Chapter Five

The Trial

© Jeannie St. John Taylor

“When Lamech had lived 182 years, he fathered a son and called his name Noah, saying, ‘Out of the ground that the LORD has cursed this one shall bring us relief from our work and from the painful toil of our hands.’ Lamech lived after he fathered Noah 595 years and had other sons and daughters.”

            Noah’s sons proceeded to the city gate at daybreak hoping to speak with Father before his trial. Shem’s stomach rumbled with hunger at the smells wafting from the open market, already bustling with early-risers. Inexpensive meat, left over from temple sacrifices, roasted over open fires. Bakers pulled cakes from earthen-dome ovens. Booths piled high with yellow corn, mounds of red papayas and oranges tantalized him.

      “We could grab a piece of fruit and eat it on the way,” Ham suggested.

      “No time. We’d have to haggle over the price.”

At the city gate, heavily-armed guards patrolling the area refused to allow them access to the dungeon. The brothers retreated into the shadows and leaned against a cold stone wall, waiting for the outer gate to open so Ham could return home as Father had instructed. Shem found himself wondering what would happen if Ham stayed. Could the two of them together do something – anything – to save Father?

“I won’t leave.” Pain lingered in the depths of Ham’s eyes and Shem felt a flash of affection for his brother. “I may never see him again.”

 “You’ll disgrace Father.” Shem’s matter of fact tone belied the intense conflicting emotions he battled, but this was no time for wavering resolve. “Father trusts God and it will break him if we don’t show our trust also.”

But Shem wasn’t so sure he did trust God. The odds against Father were stacked too high. God couldn’t possibly rescue him this time. What influential person would care enough to satisfy the legal requirements by standing up for Father and paying the cost of his release?

Rizpah, Father’s childhood playmate?

Not likely. Wasn’t she the one responsible for the charges against him?

A small detachment of guards arrived and the heavy outer gate creaked open.  “Time to go,” Shem said.

“If you have a chance to talk to him,” Ham’s voice broke, “tell him . . . tell him. . .”

       Shem pulled Ham to him in a brusque farewell embrace before he climbed the stairs to the walkway at the top of the city wall. He leaned against the chest-high masonry, arms resting on the ledge, watching the receding form of his brother. A caravan trudging up to the city passed Ham, but the usually-gregarious brother didn’t acknowledge them.

A twinge of nostalgia mingled with sadness swept over Shem as he watched his brother thread his way down the mountain and disappear around a bend in the road. Shem couldn’t help remembering trips to the tar pits with Ham, Japheth, and Father to gather pitch for waterproofing the ark. He’d enjoyed them only slightly more than the forays into the forest with mother to collect herbs for drying and storing in the ark.

Voices from below interrupted Shem’s reverie. Before he descended the stairs and crossed to the Chamber of Justice, he craned his neck for one last look at the ark in the clearing on the very highest point of the opposite mountain. The ark stood as a massive memorial to the One True God. A memorial to Father’s obedience. Even from so far away the ark looked massive. He lifted his chin with pride. Father had succeeded in one thing: No one in the city could avoid thinking about Noah’s God.

The ark spoke out for the One True God every day.

      People were already filing into the chamber in groups of threes and fours by the time Shem stole in unnoticed and pressed against the back wall, waiting for his father’s hearing to begin. The sounds of agitated voices echoed through the large elaborately-furnished room.

     The entire place had been constructed of natural rock. The judge’s podium, chiseled from a single block of black stone and polished to a high shine, rose from the center of the room. Grapes entwined with vines and leaves wrapped around the rim of the piece. On one side of the judge, at floor level, stood a stool of the same material. Behind a barrior separating the judge’s platform from spectators, rows of seats ran the circumference of the courtroom. Most were smooth marble benches, but directly in front of the judge’s podium Shem could see several large seats with high curved backs. Colorful embroidered cushions adorned the seats. While the people sitting on the benches behind the judge might see nothing more than the his back, the people occupying those privileged places would have eye-contact, and influence, with the judge. Shem fully expected to see Rizpah and her cronies enter and lay claim to them.           

Shem took his place at the end of the back row in the section facing the judge. If Father sat on the witness stool, Shem would be able to see his face during the trial.

The hall filled and the mood grew openly angry. Everyone seemed focused on attaching blame for all the city’s recent problems on Noah. They blamed him for the earthquakes and the changing weather. They blamed him for their business failures. They despised him because he accused them of evil and violence. 

      “Hatred bursts from the man like hot lava from a volcano,” a man directly in front of Shem shouted to the noisy crowd. Scattered applause came from the few who could hear him above the clamor. 

       “Not after today.” A sneer hardened the face of the woman beside him.

        Shem marveled at the irony of the name of the hall, Chamber of Justice. Father would get no justice here today; everyone present intended to kill him. And Shem, alone in a gathering mob, was helpless to stop it. Even if Father were to change his mind and allow Shem to help, what could one man do against such a crowd? Reasoned logic wouldn’t faze anyone present, and a sword wouldn’t fare much better.

      With all seats occupied and the trial ready to commence, Rizpah floated in wearing her signature crimson robe with dark embroidery at the neck. Nodding to onlookers on either side of the aisle, she led her entourage to the plush seats in front of the judge’s podium. The room quieted. Before settling herself she pivoted slowly, eyes searching the room until they came to rest on Shem. She arched her eyebrows to acknowledge him briefly before she flowed into her seat.

The room rustled with the sound of people twisting in their seats to follow her line of vision. All hopes of the safety that results from anonymity vanished. Shem muscles tensed. He clenched his fists in order to maintain control and stared straight ahead.

The judge entered and claimed his position of authority at the podium. “Are the witnesses present?”

One of the men flanking Rizpah spoke. “They are.”

“Bring in the accused.” The judge banged his gavel.

Soldiers escorted Noah into the courtroom, two leading, two behind and one beside him. Though obviously injured and stiff from two weeks in the dungeon, Noah walked slowly, but erect. His hands and feet remained shackled causing him to stumble every time the soldiers jostled him. Noah’s eyes searched out his son and crinkled with pleasure when he spotted him.

The scene felt dreamlike to Shem. Nightmarish. What had happened to his strong father who lifted beams single-handedly into place on the ark? Where was the man who plowed with seven teams of oxen? Why had Noah stopped resisting evil? Why wouldn’t he at least let his son fight for him?

