction. “Those chiggers will be right there with you, ready to reproduce and populate a post-flood world. We’ll have to keep you off the ark if you plan to exclude chiggers.”

Ham grimaced, showing his dimples. “We could at least ‘forget’ to take those paw paws aboard.”

“Won’t stop them from growing after the Flood.” Shem had resigned himself to the fact that the Flood rapidly approached, but a residual depression brought on by that acceptance plagued him.

“Why not? If we don’t take them to Mother there will be no seeds to dry . . .” Shem glanced back, and Ham took the opportunity to flash a victorious smile. “And without seeds . . . no paw paws to plant.” 

 “These are just for tonight’s meal. The only seeds Mother or Father plan to save are the ones we’ll and grind and eat during our voyage”

“No, Father said he intends to plant crops afterward. Grapes and spelt and . . . ”

 “And paw paws?” Shem interrupted, “Don’t think so. All the trees will sprout again without any help from us. Like olive trees, for instance. We’re not going to start new ones from seed. They’ll be in leaf and ready to produce fruit by the time we leave the ark. Food will already be growing from the earth.”

“How do you know that?” Ham asked.

“Because God always provides. And because he told Father to take every sort of food onto the ark so we’d have plenty to eat during the Flood, but he didn’t say anything about seeds for replanting the entire earth.” Shem snorted in derision. “Father must have told us that a thousand times. Don’t you listen?”

Shem’s conscience smote him as soon as the words left his mouth. He knew thinking about the Flood and his future made him anxious and he was venting at his brother’s expense. Treating Ham unkindly wouldn’t solve anything.

Shem opened his mouth to utter a rare apology when a terrified scream from Ham cut him off. Whipping around, Shem caught a movement of grass as something slithered away from his brother. Ham bent forward holding onto his right leg just above the knee, his face ashen and contorted in distress.

“Snake?” Shem rushed to his brother.

“Mmmhhhhhhh,” Ham groaned. 

“Up that high?”

“No. Shin.”

“Did you see the snake?”

“No. Aghhh. Hurts.”

“Hopefully the snake wasn’t venomous,” Shem said, though he knew Ham’s level of discomfort indicated otherwise. He supported his brother’s head and back while lowering him to the ground where he could examine the wound. “Two fang punctures. Poisonous.” Nonpoisonous snakes had rows of teeth. No fangs. Shem began squeezing around the wound, hoping to make the punctures bleed so poison would come out with the blood. “Keep holding your leg until I can wrap some strips around it. You need to calm down so the venom doesn’t pump through your system faster.”

Even as he said the words, Shem realized he was nearly as frightened as his brother and if he didn’t get his emotions under control, panic would compromise his judgment. He deliberately walked, instead of ran, to his donkey and fished around for the snake bite supplies they always kept with them though neither had been bitten before. A bar of lye soap, a walnut-sized bit of blackened bone and cloth strips. Finding them, he snatched up their last skin of water.

Kneeling beside his brother he ripped off a portion of a strip poured the last of the water on it. He washed the wound with soap and water, then wrapped the leg a hand-width above the punctures. Not too loose. Not too tight. “That should keep the venom in the lower leg. If you start wanting to move the leg that’ll mean the strips are too tight and we’ll need to loosen them,” Shem said evenly. “Now let’s see if we can bleed it out.”

Shem pulled the knife from his belt, crisscrossed two shallow cuts over the puncture site and carefully scraped the wound with the side of his knife. Venom-laden blood oozed down his brother’s leg and covered Shem’s hands.

“Eudocea,” Ham moaned, his face a mask of pain and fear.

“You’re not going to die.” Shem pressed around the wound, bringing more blood to the surface. “I’ll get you safely home to your wife.”

“You can’t promise me that.”

“I can promise!” Shem insisted vehemently – almost angrily. He hoped Ham couldn’t read his thoughts because Shem didn’t believe his own words. Ham’s pallor and dull eyes didn’t bode well and Shem was terrified his brother would die before they returned home. “I’m going to suck out the venom.”

“No!” Ham shouted with unexpected strength. “That won’t guarantee my survival and it could kill you.”

“Okay.” Shem grudgingly relented. “You have to calm down. The more upset you get the more quickly the blood will circulate poison through your system.” Ham understood that, of course, but a reminder couldn’t hurt right now. “Do you want me to use the snake stone?” Shem asked.

He had no idea if snake stones actually pulled out venom as reported. After all, the “stone” was simply a small piece cut from a cow’s dry thigh-bone and baked in a charcoal fire. But anecdotes from all over claimed it worked, and anything that could give Ham confidence and soothe him was worth a try.

“Yeah. Use the stone.”

“We’re completely out of water.” Shem placed the black bone against the puncture marks and tied it on with one of the extra strips. “You’ll have to stay here while I run to the river and get some.”

