Chapter Thirty-Seven

Ark of Safety

“On the very same day Noah and his sons, Shem and Ham and Japheth, and the three wives of his sons with them entered the ark. And the rain fell upon the earth forty days and forty nights.”  Genesis 7:13,12

            Atarah huddled under the branches of a low hanging fir and pulled her robe about her, alone in a frightening forest. In the underground complex temperatures had remained constant and comfortable, but in this forest an unearthly chill had rolled in with the darkness. The shrill chirping of crickets which pulsed rapidly at dusk, gradually slowed with the falling temperatures until the sound died away completely. Now she heard nothing except the scuttling of unknown creatures and distant howling.

            She shivered, hastening the light of dawn.

            Splintered trees stripped of bark and limbs marched up this cursed mountain. The tree sheltering her was the only one sporting branches of green on the entire slope. Everything else hung on in ruins. Since an earthquake couldn’t cause this kind of devastation, the most logical explanation for the destruction must be the ark built on top of the mountain. The gods intended to obliterate all signs of Noah and his ark.

She assumed the man who rescued her must be one of Noah’s sons, and that led her to believe he planned to take her to the ark for safety. But the ark was no safer than her city or this mountain. In her exhausted state all the horror stories drilled into her about Noah’s ark from her youth had come rushing back and she couldn’t erase them.

They’d tormented her when Noah’s son came looking for her as she hid in a shallow cave behind falling water. He poked his head into the cave, calling her name, but instead of answering she curled into a fetal position, weeping silently. He couldn’t see her in the dim recesses of the cave. She stayed there until her soaked clothes rendered her so cold she was forced to leave to dry them.

She wondered if she should have at least let him know she was alive. Some part of her chided herself for not appreciating the risk Noah’s son took for her, but she couldn’t force herself to feel too badly. She no longer cared about anything. The bronze god, assisted by the priests and Zaquiel, had reached inside and ripped out her very essence. She felt raw. Empty.

Gadreel was gone. The Light was gone. And Shua was gone.

Shua, her slave, her friend, her betrayer, her protector.

And Mother. An image of Mother turning her back on Gadreel flashed into Atarah’s head. She would never forgive Mother. Though Mother still lived, she was dead to Atarah.

How could Atarah ever come to terms with any of those things? She wanted nothing more than to sink into oblivion. But because her death would mean victory for Dagaar, she refused to die.

Atarah pressed back against rough bark. She smelled pitch and moist earth in the air whistling through her one unclogged nostril. Her robe still clung damply to her arms, but her clothes no longer dripped and her tunic was surprisingly clean. Though she shivered from the cold, her face was hot and her brain felt thick and solid when she tried to figure anything out. She needed sleep, but frigid wind and agonizing thoughts kept her awake.

She’d heard Dagaar and his cronies searching the woods for her after the rhinos chased them away. Once darkness fell she no longer picked up any of their noises, but they’d start again at first light. With only a few hours remaining until dawn, she still couldn’t decide on a course of action. Her head ached trying to figure it out.

She saw only two choices: Dagaar or the ark. Neither sounded good. She would rather die than suffer horrors at Dagaar’s hand. Conversely, the vague dangers lurking inside the ominous structure at the top of the hill also terrified her. After meeting Noah and his son she wanted to believe the rumors false, but couldn’t shake her fear. Maybe she could find her way around the ark and down the other side of the mountain. Despite all the eruptions there had to be places left where she could live.

Through the crisp darkness, light filtered into Atarah’s hiding place and flowed around her. The Dream! But she wasn’t asleep. She closed her eyes and welcomed the intense Light, relaxing into the warmth and comfort like a weaned child cradled in her mother’s arms.

The voice of many waters seemed to whisper her name, “Atarah.”

Yes. Had she thought the word or spoken aloud? Had the Light spoken aloud?

“I call you by name. I name you though you do not know me.”

Who are you?

“I AM the God of Noah. The One True God. I AM the first and the last, the Creator. Before me no God was formed, nor shall there be any after me. Besides me there is no God.”

A sense of belonging, coursed into Atarah but memories that the Light had abandoned her rode in on the back of her gratitude. Why had the light left?

“I am with you always, even unto the ends of the earth. I will never leave you or forsake you. I will take you by the hand and keep you.”

It was true. She had pushed the Light away, but it came back again when she needed help. Probably was with her all along even though she had stopped feeling.

“You are precious in my eyes, and I love you. I am doing a new thing. Do you not perceive it? Don’t be afraid to enter my ark of safety. I have redeemed you. I will pour out my Spirit on your offspring and my blessings on your descendants.”

No! Gadreel was dead. She would never have children.

With that thought, the Light vanished. Suddenly alone and chilled to the bone, Atarah wondered if she had imagined the whole thing. Was she hallucinating because of the cold?  

“Check under that tree.” Dagaar’s voice. Stark reality set in. Her chest tightened and she stopped breathing. Heart thundering, she slid cautiously forward on her bottom and peered through the branches. Dots of light approached her tree from downhill.   

“Wait!” Dagaar called out. “Something moved over there.” In response, the lights veered off in the opposite direction.