Noah sat on the backless stool reserved for the accused. The desire to rush to the front and stand by his father gripped Shem. He involuntarily shifted forward, but clenched his fists and forced himself to stay put. The physical effort drew a line of sweat across his brow.

The judge called for witnesses.

Rizpah stood, her silk garments contrasting sharply with Noah’s worn goat hair tunic. When the judge gave her permission to speak, Rizpah’s satiny tones mesmerized her audience. “This man Noah threatened my life as well as the lives of other city officials.”

      A man in a turban fastened with a large blue topaz confirmed her testimony.

      Another gentleman near the end of the row rose to his feet. “You know the sacrifice my family is making for this crisis.” His voice thickened with sorrow and he dropped his head to compose himself so he could continue. “How dare we let this rabble-rouser go free when my innocent Gadreel gives everything?”

      “Can anyone refute these witnesses?” The judge surveyed the room.

      Shem locked eyes with his father who shook his head nearly imperceptibly.

      The judge rolled up his scroll and tapped the parchment on the hard edge of the podium. “Very well then. Noah son of Lamech, son of Methuselah, you must die.” 

      Shem felt like a camel had kicked him in the gut.

      “Would the prisoner speak in his own defense?” the judge asked.

      “I would.” Noah’s voice rang strong. His shackles prevented him from rising without help so he addressed the crowd from the stool. “Disaster is immanent. The One True God loves you, but you serve false gods that have no power to save or help you. Believe on the One True God and escape the Flood.”

      The crowd exploded and the soldiers guarding Noah closed rank around him.

Noah shouted above the roar. “There’s room on God’s ark for all of you!”

      Suddenly Shem understood. Father had deliberately chosen this time and place to plead with as many souls as possible. The public trial might risk his life, but it offered hope to many who might not have heard him otherwise.

      Rizpah’s face contorted. “He believes himself superior to us!” 

Calls of, “Kill him!” “Butcher the hate monger!” rumbled through the room.

      Extra soldiers muscled into the crowd, but the pandemonium thundered unchecked. Noah tried to speak. The crowd drowned him out. The judge banged his gavel repeatedly.

Finally, the room quieted and the judge spoke to Noah. “Your own words condemn you.” His lip curled in disgust. “I knew your father, Lamech. Good man. I praise the gods who in their mercy gathered him home to his fathers five years ago and spared him the shame of seeing you, his oldest son, the son he called his “comfort”, so filled with rebellion and stubbornness. His heart would break.”

      Shem couldn’t believe his ears. Grandfather Lamech had lived with the family, hammered nails into the ark, waterproofed it with pitch. After he grew too full of years to leave his bed, he still snapped green beans for canning and prepared apples for drying.

      “Your property now belongs to our great city” The judge banged the gavel twice to conclude the matter. “You shall die in our great temple before the sun sets unless, as the law states, a person of great influence redeems you.”

      Shem sat unmoving. Helpless. Numb. He should obey Father and leave, but he could not move.

      There was a commotion at the doorway and a large man with silver streaking his beard and gold threads woven into the collar of his striped tunic appeared under the arch. The crowd parted and he moved with authority to the front of the room, his head held high. A condescending smirk played over his face. Jeweled rings adorned every finger. “I am Paseah, judge of Heber.” 

Shem recognized the name and heat rushed into his face. 

“I choose to redeem this man.” Paseah snapped his fingers and a slave leading a heavily-loaded camel appeared in the door of the Chamber of Justice. Thick gold chains draped the camel’s neck. Bells tinkled from just above padded hooves. “What’s his price?” 

“Ten thousand dremata,” the judge answered. Few earned that sum in a lifetime.

Silence descended on the chamber.

The crowd stared openmouthed as Paseah reached into his camel’s saddlebag and began counting gold and silver coins onto the podium. Shem could hear nothing but the clink, clink, clink of coin after coin dropping onto the mounting pile. Heaped-up gold spilled over the edge and clattered to the floor.

Why was he doing this?

Deliberately, Paseah lifted a single coin between his thumb and forefinger and held it over his head. “One thousand dremata.” He dropped it from that height onto the pile as his gaze slid around the room. “Any of you worth so much?” His mouth curved upward, but his eyes glinted with the hardness of black diamonds. 

He started a second pile on the floor in front of the judge. When he finished, the camel’s adornments and two of the man’s bulky rings lay with the ten mounds of coins.  “Ten thousand dremata,” he announced triumphantly.

The judge placed the scroll into Paseah’ hand. “Noah is yours.” He spat the words like a man expelling poison.

No one spoke. Shem held his breath.

The soldiers unshackled Noah. 

And it was over! Just like that.

Stunned, Shem followed his father and Paseah from the room followed by the slave leading the camel. Shem stole a furtive look over his shoulder and saw Rizpah, surrounded by the subdued mob, glaring at them angrily. Not one person had moved.

Outside the courtroom they joined the caravan Shem had watched enter the city just before the trial. Without a word, Paseah mounted a camel and motioned for Noah to mount another. Shem tried to help him, but Noah shook him off and managed the feat without assistance. The two men rode to the iron gate and out of the city. Shem walked behind them in front of several slaves and camels, one of which no longer carried a load. Like a sleepwalker, he moved down the winding road he had watched Ham travel earlier.

No one spoke until they crossed the meadow and started up the ark’s mountain. With the city out of sight and almost a distant memory, Noah and the stranger dismounted and embraced. “I thought I would never see you again,” Noah said. Tears coursed down his cheeks.

“Nor I you,” responded Paseah, “though I do think of you whenever I pass this way and view your disgrace on the top of that mountain.” 

“Come here, Shem.” Ignoring the stranger’s insult, Noah beckoned his son. “I want you to meet my youngest brother who I love more than life.”

“You are the oldest son, are you not?” Shem heard little warmth in his words.

“Yes.”  How did he know? 

“I’ve heard all about you from the locals. Whenever I pass this way on business, they are only too happy to discuss Crazy Noah and his family.”

“They know you’re Father’s brother?” Shem asked.

 Paseah tipped back his head and let loose with a belly laugh. “Of course not! I would never share that information with anyone.”

Shem wasn’t quite certain how to react to this newly-found uncle who was willing to give up a fortune to save his father’s life while insulting him every chance he got. “How can I thank you for what you did?” he said.  “God used you to rescue my father!”

Paseah spat on the ground. “God had nothing to do with anything. I alone am responsible.” His tone softened. “I owed my brother.”