“I’m going with you.”

“No, you shouldn’t move around more than necessary.” Hadn’t Shem explained the reason for that moments ago? Was Ham already confused? “Just relax. When I get back I’ll unload your donkey so you can ride him home.”

“I’ll do that . . . “ Ham said in the midst of a low moan, “while you’re gone.”

 “No!” Shem practically shrieked the command. “Lie still! Concentrate on controlling your breathing and staying calm.” Could he trust his brother not to do something stupid in his venom-muddled state of mind?

“Okay.” Ham took a few deep breaths. His eyes cleared and color returned to his face. “Don’t touch anything until you wash the venom off your hands.”

“Problem-solving skills intact I see,” Shem said, smiling. He would not have forgotten that simple life-saving rule, but he was glad his brother appeared to be thinking rationally after all. “I’ll wash off in the river. You pray while I’m gone.”

“You pray.”

“Oh, I will.” Shem said. “I’ll yell my prayers loud enough for you to hear me all the way to the river and back. You do the same.” Shem knew God could hear a mere whisper, but Ham could not. Ham needed to anchor himself to Shem’s voice so he would know his brother hadn’t abandoned him when Shem disappeared from view. Even more importantly, Ham needed the assurance that Shem was interceding for him and asking God to clear death from his body.

Conversely, Shem needed the comfort of Ham’s voice guaranteeing that his brother still lived. 

Chapter Twenty-Five

Peleg’s Quarters 

© Jeannie St. John Taylor 

“And as you have been a byword of cursing . . . so I will save you and you will be a blessing. Fear not, but let your hands be strong.” Zech. 8:13

In a nearly catatonic state, Atarah lowered herself onto a wooden bench in Peleg’s quarters. Poor by city standards, this place was luxurious compared to the one she’d slept in the past few nights. A worn rug adorned the large space in front of the bed and a few pieces of formerly-elegant furniture slumped around the area. The bed, large enough for two people, had been draped with faded dirty fabric. Palatial for the underground. Fit for a king.

And the king himself had dropped the heavy bar on the door into place and turned a key in the metal lock. He now stood before her, looking her up and down, the key dangling from his filthy crooked forefinger.

No escape.

Though she stared straight ahead she could see the man himself a few paces off to the side posing with one foot on a low table, a come-hither gleam in his good eye. With his gaze fixed seductively on her, Peleg’s gray lips curled into a rotted-tooth smirk. “Wine, my dear?” he asked.

She managed a barely-perceptible shake of the head. The man was trying to charm her even as her every breath pulled in the putrid odor emanating from him. Nausea filled her chest and threatened to explode. She could taste blood oozing from her lower lip – yet she couldn’t force herself to stop biting. Her nails had broken the skin of her fisted palms, but she was powerless to unclench.

Without taking his eyes from her, he slowly bent to pick up a pottery jar from the table. He poured wine from a skin, tipped it back and took a deep draught, probably of the same vile wine she had tasted when first arriving in this place. “Sure you don’t want a sip?” His eyes started at her head and traced down to her feet then up again for the hundredth time.

Shame burned her neck and face, but she didn’t move. Didn’t answer. Even though wine might be the only thing that could offer her a measure of relief, she couldn’t afford to anesthetize herself. She had to be alert for Gadreel.

For Gadreel. She had to remember. Her baby. With the Light gone, thoughts of Gadreel would have to keep her going.

            Peleg tossed the key on the table and straightened. Grabbing a straight-backed chair he plunked it down on the floor in front of her and straddled it. “Look at me,” he commanded.

            The room swam around Atarah. She tried to look at him, but her eyes wouldn’t focus.

            “You belong to me now.” The words were clipped. Harsh. He leaned close, now nose to nose with her. She gasped at the stench of his breath and body.

“Think you’re too good for me?” A muscle in his jaw corded tight. He drew back and slammed the flat of his hand across her face. “You’ll learn to like me.” He leaned closer again with a humorless laugh and squeezed her face until she wondered if he might break a bone.

            Sudden loud pounding rattled the door behind her. Peleg cursed and kicked his chair away. “Go away,” he roared.

Panicked voices from the other side yelled, “Giant attack!”

Brief minutes later, Atarah sat on the floor chained to a metal ring in the wall of Peleg’s empty quarters. A metal collar like the ones she’d seen worn by slaves in the caravans that visited the City of a Thousand Gods to trade with Father encircled her neck. She carefully stood to see how far she could move. Not far. As soon as she took two steps the collar began cutting off her air supply. Holding the front of the collar with both hands she yanked backward on the chain. She stood no chance of releasing her restraints.

Peleg was taking no chances. She was trapped here until he returned.