Her survival instincts kicked in and violent trembling seized Atarah. The men would be back as soon as they realized they’d erred. They’d probably mistaken an animal for her. She had to leave. Now! Scrambling from under the tree, she fought away branches slapping her in the face and started up the hill on numb tingling feet. Soon, swearing from the direction in which the men disappeared told her they’d already discovered their mistake.

“Over there! Go!” They’d spotted her.

Aware that her white robe made her nearly glow-in-the-dark visible she briefly considered discarding it for the slightly-darker blue tunic she wore underneath, but decided that action would slow her down. A stick whacked her ankle, throwing her to the ground. She jumped up and started forward on wooden legs, angling up and toward the trail she’d left before dark. Shouted threats spurred her on. Running should be easier on the smoother ground, if she could find it. She fell again and jumped to her feet once more, the blood flowing now. She prayed the darkness hadn’t confused her sense of direction, hoped the rumors she’d heard about the ark proved false.

No. She wouldn’t thinly hope against hope. She would believe the rumors were false. She firmly believed Noah’s God had spoken to her and she would not be afraid to go to the ark. What had God called it? “My ark of safety.” She’d turned away from him again when she doubted his words about offspring, but now she knew he was still with her. Always would be with her even when she couldn’t feel his presence. She would run to his ark.

Her feet found the path and she ran faster. Heated from the exertion, she again wanted to toss aside her heavy robe. Even with her increased speed, the men shortened the distance between them. Torch-flames grew larger. The shouting sounded closer. Accustomed to stamina acquired as a result of strenuous work, the men had the added advantage of torches to light their way and keep them from tripping. They would catch her in no time. Her breath came in rasping sobs.

At the top of the trail she continued forward, following the path. She couldn’t see the ark in the dark, but prayed the trail led that direction. Despite a valiant effort, she moved slower and the men pounded closer. She heard their breathing, smelled the foul odor.

Staggering on rubbery legs, she couldn’t keep going unless God sent a miracle. “God of Noah, help me!”

Suddenly, an enormous hulk loomed out of the darkness ahead. The ark! The sheer size of it stunned her and, almost supernaturally new energy surged through her. The ark seemed to pull her forward. She flew along, light as a feather. As she got closer, she could make out the shape of an opening at the top of the ramp broad enough for all the men chasing her to go through shoulder to shoulder. She ran to it. As she plunged through, she glanced back.

The men holding torches had stopped at the base of the rise leading to the ramp, afraid.

She entered a dimly lit corridor and a palpable sense of peace enfolded her, thick and smooth like cream whipped with honey. She breathed deeply through mysteriously-clear sinuses. When the comforting aroma of aged pitch and cedar welcomed her, Atarah hugged herself and burst into tears of relief and joy. “Thank you God of Noah!”

A menacing shout from Dagaar stopped her in her tracks. “Atarah!” Her back stiffened. “Listen to me Atarah!” Staying in the shadows, she peeked carefully out the door. The group hadn’t moved. “Do you think Noah’s God is going to protect you in there?” His cruel laughter prompted guffaws from the men around him. “Who do you think told me to chase you here? Noah’s God. He knows you’re evil and he wanted you trapped in that place.”

Atarah wanted to flee further into the ark, but she couldn’t force her body forward.

“Come out to me, Atarah. I’ll take good care of you. I protect the things that belong to me.” Dagaar’s slimy tone reminded her of a gliding serpent. “I’m not the one you should fear. You’ll find that out soon enough.”

With Dagaar’s taunts ringing through the corridor at her back, Atarah fled the sound of his voice. She passed door after closed door, down one stairway and up another. She had completely lost her bearings by the time she paused to catch her breath and, to her surprise, realized that being lost on God’s ark felt good.

It was baffling that two labyrinths could feel so different. Dagaar and Zaquiel belonged to the dark tunnels swirling with evil beneath the city. Noah and his son who rescued her belonged to this peaceful place.

She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, her mouth curled upward in a smile. The presence of Noah’s God hovered around this place and he would not permit evil here. With a certainly she didn’t understand, she knew her God would not allow Dagaar aboard. She had no idea how God would stop the fiend, but he would. She remembered the men still standing outside the ark afraid to enter. God had already stopped them.

She started walking again, feeling safe. And tired. Occasional torches dotting the corridor illuminated the way sufficiently to keep her from stumbling, but she would need stronger light to see inside the rooms if she planned to find a place where she could  spend the rest of the night. Atarah lifted a lighted torch from a wall sconce. Was the family occupying this place tonight or were they sleeping in a home somewhere? 

She shivered, suddenly conscious that her body heat was dropping rapidly since she stopped running. She removed her still-slightly-damp robe and draped it over her arm. Bringing the torch close she held a hand palm-out beside the flame, warming herself. She needed to find a place soon. 

Easing open a door, she held her torch inside. Piles of a yellowish-white substance climbed nearly as high as the ceiling, sparkling and dancing in the light. What in the world? Curiosity overcame her and she stepped inside to test it with a forefinger. When she touched the finger to her tongue she tasted salt. Noah had filled this room with the preservative.