Noah interrupted, “What brings you to our part of the world?” Shem recognized Father’s reaction as Noah’s way of avoiding the embarrassment of praise.

“I’m here because of a series of coincidences.”  Paseah mused. “Strange. Very strange.”

      Noah pointed at a bubbling spring a short distance from the trail and the brothers sat down on large rocks where they could catch up. Without a word, one slave filled a skin of water for Paseah and Noah before watering the camels. Another slave immediately hobbled the camel that had carried Paseah’ gold into the Chamber of Justice then dodged as the animal flattened its ears and hurled at him. A glob of spittle nearly as large as his fist darkened the ground inches from his feet. The slave scowled and retreated to a safe distance.

      The camel was without question the biggest and nastiest Shem had ever seen. 

“Coincidences?” Noah asked. 

“Well, five days ago, a runner came to my neighbor’s house offering an opportunity to make a great deal of gold. My neighbor is greedy and would never have shared the information, except . . . ” Paseah grinned. “His wife died the week before and the mourning period wasn’t over, so he couldn’t take advantage of the opportunity. Plus, I needed to search for a runaway out this direction.

 “So,” Paseah continued cheerfully, “I agreed to make the trip and consummate the deal. He thought we could share everything.” He grinned slyly and leaned toward Noah. “And I just might if there’s anything left after paying my brother’s fine.” 

A shudder of distaste skimmed Shem’s
heart. Uncle was very different from Father. “You’ve got that same self-righteous look on
your face your father always used to

have.”

Shem colored. “I’m sorry I didn’t . . .”

“You think I cheated my neighbor?” Paseah’ question was aggressive as well as rhetorical. “I risked danger from robbers and injury. Did he? No.”

 “We’re not criticizing you brother,” Noah’s stepped in. Shem could tell he desperately wanted this reunion to go well. “Tell us the rest.”

“There’s not much left.” Paseah relaxed and launched into his story again as though nothing had happened. He appeared to love the sound of his own voice. “I gathered a few slaves and camels, traveled here and transacted my business. Fortunately for you, as we were passing the Chamber of Justice we heard you hysterically offering rides on your ark. I decided to treat old Buzz with kindness by lightening his load.”

Paseah smiled and winked, seeming for the first time since they left the city as the gracious gentleman who had rescued Noah. He slapped his brother on the back. “You sound exactly like you did four hundred years ago.” 

The ups and downs of his uncle’s personality left Shem dizzy. “Buzz is the camel?”

“Yup. That humungous nasty disaster of a camel was carrying the gold I paid for your father. Meanest camel I ever owned, but I think it’s the meanness that makes him so strong. He carried a thousand dremata in gold like a load of feathers.”

“Where’d you buy him?” Noah asked.

Paseah laughed again. “Didn’t. I took him from a slave trader who made a habit of beating the poor thing until he bled. Found Buzz standing over him by the side of the road early one morning. The fellow was dead. Looked like he’d been trampled. I figured maybe he beat old Buzz one too many times, but you never know. Could have been robbers.”

They proceeded up the trail toward home again, Paseah walking between Noah and Shem with slaves leading the camels a respectful distance behind. Buzz, his legs unshackled, moved forward with a rocking motion, ears flat against his head, shouldering another load of gold taken from two other camels to ease their loads.

“You haven’t said anything about the coincidences.” Paseah said.  “Impressed?”

Noah beamed. “Don’t you see? Coincidence didn’t bring you here. God did. He wove circumstances so we’d meet again.”

Paseah narrowed his eyes and bunched his lips.

Noah didn’t notice. “God has given you one more chance!”

“God!?” Paseah snapped. “I’m the one who saw you in the court room. I paid my good money to rescue you because you wasted your own fortune on that monstrosity up there.” Red-faced he nodded toward the top of the mountain. “You’re just like Father. You have no common sense. The shame you created for the family forced me to relocate.”

Noah recoiled as though his brother had struck him. Shem half-expected a red welt to rise on Father’s cheek. Shem understood Noah’s pain. Father was terrified that his own brother might die in the Flood.

Chaper Four

To the Rescue

© Jeannie St. John Taylor

“Noah was a righteous man, blameless in his generation. Noah walked with God. And Noah had three sons, Shem, Ham, and Japheth.” Gen. 6: 9, 10

Shem and his younger brother Ham tramped along the footpath that wound away from the ark through numerous switch-backs, around thick tree trunks and down the mountain. Vertical rock rose to their backs. In front of them, when trees bordering the trail thinned and opened the view, Shem caught glimpses of the broad valley below spread with meadows of brilliantly colored wildflowers and rectangular fields of corn, barley and sugar cane. Vineyards and fruit orchards swelled over the foothills reaching up toward the walled City of a Thousand Gods, their destination. 

The city perched atop the red granite cliffs of the mountain facing them. Numerous small dark spots, an indication of shallow caves, peppered the face of the cliffs below the city. Some appeared almost rectangular -- as though hacked out by human hands. He counted more than a dozen waterfalls trickling over the precipice, white thread tumbling down gleaming rocks polished smooth by years of falling water. One especially large waterfall seemed to burst from the base of the city itself.  Those falls, as well as the flat slippery precipices on every side, prevented unwanted visitors from entering. The city stood unassailable.

Their father said giants had attacked long ago. Though many people lost their lives in the battle, residents fighting from the walls and windows of the only gate into the city managed to keep the huge creatures at bay. After a few weeks the giants consumed all the crops in the valley and left.

Though the city could not be breached, earthquakes and the violence of its own residents had weakened the city of late.

Because Father grew up within its walls and several of his friends from childhood still lived there, Father loved the city and its people. Two weeks earlier, convinced that the increased incidence of earthquakes and wind storms signaled the immanence of the approaching Flood, Father had disappeared inside the gates. He intended to plead with the residents one final time, hoping to convince former friends that he’d prepared enough space on the ark for them. All who chose, could demonstrate a belief in God by coming aboard. But he hadn’t returned home, and Shem worried he might have been injured in a quake. Or worse.

Despite Father’s strict rule that his sons never under any circumstances come to his aid if he disappeared, Noah’s sons marched on a rescue mission today. The trees thinned again and Shem shielded his eyes against the glaring sunlight reflecting off the granite. They still had a long distance to hike.

He pushed back his worries and inhaled the earthy odors of rotting wood and damp rock carried on the breeze from the cool woods. A squirrel skittered across the path in front of him. He always enjoyed this part of the journey where the downhill slope allowed him to relax a little.