Sliding down the wall, she lowered herself to the floor and held her head in her hands. Her mind raced to find a solution. None came. Panic set in and she began to hyperventilate. She fought to push away images of Peleg and the things that would happen to her when Peleg returned. What would happen to her if he didn’t return? Would she die here? Alone? Worse, what was happening to the baby and Shua? She pressed against her temples to clear her thoughts. The technique didn’t work.

“God of Noah, help me,” she whispered.

A key jangled in the lock, the door creaked open slowly and Mahli peeked in. Her eyes scanned the area before she stepped inside and hurried to Atarah and tested her restraints, all business. A badly battered Hoda followed. One entire side of her face was swollen and bruised. She held her ribs as she walked. Atarah had no doubt she was viewing Peleg’s work. He had beaten Hoda and possibly even broken ribs.

“Here, try this one,” Hoda said handing Mahli a key. She sank onto the bed, shut her eyes and pressed both arms into her midsection, looking ill. Scraggly hair drooped across her ashen face. Atarah wondered how the woman managed to look worse than the first time they’d met.

Mahli accepted the key, unlocked Atarah’s neck collar and helped her to her feet. “You okay?”

“He didn’t touch me,” Atarah said.

A pleased smile crossed Mahli’s face.  “We have to work quickly.” She strode to the door with Atarah following. Hoda limped along at the rear. The community room sprawled hollow and empty ahead without a person in sight. One bench lay on its side. The open oven had been emptied of bread. Hoda relocked Peleg’s door before bidding them a hasty farewell. The last Atarah saw of Hoda she was hunched over, the key grasped firmly in her hand hobbling toward the opening Atarah and Shua had come through the first day. Someone had already rolled back the stone and left the hole gaping.

Atarah’s heart swelled with pity and gratitude for the old woman. She hesitated, feeling the need to do something for her.

“Come on!” Mahli said impatiently. “There’s no time.” Atarah had to run to keep up with her even though Atarah said little and Mahli once again talked incessantly. She offered hurried instructions as they strode through the community room and down the spidery path leading back to the baby. “Hoda locked the door so Peleg will fuss around for a long time before he figures things out and breaks down the door. When he finds you gone, he’ll know she helped you and go after her first. Hopefully, she’ll have time to hide out until her injuries heal and the giants are gone.”

“Where is everyone else?”

Mahli shrugged. “Either hiding in the labyrinth or fighting giants.”

Intense eagerness to hold the baby again pushed Atarah along. She needed to touch him. She’d tried to memorize the way, but what if she couldn’t remember? Her heart throbbed in her ears. “I’m not certain I remember the way back to Gadreel.”

“I’ll show you the way to him and then I’m going to find Hoda. She and I may have a chance to survive this if we stay together. This is an opportunity for us. The first chance we’ve ever had to escape. If we can evade Peleg after the giants leave, we may be able to leave here for good.” Her lips skewed into an off-center smile. “Or maybe we’ll get lucky and he won’t return.”

            Mahli pointed down a flight of stairs. “Go that way, then turn right and you’re there. As soon as you pick up the baby and your friend, head in the direction of the waterfall, but keep going. You’ll find another exit or two if you don’t turn toward the interior of the mountain.”

            “I remember the rest of the way.” Atarah enfolded her in a fervent hug. “Thank you.” The words were inadequate for the gratitude that nearly overwhelmed her. Mahli smiled and they separated. Moments later Atarah hurried down through the larger area leading to her room and burst through the door.

Shua sat on the bed alone and pale. She looked at Atarah with a stricken expression. “Tirza took him.”

The words struck Atarah like a blow to the gut. Panic pumped through her. “Where did she take him?”

“He’s a baby giant.”

“I know what he is!” Atarah shouted. “Where is he?”

“Tirza,” Shua sobbed.

Panic changed to fury and Atarah yelled at the slave. “Pull yourself together!” She dug rough fingers into Shua’s arm and dragged her toward the door. The Dream had warned her. But what could she have done any differently? “Show me.” There was no time to be nice. “Which direction?”

Shua pointed. The waterfall. Atarah started running. She hadn’t gone far when the slave caught up, calmer now. “Slow down,” she panted. “So you can do what you have to when we get there.”

Atarah slowed to a trot, sucking in deep gasping breaths. She wasn’t certain if she was more out of breath from the exercise or from fear or anger. Or from panic. A thousand emotions banged around her head like drums at a festival.

“Sorry I . . .,” Shua offered. “I’m just scared.”

“It’s okay.” Atarah hoped Shua was prepared to fight with her when they found the baby, but she worried. She had noticed Shua showing less affection to the baby of late. And Atarah was stunned Shua had let Tirza carry him off without protest. Was the slave repulsed by him because of the giants who killed her family? Was she identifying Gadreel with those gruesome beasts? Gadreel would never become one of them. Never.