The next doors opened to all manner of storage. Barley and oats filled one room. Rice was in the room next to it. Wooden boxes had been stacked to the ceiling in another. When she lifted the top of a near one she found it brimming with seed. Though the exotic opulence Atarah had grown up taking for granted didn’t exist here, every room overflowed with natural delights. Aromatic dried plants hung from the rafters in her favorite one – lavender, roses, sage, yellow marigolds, purple statice and hibiscus. She breathed in the heavenly fragrance for a few moments before continuing on her quest for a soft place to rest, confident she’d find something comfortable.

Atarah forgot her exhaustion and explored eagerly. The ark was a fantasy. Who could have dreamed of a boat on a dry mountain filled with treasures of food and exotic dried plants? The more wonders she stumbled across the more clearly she understood that Noah truly believed his dire warnings to her people. He believed a giant Flood would wipe them all out if they didn’t come onto the ark with him, and he had spent his life preparing to survive the waters. Surprisingly, he really had built his boat large enough to house thousands of people for the duration of the deluge. His invitation to the citizens of her city was not an empty one.

Straight ahead, a wall blocked off the hallway. The door set in the middle of it caught Atarah’s attention. Someone had carved vines and pomegranates into the surface, making it look like a place intended for human habitation. Though slightly apprehensive about snooping uninvited through someone else’s private space, especially when they might be sleeping, Atarah eased open the door.

She’d correctly guessed the purpose of the place. 

In front of her, a large room displayed everything a family might need to live comfortably. Several doors, including the one framing her, were set in each of its four walls. Like the temples under the city, a fire pit situated near the center of the room seemed intended to radiate heat through the space – only this one was covered with a metal covering. Maybe the metal enabled the fire pit to function as an oven. The acrid aroma of smoke still hung in the room and the space felt comfortably warm, but that was the only similarity between this room and the underground.

She deliberately bumped into a chair and scraped the wooden legs across the floor, announcing herself. When no one appeared, she knocked loudly on one of the doors. No one answered her knock. The place must be empty. Though she felt a little bad about snooping, she could look around without disturbing anyone.

A polished plank floor ran the length of the room in smooth lines under a long table flanked by benches. Chairs stood at each end of the table. Beyond the table, a loom with a half-woven blanket in shades of yellow and orange adorned one side of the room. Skeins of yarn and fibers of all colors poked out of baskets on the floor beside it. Atarah couldn’t help thinking of Mother.

One wall held all manner of bronze musical instruments. Atarah’s favorites included two flutes and a harp. Both tallow candles and beautifully-decorated oil lamps were set into niches at eye level. Every lamp, pot on the floor and cooking utensil on the walls had been fastened securely in place. Sturdy wooden crates were fastened to the floor with decorative bronze plates and held every useful object imaginable, from large pots to additional pillows to eating utensils. Each box had been custom-built to fit the object it held. Atarah shoved against one to see if it would move. She couldn’t budge it.

Waist-high shelves topped with an oiled wooden work surface apparently intended for food preparation or mending broken objects spread across another wall. The doors separated the shelves at regular intervals. Identical shelves occupied the opposite wall, bisected by an alcove holding an elegant desk inset with several types and shades of hardwood which someone had carved with a grape and leaf design. Corbels with matching grape clusters decorated the corners at the entrance to the alcove where the ceiling met the walls. Four lidded pottery vessels nearly as large as water-pots clustered beside the desk.

Everything in this room, from the desk to the pottery to all the items stored on the shelves below the work surfaces were secured by wooden bars or set in barred enclosures built specifically for them. Even the four sets of benches facing each other around the space had been secured to the floor.

It appeared Noah expected violent movement once the Flood commenced, and he’d made certain his ark would remain intact through the entire cataclysmic event. Only the harmless pillows on the benches were free to tumble freely in a storm. Well, he’d had plenty of time to do the planning and building. Mother said he’d been working on it for a hundred and twenty years.

Mother.

Gadreel.

Shua.

Atarah sank onto the bench and allowed herself the luxury of giving in to dark grief for a few moments. Then she stood erect, squared her shoulders and distracted herself by opening doors while she fought away the unbearable emptiness.

The door directly across from the one she’d entered led to another hallway. Three of the doors opened to simple homey bedrooms, all vacant. Supplies and work implements occupied other rooms. Row after row of sweet-smelling firewood crammed one room, rising all the way to the ceiling. Noah’s family would stay warm if the weather turned cold.

Another room contained stores of all sorts of preserved foods. The largest side-room housed a blacksmith shop and tools. Another held a pottery wheel. But the most unbelievable space was a large bathroom tiled with white stone and completed with a flushing-trough commode and shower, just like the homes in her city. She pumped a spout over the hands-cleansing bowl. No water. Well, of course not. They expected the Flood would bring in the water.

With the excitement wearing off, grief niggled at the edges of Atarah’s mind and squeezed her heart. Fatigue weighed her down. She could barely keep her eyes open.

The bedrooms beckoned, but she refused to take advantage of Noah and his family. She’d collect the pillows from two benches and sleep quite comfortably on the floor. As she gathered pillows, she noticed that she’d missed the last door. Unable to resist the unknown, even in her exhausted state, curiosity won and she opened the door.