 “We’re gonna have to pick up the pace if you plan to get there before the gates close,” his brother shouted from a short distance behind. “Want me to lead?”

“No need to shout.” Shem measured his tone. “I can hear you.”

“Guess you’re planning on a good soaking again.” Laughter played just below the surface of Ham’s voice, but Shem rarely found him humorous.

            True. They often postponed trips until too late in the day and hit the valley floor right as mist floated up from the ground. Today Shem had delayed the trip because he knew Father would be upset if they came. So when Ham badgered him, Shem ignored his sibling.

He glanced over his shoulder to level Ham with a glare. “You should have stayed home. Mother needs you. I don’t.” He didn’t intend to budge a finger-breadth to appease his brother today.

            “Trying to cheat me out of excitement?” Ham asked, waggling his eyebrows and ears at his brother. Was Ham being sarcastic or did he really think this would be an exciting venture? Why did Ham always respond to difficult situations by making a joke of things? 

            A large boulder and several fallen trees blocked the path ahead. Shem looked up to study the spot where the rock had sheered off the mountain. “That last quake changed the face of the mountain. If they keep getting worse, one could knock the ark off its frame.” 

            “Oh, no!”  Ham said in mock dismay. He bent to scoop up a handful of loose stones. “Whatever would we do then?”

The two men threaded their way around the boulder with Ham now in the lead. He tossed stones against trees. Always playing games.

“You don’t think a quake could actually damage our ark, do you?” Ham laughed.  “Every plank in the thing is as thick as my leg.”

“You’re exaggerating.” 

“Not much. A quake might dislodge the supports and plunk a lot of gopher wood to the ground, but nothing else would happen to it. Except Father would probably make us try to hoist it back up.” 

            Shem smiled despite himself. “You’re right.” The path widened and leveled out. They loped along side by side. Running on the flat was easier on his legs than walking downhill.

            “You know how the ark is kind of rounded on the top and bottom?” asked Ham, his eyes dancing. “If an earthquake knocked it off its struts maybe it would start rolling down our mountain, pick up enough speed to cross the meadow and start up toward the city. Can’t you just see the people watching that huge thing coming at them?” Ham made a rolling motion with his arms that got faster and faster until he banged his hands together. “That would put a nice little dent in the temple of Gug, wouldn’t it? And they think they don’t like the ark because it’s ugly.”

            Both men laughed hard, the sort of hysterical laughter that accompanies tension. “You don’t think rolling across the meadow and climbing the hills to the city would slow it down?” asked Shem.

            “All that mass? It might roll right over the top of the city, down the other side, flatten all the grain fields and splash out to sea.” 

“That might actually give it a chance to do what we built it for.” Thoughts of the Flood sobered Shem. “Think it’s too heavy to float?”

The two men walked in silence for a while before Ham voiced Shem’s thoughts. “Maybe Father is crazy like they say.” Shem preferred Ham’s joking to his despondency. “Do you believe all the stuff Father says? Do you really think we’re going to escape some colossal Flood by floating away in the ark?”

Why would Ham choose this particular time to start voicing thoughts neither had ever spoken? Shem didn’t want to say anything disrespectful about his father. He didn’t want to admit he often had the same doubts. Not now. Not with Father missing. “God told him to build the ark; I believe that.”

“Oh, come on,” Ham snorted. “How logical is that? Has God ever talked to you?”

Just off the trail ahead a movement of tawny fur caught Shem’s eye, sparing him the necessity of answering his brother. Shem crouched and pointed to a pair of large cats under a tree just off the trail. “Shhh!” 

Ham’s eyes widened and he dropped to the ground beside his brother. “Those are lions, aren’t they?” he whispered.

“I think so. What do you suppose they’re doing here?” Father’s prediction about animals coming to the ark flashed through Shem’s mind. “You don’t think . . . ?’

“Nah.” Ham’s denial came a little too quickly.

Shem tried to remember what he knew about controlling cats. Not much. Mother sometimes tossed water on the house cats to shoo them off the table. Wouldn’t work here. No water. Bigger cats.

After several beats, Ham whispered. “I hope cats have bad vision.”

“Me, too.” Moving only his eyes, Shem looked sideways at his brother.

“I hope nothing eats us,” Ham said without smiling.

Shem’s sentiment exactly.

After a few minutes, the lions stood and meandered out of sight. Relieved and puzzled the two men resumed their journey carefully, peering into the woods by the trail, alert to possible dangers.

Up ahead a family of deer crowded close to the trail. Not a problem. Deer were common and harmless except when they browsed the crops Noah’s family grew in the fields surrounding the ark. Shem and Ham had stored an abundance of dried venison on the ark. Ham spoke to one nibbling bark off a tree. “Eat your fill, Sweetie. That’ll plump you up and make you nice and tasty if Father sends for more meat.”

“Also might weaken the tree and make it easier to fell.”

“Don’t need wood. The ark’s done and that tree isn’t gopher wood.”

“We still need wood for the fire pit. Gotta have heat for our mythical journey.”

The obvious criticism of Father bothered Shem. He shouldn’t disrespect his father by listening. He snapped at his brother. “I don’t want to hear that kind of talk any more.” The appearance of lions on the mountain had started him thinking.  

“We lost a lot of time back there.” Ham resumed his slow run.

“Yep.” Shem ran with him.

“I saw a couple of ostriches up by the ark the other day.” Ham said.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“And the point would be . . . ?  There are strange animals everywhere these days.”

“The quakes must be changing animal habitats.” A rabbit ran across the trail right in front of Shem, nearly tripping him.

             “How long has Father been saying God was going to send animals to fill the ark?” Ham asked.

            “As long as I can remember.”

            “Me, too.” Ham parroted Father’s sometimes-preachy tone. “‘Two of every kind of animal on earth will show up just before we embark.’”

            “Maybe all the strange-animal sightings prove Father right.” Shem couldn’t bear to think about the events about to take place if Father’s words were correct. The thoughts of all the people perishing made him literally sick to his stomach. If God was good, as Father claimed, why would he destroy humankind? And without a mate, how would Shem bear the loneliness for the rest of his life? “Kind of scary.”

“If the Flood is getting close, I’ll die without ever having sex. That’s what scares me to death.” Ham’s brow furrowed for a moment. Then he grinned and switched to mock concern. “I can think of one upside to the whole thing. We can leave the snakes behind when we float away.”