At the muffled din of battle Atarah picked up the pace. She had to decide immediately if she could still trust Shua. No, no, stop thinking like that! Tirza had most likely brought a dozen men with her to take Gadreel. Shua would have been helpless against them. Maybe she had screamed and fought and been unable to fight them off. “How many men?”

“Huh?”

“With Tirza?”

“Oh.” 

“How many?” Atarah could hear tension in both of their voices.

“She came alone.”

Anger charged up Atarah’s spine. “Why didn’t you . . . ?” She cut off mid-sentence, stuffed the emotion and evened out her facial expression. The only visible sign of anger showed in a stiffening of her spine which Shua probably didn’t notice. In the city Atarah could have punished the slave for such betrayal. Over the past days in the labyrinth she would have openly voiced displeasure. But with their altered circumstances, if the slave could no longer be trusted Atarah dare not reveal her thoughts. She could only keep up her guard and hope she’d misjudged her slave. And she may have.

She seemed to get everything wrong these days. Yesterday she was convinced Hoda could not be trusted and Shua could. Now she felt confused about both women. She  had once foolishly, if briefly, hoped Noah could be a good man, but Mahli reinforced the disappointing truth about him again. The man intended evil, just as everyone in the city claimed all along.

Strange the way facts twisted and changed colors like birch leaves in the wind. She had no wisdom to discern truth from falsehood.

“Did Tirza say what she planned to do with Gadreel?” She mentally chided herself for not asking that question sooner.

“Tirza said giants can’t reproduce because they are the progeny of Nephilim and human women -- two different species. Kind of like horses and donkeys producing mules. Mules can’t reproduce; giants can’t reproduce.”

Impatience surfaced in Atarah’s tone. “What does that have to do with Gadreel?”

“Tirza said giants will bargain to get a baby giant.” Shua spoke wearily, without inflection. “Gadreel is Tirza’s gold.”

The information stabbed into Atarah’s gut and shivered down her arms and legs, raising gooseflesh. At the same time, the last turn to the waterfall cave appeared directly in front of them. Atarah crept forward and peered around a boulder, steadying herself by holding onto its cold edge. She prayed the darkness at the back of the cave would hide her. The sight ahead startled her.

Instead of the clash of weapons she’d expected, Peleg stood as a silhouette on a tall flat rock near the center of the cave. The veil of water with light filtering through it thundered at his back. Men and women of the underground, armed with clubs and bows, grouped apprehensively around the rock, well away from the water. No torches lit the recesses of the cave. Atarah couldn’t make out features in the dim light even though she was close enough to reach out and touch one woman. Focused on Peleg the woman didn’t notice Atarah. The people spoke in grumbling murmurs while the invisible battle raged somewhere beyond the waterfall.

The city. Giants were attacking the city.

An image of Mother’s face wavered in Atarah’s mind like a reflection in turbid water. Fear and grief washed over her and she pressed a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out. She searched the crowd for Tirza and Gadreel. Where were they?

The number in Peleg’s group appeared significantly smaller than Atarah remembered. When she tried to add together the people she’d seen in the community’s main room with the others she seen working throughout the complex, she realized many had seized the opportunity to flee Peleg. Just as Mahli predicted.

One man who appeared poised to scale the rock boldly questioned Peleg. “Are we going to just stand here doing nothing?” Mutiny crouched in the group ready to strike. Rebellion flowed in a nearly palpable undercurrent.

“Doing nothing?” Peleg shouted them down. “My daughter . . .” He waited for them to quiet. “My daughter is risking her life to trade the giant baby for your freedom. Right now!”

Panic once again skittered down Atarah’s spine. She had to find the woman. Her eyes rapidly scanned the curtain of water. Nothing. Tirza already had Gadreel outside? Where?

“Where?” asked the man functioning as spokesman for the group.

“In another location.”

“Why isn’t she talking to them right out there?” He pointed to the waterfall. “So we know you’re telling us the truth.”

Peleg exploded with a curse. “Did you want her to waltz out from behind the waterfall and show the giants where we are?”

That answer pacified the man only for a moment. “What if they take the baby from her and then come here for us?” The group growled in assent.

Atarah could hear her own breathing and feel her heart bumping. Shua’s restraining hand touched her from behind and she nodded at the slave. Though everything in Atarah wanted to rush off, she knew if she hoped to rescue Gadreel in time she had to wait for more information.

“I don’t expect them to find us. But if they do, we’re in the best place possible. If they come here, we can see them against the light. They can’t see us until their eyes adjust to the dark. Before then we’ll pepper them with arrows and flee into the tunnels where they can’t come.”

The spokesman climbed the rock and fisted Peleg’s tunic at the throat. “Tell us where she is. Exactly.”

Peleg wilted. “Directly below here, two levels down at a fresh air opening.”

Atarah and Shua were already running.