This bedroom with its four-poster linen-covered bed and carved walls took her breath away. Who had crafted this room? Obviously the same person who’d made the desk and the main door.

The pottery jars lining the wall were exquisite. Atarah had never seen their match in the expensive pots Father imported. She’d never seen anything so magnificent as the colors of the pillows on the bed. Silk, weren’t they? She caressed the fabric. Unable to resist, Atarah tossed her robe on the floor by the bed to keep from soiling the beautiful covers and crawled in between silky sheets. She closed her eyes and snuggled into the sumptuous feather mattress.

She had no idea how long she’d slept when something startled her awake. Her eyes snapped open and her mind tripped and jumbled at the sight before her.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Time to
Depart 

“For in seven days I will send rain on the earth forty days and forty nights, and every living thing that I have made I will blot out from the face of the ground. On the very same day Noah and Noah’s sons, Shem, Ham and Japheth and Noah’s wife, and the three wives of his sons with them entered the ark.” Genesis 7:4, 13

Shem crawled out of bed and crept through the dark house. Closing the front door behind him to avoid waking the family, he pulled on an outer garment and made his way around the back of the house through the blustery wind to the small work building that housed his kick wheel. For hours he’d tried to relax and catch a few winks before tomorrow’s mad activities kicked in, but his mind wouldn’t stop churning.

Once inside the shop he lit a torch, grabbed a handful of wet clay from a lidded vat, pounded the pliable mud into a ball and slammed it down onto the revolving wheel head. Throwing pottery always settled his thoughts. He pushed against the gritty gray mass with the heel of his hand, centering the irregular lump as he mulled over the events of the night before. Breathing deeply of the pleasant aroma of damp earth, he wondered when he would smell clay again.

Shortly after he had arrived home well after dark, Father informed him that the rest of the family had gone to bed early because God had spoken again. He had instructed Father to tell the family to begin final preparations for the Flood at dawn the next morning – which was a couple of hours from right now. They were to carry all provisions not yet aboard and all personal items they might need onto the ark. Because this final time before the Flood would require long work hours, the family would remain on the ark while the remainder of the animals boarded. Then, one week later, God himself would shut the door locking the family inside.

The news so shocked Shem that he decided not to bother Father by telling him about Atarah. After Father retired, Shem fought the urge to wake his brothers and ask for help. Eventually, his better self won and he decided against disturbing anyone. Finding Atarah in the dark was impossible. Since his brothers had to be on the ark at first light or disobey God they would not be able to help him in the morning. No one could help Shem search for Atarah now. It was too late.

Choosing to spend this last night in the house with his family rather than on the ark, he went to bed berating himself for his failure. He should have had enough faith in God to try diligently to find Atarah years ago. Losing her was a burden Shem would bear alone.

Shem dipped a natural sponge into water and dribbled the liquid over rotating clay, struggling to sort out details in his head. Exactly seven days from today, Father had said, the windows of heaven would open and the fountains of the deep would burst forth. The earth would be completely covered with water and every living thing on dry land would die. Though Shem had no idea all that the prediction entailed, for the first time in his life he no longer doubted the catastrophe. He believed with every fiber of his being the world as he knew it would end.

In a week.

Seven days.

The world would end!

He shoved against the clay with such ferocity he nearly dislodged the mass from the wheel head. If he couldn’t locate Atarah and convince her of the truth of God’s words, she would never become his wife. She would die. A fresh surge of the panic he had experienced repeatedly over the past couple of days pumped through him. The problem was, yesterday as he searched he had called her name repeatedly, but she didn’t answer. She either couldn’t or wouldn’t.

She must have heard him. Going out to look for her before light this morning would be pointless if she didn’t want him to find her. Yet by dawn it would be too late. At dawn he must enter the ark or disobey Father – and God.

He held the clay steady until it stopped thumping against his palms and revolved smoothly. Thick slip coated his hands. Last night he’d related to Father everything that had happened concerning Atarah. Though sympathetic, the older man had been no help. No help at all. “You did your best,” Father reminded him. “You know she heard you.”

Shem hung his head, reluctant to think about her reasons for avoiding him.  

“She’s afraid.” Father placed a hand on Shem’s arm. “Now it’s up to God. Trust him.”  

Shem opened the lump of clay by dipping his fingers into the center. Had he been wrong to assume Atarah’s husband had turned against her? What if desperation was causing him to covet another man’s wife? He shuddered with disgust at himself. He had believed it was God who spoke to him, pointing out that Atarah would be his wife. Had he been wrong? Suffering from delusions of grander when he imagined that the Only True God would talk to him as well as to Father? It had never happened before.

A protuberance bumped near the bottom of the pot, growing as the walls thinned between his fingers. Unfortunately, the lump had the hard feel of a limestone fragment. He could have gently pricked a bubble and pressed out the air to save the pot, but the bit of hard limestone embedded so close to the base couldn’t be removed without collapsing the entire thing. Shem would eventually have to destroy his creation.