             

They came off the mountain and started on a footpath leading through the neck-high grasses growing over the valley floor. They avoided the easier trip through fields of crops and wildflowers, choosing instead to follow the more direct route. As though on cue, a gentle mist lifted from the ground.

“What’d I tell you?” Ham shot an accusing look at his brother and they reached down simultaneously to remove their sandals. Shrugging out of robes and tunics, they tied the clothing into bundles for easy balancing on their heads and resumed walking.

“The lions delayed us,” Shem said.

Ham snorted.

They lapsed into silence, following the narrow footpath clad only in undergarments. The mist offered relief from the hot day. Never mind the wet weeds slapping their legs and upper torso.

Shem decided to enjoy the fragrance of purple and yellow wildflowers. Other trails, broadened over the years from extensive usage, crossed their path. “Easy to tell no one travels to our place.” Ham said. “Ever wonder if one of Father’s brothers or sisters will follow one of these to visit us sometime?”

“They didn’t show up when Grandfather Lamech died.”

“Maybe they didn’t know.”

“Father sent a messenger. They wanted Grandfather’s body burned to one of the gods they worship. Father said no. They refused to come.”

“Maybe Grandfather would have wanted Father to compromise. Just a little. To reconcile the family.”

Shocked, Shem glanced back at Ham to see if he was joking. He wasn’t. “You know better than that. Grandfather loved his family, but he revered the One True God.”

They walked along without speaking further. Shem’s thoughts wandered back to the fact that no one used this path except for them. Sometimes it bothered him that everyone feared the ark so much they stayed away. Other times he appreciated the security it offered since violence was a problem everywhere else.

When they reached the cobbled road leading up the mountain to the city they donned clothing, but walked in the dirt and weeds beside the road. Slick cobblestones had caused many a traveler to end up with bloody scrapes and bruises. Especially on steep winding inclines. They were tired and dark was falling by the time they saw the gatekeeper getting ready to close the iron gate.    

“Let’s go!’ Ham shouted.

The brothers took off at a healthy clip.

“Hey!” Shem yelled to the gatekeeper. The man waved, signaling he’d let them in.

            “If,” Ham said as they ran shoulder to shoulder, “it is almost time . . . for the Flood . . . I have to . . . find a wife. You’re okay as a brother, but I’d rather spend the next five hundred years with someone prettier.”

            Despair washed over Shem. He knew that finding a wife was impossible because he’d tried often. He once inquired after a wife when he visited the City of a Thousand Gods. He’d searched for a suitable companion in other towns and villages during trips to the tar pits. No virgins remained anywhere. All the girls engaged in vile sexual practices in their gods’ temples from a young age. Brash and seductive, those women held little appeal for him. He didn’t understand why or how God expected him to endure hundreds of years of loneliness, but that appeared to be his destiny. Better to live alone than with one of those women.

“Japheth found a wife,” Shem reminded his brother. “God will provide for us, too.” He felt like a hypocrite repeating things he no longer believed.

            “What if he doesn’t? I’d rather die in the Flood with everyone else.”

            “Don’t say that.”

            “You youngsters arrived just in time,” the gatekeeper said as they ran panting through the entrance. He barred the heavy wood and iron gate behind them.

            “Thanks.” Shem bent over, hands on thighs, catching his breath. Ham paced with his hands locked on top of his head. Loose rocks littering the paved road inside the walls showed evidence of the recent earthquakes. Ten or twenty armed guards patrolled the area.

One separated from his squad and approached Shem. “State your business.”

“We’re looking for a man named Noah,” Shem said.

“Crazy Noah?” The man spat a finger-width from Shem’s foot. “We arrested him.”

Shem’s eyes met Ham’s. 

 “Know where he is?”

“Dungeon.” He nodded toward a door just inside the closest part of the gate.

“Why’d you arrest him?” Ham asked. 

The solder eyed them suspiciously. “You his sons?”

They nodded in unison.

“Trial’s right here first thing in the morning.”

Right here meant the City Gate which encompassed far more than the metal door that closed the city off at night to protect inhabitants from wild animals and intruders. The massive stone structure built into the city walls consisted of several large public buildings on two levels. Soldiers walked the wide walls and kept guard from the upper levels. Leaders transacted all official business in the gate. The spaces for government business occupied the lower level and opened onto the road. Vendors did business and judges held court in those places.

That’s where they’d find Father tomorrow.

The sky was dark now and Shem could see no one but the soldiers and the gatekeeper on the road. He heard the clop of a solitary horse and saw torch-lights flickering outside what he knew to be an inn some distance away. No one else was in sight. He supposed people were afraid to wander abroad these days.

“Can we see him for a few minutes?” asked Shem.

“Make it quick.” The soldier pointed to a doorway where a flight of stairs descended to the dungeon below. Under the broad arch, more debris was strewn across the paved floor. The threshold had been worn into a depression from years of use. “Door at the end of the corridor.” A sneer curled his lips. “And behave yourselves or you’ll end up sharing his luxurious lodgings.” He spat on the stone and ascended a flight of stairs to the guard rooms above.

More guards flanked the entrance to the dungeon.

The brothers made their way down the narrow steps and through a damp, musty corridor lit with torches that smelled of lamp oil. It dead-ended at a heavy plank door. Through an iron-barred opening, Shem could see his father. Noah sat on the dirt floor of a large otherwise-empty room, chains suspending his wrists above his head, more chains binding his ankles together. The smell of feces and urine was overpowering. Rats scurried across his legs and crowded around a crust of bread near his feet, but Noah slept, oblivious to everything. No one guarded him. The spluttering light of a torch danced on his face and white hair.

At the sight, Shem’s heart caught in his throat. Noah looked like an angel.

“Father,” Shem said.

Noah didn’t move.

“He’s hard of hearing.” Ham sounded uncharacteristically afraid.

Shem called louder. “Father!”

Noah’s eyes popped open.

“Are you all right?” Shem asked, noting the dried blood on his father’s forehead.

Before answering, Noah arched his back and rolled his shoulders. “My back is a little stiff.” He smiled. “How’s your mother?”

“Worried. Are you injured?”

“That quake bounced a stone off my head once I settled in here. And my new friends gave me a couple of fancy bracelets.” Father grinned and rattled his wrist restraints. “Otherwise it’s been pretty calm.”