Frustrated, he continued to pull the walls upward even though the flaw inherent in the clay made his efforts pointless. The defect would eventually throw the pot off-kilter and ruin any attempt of forming something useful.

The exaggerated sense of sorrow that passed through him when he thought of destroying his creation brought a wry smile. Was God giving Shem a tiny glimpse into the Almighty’s own grief over the necessity of annihilating his creation? Were the turbulent winds trying to blow away the evil sullying the earth? Were the mountains exploding with long-overdue pent-up righteous anger?

The pot wobbled crazily. He sighed. The fragment. He shook his head and continued to work doggedly, though he understood all his work would end in futility. Even if he managed to produce a pot, the end product would be misshapen. It would have to be because of the hard piece of stone. He might pound the pot into a better form at the nearly-dry leather-hard stage, but the fragment would still explode when fired and destroy the vessel as well as nearby objects in the kiln.

Besides, there’d be no time to fire again before the Flood.

And yet, something inside him burned to bring the vessel to completion. He’d never been able to explain the visceral love he felt for clay. Not even to himself. He fervently loved every pot he created. He hated seeing even one vessel ruined.

The off-balance pot began to flop like a fish in his hands, prompting a sudden decision. Shem would look for Atarah right now. Even though searching in the dark flew in the face of logic.

Before his work could collapse completely, Shem swept the wet clay off the wheel head with his forearm and plunged his hands into a tub of water, cleansing them. If God wanted to direct Shem to Atarah he would find her. There were still nearly two hours left before morning. He strode out into the black night, fighting the blustery wind. Determined he would find her. Had God increased his faith again or was Shem just love-struck and illogical?

As quickly as possible he made his way to the last place he’d seen her. He squinted into the drying wind, praying to find her. He called her name gently. No sounds answered. He screamed for her until his voice limped out as a hoarse whisper.

Still no Atarah.

He climbed upward, hoping she might have tried to find her way to the ark. Nothing.

Pre-dawn shimmered on the horizon by the time he reluctantly headed home to do his duty and help load the ark, emotionally exhausted. He hadn’t gone far when he heard a faint voice. Whirling around, he raced through bare dirt and stone toward the sound.

Past a stand of trees, Shem spotted the flicker of a campfire. He crouched behind a boulder. From that position he could observe the mob who had chased them the day before. Several men sat around the fire eating. The lecherous man with the neck tattoo paced near the fire with his horse as he talked and gestured to his followers. Obviously agitated.

Seeing his frustration, hope that they might not have found Atarah rose again in Shem. Leaning forward, he strained to listen. Though the wind prevented him from hearing most of what they said, it blew a few words his direction. He learned that for some reason the men feared the ark and this mountain, but they had wanted Atarah badly enough to disregard their superstitions.

They’d found her once and lost her again.

Though that news caused Shem’s breathing and heart rate to accelerate, the information that she’d made it through the night without being captured eased his angst only slightly. He feared she might lie injured somewhere and he assumed the men still intended her harm.

The sky grew lighter by the second. Was it possible he still had time to find her?

The homicidal activity around the fire increased as an argument ensued about where to continue their search for Atarah. The tattooed man insisted they circle to the far side of the mountain. Two others, threatening mutiny, thought they should search closer to the ark. Those two stood to leave.

Suddenly, in an ominous twist, the tattooed man rammed a torch into the fire and thrust the flame above his head. “Burn her!” he shrieked. “Burn that cursed ark!” He powered the head of his torch onto the forest floor and the ground blazed to life. Laughing gleefully, the men with him raced across the mountainside touching torches to the ground. The rushing wind pushed the line of fire away from them and up the hillside toward Shem. The fiends intended to burn Atarah to death!

Shem leapt to his feet. “No!”

In the dawning light, the men turned to look at Shem. He could clearly make out the sneering face of the tattooed man. As one, the group pointed toward him and raucous laughter burst from their throats.

“She’s dead!” the tattooed man shouted. “And now you’re dead, too! Neither of you can survive the fire.” Laughing, he wiggled his fingers in goodbye as billowing smoke obscured him from Shem’s view.

Shem knew he spoke truth. All Shem could do now was save his own life by staying ahead of the fire. He sped toward the ark begging God to somehow help Atarah magically emerge from the forest unharmed. If she could just make it as far as the fire-protected expanse surrounding the house and ark she would be safe. He stood on bare dirt in the middle of the recently-harvested linen field between the house and ark, his eyes continually strafing the perimeter of the fire. After a few minutes dawn broke over the skyline and the blaze died down, but there was no sign of Atarah.

Smoke wafted up from the house chimney and breakfast aromas drifted over on the now-gentle wind. Mother was up.

Brokenhearted, Shem turned his back on the scorched smoldering hillside and walked slowly toward the ark. He’d go back to help his family later, after a few minutes alone. Not even the knowledge that the Flood would soon wipe out the evil men who caused Atarah’s death could ease his heartache. He stepped inside the ark and started toward the family quarters. Maybe spending a little time in his room would comfort him.

But before he stepped inside the door to the family quarters, grief pulled him up short. He couldn’t face that place. Not yet. He’d labored for years to craft the perfect living space for his wife without even knowing her identity -- but now he knew. “Atarah.” He reverently breathed her name. She would never see all he’d done for her, never know how much he loved her before he even met her.

The temptation to break free of the ark and look for her one final time seemed more than he could bear. He had no desire for a future without Atarah as his wife. It was possible she was still alive out there somewhere, wasn’t it? Perhaps he could find her before the Flood drowned her and succeeded where the mob had failed.

Suddenly the Flood towered over him as a mortal enemy. Feeling totally helpless, he pounded the corridor wall with clenched fists. He had been instructed to stay and prepare for the Flood with his family. Disobeying that command would mean turning his back on God. Shem must decide who he loved more. God or Atarah. A plea wrenched from the depths of his soul. “God help me!”

Immediately, tranquility flowed from the top of Shem’s head down to the bottom of his feet. He straightened and squared his shoulders. The choice was made. He would remain faithful to God. Lifting his face toward heaven he cried out, “Please punish them, God. I know you will punish them!” Though the words were true, the declaration brought no pleasure and did nothing to diminish his grief. He would never forget her, not even if he lived eight hundred more years.

Shem handed a pail of water to Ham who poured the liquid into a large urn. 

A streamlined version of the water-loading experience from a few nights earlier was in progress at the well by the ark. The winds had died down and a haze of smoke from last night’s fire hung in the mid-day air. With his emotions finally under control, Shem ignored the acrid smell and focused on the task at hand.

The brothers worked as a three-way relay team, pulling buckets from the well, filling urns and hoisting them onto Buzz’s cart. This would be the last water-hauling they’d do. The water taken into the ark today should provide all they needed until the Flood came. The possibility of finally being done with hauling water once and for all was good news. The unfortunate-though-not-surprising bad news: Buzz was not happy.

Shem and Ham cut a wide berth around the camel’s outstretched neck and lifted a water vessel onto the far side of Japheth’s cart. But on the return trip, Shem walked a little too close to the beast’s head and Buzz snapped at his bare arm, missing by a hair. Yelling for the camel to behave, Japheth hurried over, sprung onto the camel’s back and jumped on him with force a couple of times. Buzz slowly rolled his neck around and glared threateningly. If Buzz chose nasty, Buzz would stay nasty.

“Anyone know how those zebras got locked up downstairs?” Ham asked. “They’re already in the stall we set aside for them.”

“I shut them in.” Shem answered Ham’s question without making eye contact. “They were strolling onto the ark pretty as you please about the time I got here this morning.”

“They give you any trouble?”

Before Shem could respond, the entire sky pulsed with light, and at the same instant an ear-shattering bang split the air, vibrating the space around them. 

Shem jumped and clutched the water bucket as though the wooden pail might sprout legs and run away if he loosed his hold. Ham and Japheth stopped in their tracks, mouths agape. “What was that?” Japheth asked in an awed whisper.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Ham exclaimed.

Buzz bellowed and thrashed, showing the whites around his eyes.

His heart still thumping from the terrifying explosion of sound and light, Shem carefully set his bucket on the ground. Water had run down the front of his indigo work garment, leaving a long dark spot. “Is it possible,” he speculated, gazing into the sky, “that God just opened one of the windows of heaven?”

“I don’t see any water.” Ham held his palms up and looked into the sky. “Wouldn’t we see water if he were opening the heavens?”

Again, the clouds throbbed with light, but this time a lengthy rumbling accompanied the light show. “Gotta be connected to the coming rains,” Shem insisted. A picture of Atarah popped into his head unbidden. Though he’d accepted that she was dead, some irrational part of him couldn’t stop hoping she lived. If she was out there would she be frightened? The desire to protect her rose strong. He chided himself for his foolishness and pushed the thoughts away.   

By now the sky rumbled almost without stop. A series of zig-zagging flashes of light streaked downward. With each flash came a loud clap and Buzz bellowed frantically, rocking to free his hobbled legs. Japheth rushed over to him yelling over his shoulder. “Got enough water?”

“One more urn!” Shem shouted.

 “Let’s load this thing and get onto the ark.” Ham whipped into action, plopping another bucket into the well. Father and the women were already on the ark and he obviously hankered to join his wife.

Japheth hopped onto Buzz’s back again in an effort to settle the camel. “Look!” He pointed from his place astride Buzz.

Shem watched a column of wind finger out of the cloud and descend toward the earth. “It’s coming this way! Go!”

Japheth removed the hobble and Buzz bolted for the ark, the cart bumping wildly along with him. The three men followed at top speed. They hurled themselves through the door of the ark just as the whirlwind hit.

Chapter Thirty-Five

An Angry Mob

“And in those days shall punishment come from the Lord of Spirits, and he will open all the chambers of waters which are above the heavens, and of the fountains which are beneath the earth.” Book of Enoch, Section Two 54:7

In three strides, Shem caught the woman around the waist and dragged her, screaming and flailing like a child throwing a tantrum, back to the elephant. He mounted Bavai with the woman in one smooth movement and gave the command to rise. The mob closed in. Loud curses and labored breathing roared in Shem’s ears and the foul body odors of unwashed men stung his nostrils. Shem heaved the woman, sidesaddle, onto the blanket in front of him just behind the elephant’s head.