Frowning, Ham chided Noah. “This is serious Father.” The jokester didn’t recognize himself in his father’s actions. Shem couldn’t help smiling.

“Don’t worry. God won’t let them kill me,” Noah said. “Not after I spent a hundred and twenty years looking ridiculous building a boat on the top of a mountain. Everyone knows God told me to do it. How would he look if they killed me now?”

“What happened?” Shem asked.

Sadness clouded Noah’s eyes. “I went to the temple to warn them one last time.”

One last time? Shem had guessed correctly.

“Rizpah trumped up some charges against me.”

“What charges?”

“Threatening the lives of city officials.”

Shem felt like someone punched him in the gut. “Threatening officials’ lives! That’s punishable by death. She wants you dead so the city can confiscate the ark.”

Noah pulled himself stiffly to his feet, and for the first time Shem could see where the iron shackles had cut into his ankles and wrists. Shem flinched when his father grimaced with pain.

 “We’ll figure something out,” Shem said.

 “We’ll get you out of here.” Ham added.

            “No. I forbid you to do anything except pray. God will protect me.” Noah’s sons knew he meant every word.

Shem studied his father’s face, feeling completely powerless. “Please, Father.”

            “No. If the Lord wants to save me, he will. If he’s through with me he’ll rescue the rest of you as promised.” Noah looked across the room at his middle son. “Ham, first thing in the morning you go home and comfort your mother. Tell her I love her.”

Ham stormed up the stairs. He’d cry as soon as he got past the soldiers. Noah spoke to his oldest. “Shem, you stay only until you know my fate, then get out fast and carry the news home. No matter what happens.”

            Despair closed around Shem, but he knew better than to argue with the patriarch of the family. With grief making every step an effort, Shem climbed back up the stairs. Halfway to the top his father called after him.

“When a man is completely helpless and his only hope is the One True God, that man’s strength is greater than an army of thousands who refuse to serve God.”

A soldier stood on either side of Ham when Shem emerged from the dungeon.

“It’s not safe after dark with all the violence in the city. You can’t spend the night out here,” he said when Shem walked up. “You’re a guest of the city. We’ll escort you to the inn.” He beckoned two more soldiers.

With a pair of soldiers leading and two more behind, the group traversed the length of the street running between official-looking buildings before they turned toward an open market. The “escort” felt more than a little unfriendly.

They marched beneath a canopy of trees and past luxurious houses with windows illuminated by glowing candle light. Shem couldn’t help comparing those houses to the small wooden dwelling where Noah and his family lived beside the ark. These homes were many times larger than Noah’s. Many revealed the cracked walls and fallen rocks indicating earthquake damage. Noah’s home had survived unscathed.

They passed one particularly beautiful mansion with a jasmine-covered arch tucked into the stone wall protecting the home. The blossoms smelled sweet, but the armed gang leaning against the wall out front stunk of malevolence. One of them, a muscular man with a serpent neck-tattoo, shouted an obscenity at the brothers. Shem silently thanked God for their escort. He and Ham couldn’t afford a fight tonight.

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Earthquake

“And the women have born giants, and the whole earth has thereby been filled with blood and unrighteousness.” Book of Enoch, Section One 9: 9, 10

Gadreel threw his arms around Atarah’s neck and slobbered an open-mouthed kiss onto her nose. She smiled and pulled him close, then scowled at the slave over his head. “Didn’t you hear about Father?” He had forbidden her to care for Gadreel before, but this time was different and Shua should know it.

Distress creased Shua’s face. “Gadreel wouldn’t stop crying. He needs you.” She crouched beside Atarah, apparently trying to stay out of sight, though no one could see them from their position behind the hedge. After years of being treated well, Shua still feared nearly everything. “I’ll take him back.” She reached for the baby and Gadreel scrunched up his face, poised to launch into one of his tantrums.

“Leave him,” Atarah hissed at the slave, then comforted her nephew. “Shh, shh. It’s okay, Sweetie.”

Shua pressed a fist to her mouth and her eyes shone with tears. It amazed Atarah that the slave could love the baby so deeply after her initial aversion to the boy. For weeks after Father assigned care of the baby to Shua, the slave had found him so revolting she could barely stand to touch him.

 “Why are you so upset?” Atarah asked. She caressed the smooth skin of the baby’s arm.

“Your father is angry.”

“That’s not any different that usual.”

“And Gadreel found another snake.”

“Where?”

“On the balcony.”

“The balcony? How in the world? I told you to keep him away from them.”

 “I try, but he seems to find them. I think they come looking for him.”

“That’s just silly.”

 “He likes them.”

“Of course he likes them. All boys like snakes. They’re little wriggling toys. That doesn’t mean you let him play with them.” Atarah wasn’t exactly certain why the child shouldn’t play with snakes or why she was getting angry with Shua. She just knew she did not like snakes. She hated thinking about the time she saw one arch up and face Gadreel as he held it by the tail. He actually kissed the slimy thing before she could stop him. She shuddered. Obviously Atarah needed to hold a firmer line with her slave.

“I’m sorry.” Shua chewed on her thumbnail and looked at the ground. “It was a harmless striped one.”

“The next one might not be harmless,” Atarah snapped. The slave should not be arguing with her.

When Shua was a young child, one of Father’s caravans had found Shua cowering in a trunk after giants ravaged her village and killed everyone. Father brought her into his home because he thought she might make a suitable companion for Atarah. They appeared to be approximately the same age. Atarah and Shua had grown up more as friends than slave and mistress. But slaves, even beloved ones, should fear the masters who held the power of life and death over them. It appeared Atarah had been treating Shua too well. A good slave should remain cautions around her mistress. Shua should know her position.

            “Gadreel hasn’t seen you all day.” Shua peered through the foliage, alert to danger.

            “I know.” Atarah kissed the top of her nephew’s curls. She loved his ringlets.

“He cries for you. He wouldn’t even nap.”

            “We’re in trouble if anyone sees us.” Atarah sat on the stone bench with her arms curled protectively around the baby. He breathed out a quivering sigh and gazed at her with large lavender eyes. “Go to sleep precious lamb,” she said softly. “Atarah is here.” Gadreel closed his eyes and leaned against her. Almost immediately, he lapsed into the steady breathing of sleep.

            “Find somewhere you can watch all the doors that open onto the courtyard,” Atarah whispered, but Shua was already on her feet.

            The slave disappeared from view. “I can see from here.” Her whisper came from the azalea bush where Gadreel had appeared earlier, close enough for the two to converse in undertones.