The tip of a whip flicked Shem’s sandaled foot. Bavai trumpeted and bolted away from the mob without waiting for a command. The elephant’s rapid stride soon left the men behind, well out of whip range, but Shem noticed she now limped and he could see blood flowing from a deep slash down her left flank. Not even an elephant’s thick hide could withstand the sharp swords of evil men. How badly wounded was she? Shem’s heart constricted with fear and he realized again how much he loved this huge beast.

Oblivious to the elephant’s plight, the woman in front of Shem continued to fight and scream, her eyes wild with shock. Her panicked kicking threatened to topple them both over the side of the elephant.

Shem tightened his grip on the young mother. Should he slap her as he’d once seen Father slap a young Japheth? Father’s palm had instantly quelled the hysteria and returned the boy to his senses, but this was a grown woman. He couldn’t strike a woman.

“Stop fighting.” His words rasped directly into her ear between jagged breaths. Shem clutched her with one arm and held the rope with the opposite hand, somehow managing to keep the struggling woman aboard. He watched the men slowly drop away, still shouting threats. The murderous mob turned and rushed back toward the city. They’d soon locate animals that could transport them faster than the wounded elephant carried Shem and his passenger. What would Shem do when the mob overtook them? He had dropped his only weapon during the fray and had no way to defend his elephant or the woman. Not that a stick could do much against swords anyway.

 “Please settle down.” With the crisis averted Shem’s voice was gentle. “It’s a long way down if you fall.”

Sitting sideways in front of Shem, the woman slumped against him. Her hysteria quieted to gasping body-shaking sobs.

“Thank you.” Shem relaxed a little, loosed his hold on her and turned his attention to the elephant.

Even though the men would be on them again soon, he signaled Bavai to slow so he could assess her condition. More than one weapon had left its mark on the elephant’s left flank; several long gashes dripped scarlet blood. A short quick step each time she shifted her forefeet revealed the location of the injured foot. Shem had no idea whether the mob inflicted the injuries while the elephant fought at the bronze statue or later when they caught up to Shem and Bavai on the road.

The elephant slowed even more, but Shem made no attempt to force her faster. She needed rest; she’d have to run again soon enough when the men caught up. Shem stroked her side and shook his head in amazement thinking of the way the beast had outrun the men, old and wounded though she was.     

They limped down the road toward the meadow. Still no one followed. Shem adjusted himself and leaned over to examine Bavai’s right side. The woman, evidentially thinking she’d lost her balance, flung both arms around him and pressed her head into the hollow of his neck, her cheek against his chest. A thrill shivered through him unbidden.

Shem steadied his breathing and held the rope lightly, an arm on either side of the woman. Her cries quieted to light hiccupping whimpers and his heart twisted for her. The poor woman had just witnessed the gruesome murder of her beloved son. Of course she was hysterical. Obviously the mother loved the child and had done her best to save him.

He wondered how the woman at the sacrifice and the Nephal had gotten control of the young mother’s baby. Maybe the Nephal was the father and had made the choice to sacrifice the boy against the mother’s will. Shem shuddered. He’d heard often enough about the eerie sway Nephilim held over human women who, for some reason, were unable to resist the beautiful tall monsters.

Shem shook away the thought and tried to concentrate instead on how he might comfort the woman. The fragrance of her hair made his brain fuzzy.

At an unexpected noise, Shem cast a quick glance behind. Loosened by a recent earthquake, a boulder dropped from midway up the city’s cliff and tumbled to the base of the mountain, but Shem saw no people. He permitted himself a bit of cautious hope. If only Bavai could deliver them safely to the ark before the men showed up again.

A skunk waddled across the road in front of them. The young mother’s quiet moaning rose and fell in a strange undulating pattern that matched the elephant’s stride. Should Shem try to say something to comfort her? He had no idea what that might be.

 “You all right?” he asked finally. Stupid question. Of course she wasn’t all right.

The head tucked under his chin jerked a nod of assent, but the sobs and groaning continued without interruption. Shem chided himself for noticing the soft curves of her body.

A pair of rust-colored okapi stirred the leaves of a low tree near the road ahead. Shem had never seen one of the animals before, but he recognized them from Father’s description. Short skin-covered horns poked from the head of one, evidentially the male. The rumps and front legs of both animals sported snazzy zebra-like stripes. As Shem watched, the male twitched one large ear and reached up to snag a purple fruit from the tree. The female rotated to gawk at Shem while she very deliberately licked an eyelid with her long black tongue.

At any other time, the spectacle would have elicited a belly laugh from Shem, but

faint shouts drifting down the mountain on the breeze immediately chilled the agreeable feeling. The okapi tensed. They’d heard, too. Reluctantly, Shem gave the command for Bavai to walk faster. The elephant immediately obeyed. 

“No!” The woman sat straighter in his arms. “She’s injured.”

A new respect for the woman surged through Shem. In the midst of all her trouble she had taken note of his elephant’s pain. He wanted to explain that if Bavai didn’t hurry all three of them would soon be killed, but he had no breath for extraneous words so he said only, “The mob.”

The woman leaned out to look at the road behind then met Shem’s eyes. “I see them.” Even with sapphire eyes widened by terror and her face swollen and splotchy from crying, she was stunning.

Shem tore his eyes from her to appraise the approaching mob. The men appeared small in the distance, but riding swift camels and horses they’d catch the trio in no time unless Bavai traveled faster. Could she? He’d given her time to rest, but her wounds already bled harder with the renewed effort. Sorrow enveloped Shem like a dark cloud as he urged the elephant forward. Though he patted her back and spoke gentle words to her, he couldn’t shake the feeling he might be killing her.

The woman again dipped her head and pressed into him, weeping silently. The curses and shouts grew louder. By the time Bavai plowed into the grass at the edge of the meadow, Shem could clearly see the faces contorted with rage and hear every murderous threat.

“You’ll never escape me!” The frightening fellow with the serpent tattoo led the crowd on a sleek black stallion, shrieking threats at the woman. His robe flapped open and Shem could see the serpent tattoo continuing onto his chest where it entwined with other reptilian creatures engaged in unspeakably lewd actions with human women.  An evil grin twisted the man’s face. “You belong to me now, Atarah!”

Shem felt the woman go slack and the arms clutching him flopped limply. He dropped the rope with his right hand and grabbed the unconscious woman around the waist to keep her from falling. Guiding the elephant with only his left hand while keeping both himself and the woman balanced, sapped Shem’s strength and made breathing difficult.

Or was he breathing rapidly because of the nearness of the woman?

Atarah. He allowed himself a moment for her name to flow through him.

Bavai’s gait slowed and her limp grew more pronounced. Shem snapped back to attention. In her uninjured youth, Bavai could have outpaced any horse. But today? The man on the black stallion was closing in and the rest of the men followed close behind.

The grasses thinned. The trio would exit the meadow and start up the trail to the ark in no time. Shem shouted for his faithful elephant to move faster, forcing his words past the regret and sadness lodged in his chest. She did as he asked, but her moans and labored movements broke his heart. The woman in his arms roused, enabling him to loosen his grip on her and concentrate on the elephant. But it was no use. Moments later, weakened by loss of blood and advancing age, the elephant slowed again.

Shem snapped out an order for Bavai to sit. “We have to get off before she collapses.” Shem explained to the woman making no effort to disguise the urgency in his voice.

Atarah nodded blankly.

Before Bavai could lower herself all the way to the ground, Shem flung one arm around the woman’s waist and grabbed her hand. “Jump!” He heaved her off with him.

They hit the ground running. Shem pulled the woman behind him, dragging her away from the men and toward his mountain. He knew every inch of this place. If they made it to the trees before their pursuers caught them, they could hide until dark. Once the mob called off the search, Shem would lead her safely to the ark.

They managed to get only a few strides past the elephant when, out of the corner of his eye, Shem saw several fluffy plumes of pink pampas grass suddenly begin to dance, and what he had assumed to be piles of gray ash between the grasses and a shallow pool of water, lifted and morphed into a pair of raging rhinos. The chance of outrunning men on horseback was slim. Outrunning rhinos would be impossible.

“God of Noah, help us,” she cried out.

Shem stepped between Atarah and danger, pushing her toward the line of trees. “Hide in the forest!” With his back to her, he squared his shoulders and planted his feet, prepared to protect his future wife against rhinos or men, whichever attacked first. Her prayer proved he had finally found the woman he’d searched for his entire life and he would not let her die -- even if he had to fight off rhinos and men with his bare hands.

Shem faced the approaching mob. The rhinos thundered toward him from the left. Directly in front of him, between Shem and the horsemen, so close he could smell the blood oozing from her wounds, Bavai rocked back and forth, valiantly struggling to rise to her feet. The rhinos would attack the elephant if they perceived her erratic movements a threat. He would not let that happen.

Without hesitating, Shem waved his arms and ran shouting past the elephant, on a collision course with both the men and the rhinos. At the sight of him, the rhinos unexpectedly changed course and ran directly toward the men, their massive bodies propelled on stubby legs at unimaginable speeds. The black stallion reared on its hind legs with a loud snort, nearly throwing its rider. The instant its front hooves touched the ground, the horse took off at a gallop. The remainder of the mob reacted with confusion, cursing and screaming as they fled. Shem’s last glimpse of them revealed horses, camels and armed men still en route to the city, chased by two rhinos that gave no indication of slowing.

Miraculous.

Shem shook his head, a bemused smile playing across his features. Not only had he found his wife, her prayer to the One True God had saved both their lives. He didn’t know much about her yet, but he knew with certainty that God had stirred the rhinos in answer to Atarah’s plea for help. He knew God had directed him to her.

Shem briefly examined Bavai and encouraged her to her feet, leading her toward the mountain where his beautiful future wife was hiding. Waiting for him. He shot a prayer of gratitude heavenward.

But several hours later, he still hadn’t located Atarah. And when night fell, with no hope of finding her in the darkness he was forced to head home without her. He’d convince his brothers to help him search at first light.