“Can anyone see you?”

“I don’t think so.”

They’d both be in trouble if discovered, Shua more than her mistress because part of Shua’s job was to care for Gadreel. She’d be flogged, or worse, if found shirking her duty. By allowing Atarah to care for the baby, the slave was encouraging an aristocrat to take over a lowly assignment. A disgrace for all involved. Wealthy young women were expected to participate in more noble pursuits than child-rearing, and that meant the slave would be in double trouble today. First, she was deliberately disobeying the master of the house. Second, slaves weren’t allowed to neglect duties. Though Atarah would be punished, the slave would shoulder the blame for Atarah’s misbehavior as well as her own.

The two women had been through this before. Atarah knew if Shua spotted anyone coming from the house or kitchen she would spring into action. At her warning, Atarah would quickly pass Gadreel off to the slave and hide. The technique had worked in the past. 

After a few minutes of silence, Atarah felt safe enough to chat quietly. “How did Father find out I’ve been caring for Gadreel?”

            “Another slave, I guess.”

            “Who?”

            “Good question.”

            “Do you think the elders know?” Atarah’s right leg had gone numb, so she shifted the baby’s weight.

            There was a long pause before Shua said. “I don’t think so.”

            “Maybe Father’s hiding the truth from them to protect me. Mother would probably know if they suspected anything, and she’d tell us.”

            “Why do you want to do slave work anyway?”

The mistress could hear disapproval in her slave’s voice and she marveled that a culture’s values could become so ingrained in someone born in a distant land.

“That’s enough,” Atarah chided. How could Shua be so influenced by her adopted culture she would believe caring for a child beneath Atarah? Child rearing seemed to Atarah the best occupation a woman could desire. Atarah couldn’t understand why proper families longed for children then considered it shameful to care for them and Shua knew she felt that way. “Has my sister looked in on Gadreel lately?”            

“Nympha hasn’t seen him for weeks.” Shua snorted.  “All she cares about is her gentlemen callers and looking pretty and everyone cooing over her. You’re ten times more a mother to Gadreel than Nympha ever will be.”

            “Hush! You shouldn’t say things like that.” Atarah said, but Shua’s words warmed her heart. Gadreel did belong to Atarah. Not Nympha. It didn’t matter that her sister had given him birth. Atarah was the one who loved him. A child should belong to the one who loved him. The one who took care of him. There was more to mothering than the physical act of giving birth.

            Covering Gadreel with her robe, Atarah closed her eyes and buried her face in his soft curls, breathing in his scent as he slept against her. Content to trust Shua to keep watch, she relaxed against the arm of the bench and drifted into a contented sleep.

*******           

            The distant rumble of an earthquake awakened Atarah. She bolted into a sitting position, heart racing. Her arms tightened around the baby. “Help me protect him!”

The earth heaved under her. She clenched Gadreel ’s small body. Bushes and flowers thrashed about as though shaken by a giant hand. The distant shouts of slaves mingled with the crack of rock against rock. Gadreel gripped her neck and shrieked in terror.

            Atarah struggled to rise, but fell to the ground still clutching the baby. Rolling earth tossed the now-empty bench from side to side. She scanned the garden for shelter. Water sloshed from the pool around the fountain. Was that Shua screaming? Unable to think, Atarah stared blankly at the wet sheen on the mosaics around the fountain.

            A shadow sliding across the pavement wrenched her back to reality and her gaze jerked upward. In slow motion, the huge dragon fountain pivoted on its stone pedestal. Wobbling.  Reeling. Atarah threw herself across the baby, shielding him. She heard her own voice scream. “God of Noah!”

            As though in response to her words, a loud crack! from a large tree near the fountain smacked a thick branch into the side of the dragon and the earthquake ceased abruptly. The creature tottered and plunged downward toward her. She closed her eyes and braced herself. 

There was a crash when the statue hit. Erie stillness followed.

            Atarah opened her eyes and lay still, stunned. The dragon’s tail arched harmlessly over her midsection, a finger’s width above her. The body of the dragon lay smashed in three pieces on either side of her. Gadreel squirmed beneath her. Alive! Tears sprang to her eyes, “Thank you,” she whispered. She shimmied from under the statue and freed Gadreel . “Shua?” she hissed.

            “Over here.”

            Gadreel shrieked and clung to her. His arms wound tightly around her neck.

            Father’s voice called from the house. “Atarah! Nympha!”

            Atarah rolled away from Gadreel. Shua, a deep cut across her arm, snatched the baby from his aunt and ducked through an arch in the wall.

“I’m all right,” Atarah called back.

            “We’re okay!” Her sister’s voice came from her upstairs bedchamber.

*****

            In the entry, Mother sat on the staircase, dazed. Dust and the odor of plaster hung in the air. Large chunks of the brightly painted ceiling were strewn about the tiled floor. Atarah could see an enormous crack running vertically up the frieze of Gug on a wall in the Room of Candles. Father barked directions. Slaves scuttled about cleaning up the mess.

            The slave Dagaar brought Mother a drink to settle her, then handed a silver goblet filled with the ruby liquid to Atarah. She tried not to give him the satisfaction of looking at him, but he hung onto her goblet until she had to glance up. Menacing dark eyes held hers while he reported to Father. “No household slaves were injured.”

Atarah withdrew her gaze.

“What about Gadreel ?” asked Father.

Before anyone could answer Father’s question, Shua descended the stairs with the babe in her arms. The rag she had wrapped around the cut on her arm was soaked with blood. Atarah noted she appeared shaken but well. “He’s not hurt.”

The baby had stopped crying, but when he spotted Atarah tears welled up again and flicks of anguish sparked red in his lavender eyes. He held out chubby hands arms for her. She looked away knowing she dare do nothing else in front of Father. Gadreel began kicking his legs and screaming. Her heart broke. How must her apparent rejection make the sweet little guy feel?

Mother sipped her wine and nodded to Dagaar when he dipped his head and exited the room.

            Coming from the third floor, a giggling Nympha, her hair piled high with braids and curls intertwined with strands of pearls, strolled down the stairs on the arm of a Nephal. How could anyone who had just survived a disaster look so perfect? And be so happy.

Atarah was careful to avoid looking at the Nephal. It was the only way to shield herself from his hypnotic powers. She wondered idly if the monster’s charm had prevented her sister from noticing the earthquake.

            Nympha stopped halfway down the stairs and surveyed the damage. “What a mess!” she said.  “This won’t prevent the ceremony, will it?” She smiled and tapped her son’s nose with her forefinger, blowing him a kiss as she passed. He fussed louder.

            The Nephal ran the back of his hand over the baby’s fingers. “You’re okay, little guy.” Zaquiel! Why was Nympha with Gadreel’s father again?

            “We’ll still hold the celebration tonight,” Father said.  “Gadreel is fine.”

            “What celebration?” Atarah asked. 

            “Take the boy upstairs,” Father instructed Shua. As they exited, a screaming Gadreel twisted his body, stretching out his arms to Atarah.

            The Nephal reached out to stroke each of the baby’s toes in turn. “You’re my little guy.”

            Bile rose into Atarah’s throat. The baby had never even met his father before. Why was the Nephal here today?

Father raised his eyebrows and indicated Atarah’s nearly full goblet. “Drink it. The wine will calm you.” Atarah obediently lifted the goblet to her lips, grateful that Father no longer seemed so angry. Maybe some good had come from the earthquake.   

“How can we continue with the celebration as though nothing happened?  Where would we put our guests?” Mother wrung her hands. Misery added wrinkles and years to her countenance.

            “The severity of the earthquake only proves that plans must go forward. The slaves can clean this up in a few of hours. Dagaar!” Father barked. “How are dinner preparations?”

            The slave appeared miraculously at Father’s side. “I’ve checked the kitchen. A few dishes broke and some food was ruined, but things are basically intact. There will be surricient food and wine.”

            “Are there enough slaves to serve?”

            “Yes. Only one was killed.” Dagaar cast a sideways smirk at Atarah and a chill shivered through her. He knew something.

 Father helped Mother to her feet and she clung to his arm. “Well…I suppose our guests’ houses were damaged, too.”

“I’m sure they were. They’ll understand if our home isn’t in perfect order. Unusual times call for unusual action,” Father said.  “Tonight’s ceremony is all the more urgent now; we must appease the gods.”

An uneasy feeling grew in Atarah’s stomach.

“Even the earth is out to ruin my big day,” Nympha complained. Zaquiel leaned over and kissed her pouting lips. She twinkled up at him. 

Atarah always did her best to stay clear of all Nephilim because she didn’t understand the strange sway the handsome creatures held over women. She sensed evil in them. The city’s inhabitants worshipped them as gods and, though Atarah didn’t believe they were gods, she suspected they were not human. Any time her thoughts lingered momentarily on one she could feel desire rise in her. Her solution: Don’t look at a Nephal. Don’t talk to a Nephal. Don’t even think about a Nephal. And don’t listen to one chat with Nympha. Then they couldn’t have their way with her.

“I need to go rest.” Atarah said.

Mother and Father exchanged glances.

“Come with me, Atarah,” Father said.

She followed Father to his library, lightheaded with dread.

He closed the door behind them. “I’m afraid I have some bad news. I’d like to ease into this, but there is a lot to do in the next few hours, so listen and don’t speak.” Fear coiled around her heart. She tried to wipe all emotion off her face. She hadn’t had the Dream of Light in a long time and she desperately needed it. The Light always kept her from fear for several days.

“Obviously you have determined not to obey me and go to the temple.” Restrained anger rippled beneath his words though his demeanor still appeared calm. “Mother thinks if you pretend you went to the temple, no one will ever know. At first I disagreed with her, but now with the confusion brought on by the earthquake, I tend to agree. I think everyone will be so consumed with their own troubles they’ll forget all about you and the temple.”

            She should feel relieved, so why didn’t she?

            “One of the reasons for tonight’s celebration was so everyone could congratulate you on your big step. It would have boosted my business, but obviously that’s pointless now.”  He narrowed his eyes and they bored into her. “Still, if anyone asks about about the experience you will lie and tell them how wonderful the worship was. Do you understand?”

            “Yes.”

            “Good. I don’t think there’s any way they will find out the truth.

Dagaar is most trustworthy. Now,” Father tented his fingers and tapped them against his mouth.  “I have been lenient up to this point. You didn’t want to obey me. I let you have your way.” The deadly look in his eyes chilled her. “So instead, Gadreel will be sacrificed to Ninlel.”

            “No!” Atarah gasped as an image of the hideous grinning fertility god gobbling up her precious Gadreel flashed through her head.

            “You made that choice when you disobeyed.”

His icy tone raised gooseflesh on Atarah’s arms. Desperation mingled with bitterness prickled down her spine and she shivered uncontrollably. “I’m sorry! I was wrong! I’ll go to the temple. I want to. Right now! I promise. Don’t let them take Gadreel!” Atarah begged like a bad child trying to avoid punishment. “I should have obeyed you. I will from now on.”

“You’re too late. Gadreel belongs to Nympha and Zaquiel. Not you. She made the decision to dedicate her son and you have no say in it. This is not easy for her either. The poor thing is suffering over this.”

The room swirled around Atarah.

“Don’t look so shocked. Gadreel was born for this.”

“No!”

“You could have forestalled this by simply doing your duty.” Father’s voice thickened with emotion and he paused before turning away abruptly. He cleared his throat. “The entire city is grateful for Nympha’s generosity. I can’t tell you how proud of her I am.” 

Atarah felt as though a claw had reached in and ripped the still-beating heart from her body. As though she participated in an ugly temple rite. The heavy fog closing around her made it difficult to concentrate.

With his back to her, Father continued speaking. “We’ve invited the most influential people of the community here for a celebration tonight. The actual sacrifice to Ninlel will take place in ten days.” He squared his shoulders and turned to level his gaze at her. “Feeling drowsy?”

His words sounded garbled and her tongue grew thick in her mouth. Someone stepped from behind a curtain and gripped her arms, keeping her erect.

“I’m sorry.” Father’s voice held uncharacteristic regret. “I couldn’t afford to have you make a scene. So Dagaar suggested slipping a sedative into your drink. It will be easier for you this way. You will sleep for the next couple of weeks and when you wake up it will all be over.”

Father drooped like an aging empty wineskin. “He’s my grandson, you know.” He straightened himself and lifted his chin. “Even though he’s . . . who he is. Consecration gives his life purpose. It has to be done. Take her to her chambers, Dagaar.”

“Gadreel. My precious lamb.” Atarah didn’t know if she whispered the words or simply thought them. 

           

© Jeannie St. John Taylor