Chapter Twenty-One

If this is your first time reading with us, go to the archives at right, click the second arrow and the title Chapter One will drop down. Double click on that chapter and read it first, then proceed with the remainder of the book in order by clicking down the arrows.

Wild or Tame?

“Make yourself an ark of gopher wood. Make rooms in the ark, and cover it inside and out with pitch. This is how you are to make it; the length of the ark 300 cubits; its breadth 50 cubits; and its height 30 cubits. Make a roof for the ark and finish it to a cubit above, and set the door of the ark in its side. Make it with lower, second and third decks.” 

Gen. 6:14

            Hurrying toward the ark with Japheth, Shem worked out a plan for corralling the bears as well as caging the lions he’d seen with Paseah. The problem was that more than two men would be necessary to control the animals. Shem was still trying to figure out how they’d manage without Ham when running footsteps and a bobbing torch sped toward them from the direction of the house. Moments later Ham stopped breathlessly beside them. “Eudocea’s awake and Mother thinks she’ll be fine!”

            Instant relief washed over Shem. Partly because of the news about Eudocea, but also relief at having Ham back. The latter surprised him because he realized he and Ham may actually be friends. Despite all their differences.

            “Why aren’t you with her?” Japheth demanded.

Ham had come to help and Japheth wanted to send him away! Shem’s grimace was lost in the darkness.

“She’s not ready yet.” Through the black night, Ham’s words radiated happiness laced with apprehension. Shem understood. Though a measure of uncertainty remained, Ham had hope.

They continued to the ark with Ham bouncing beside his brothers like a kangaroo who’d munched sugar beets. “Got a little too much energy?” Shem asked.

“Yeah! I need something strenuous to work it off.” Ham laughed and punched Shem’s shoulder.

At the bottom of the ramp, the younger brothers fell into line behind Shem even though the ramp spanned wide enough for elephants to walk side by side. It was a habit formed in childhood and carried out subconsciously by the brothers. In the same way, they all assumed that Shem would come up with a plan for getting the animals into the appropriate stalls.      

So far Shem had nothing. He’d worked with cows and camels and could shear a sheep in his sleep, but he had no experience with wild animals.

Especially dangerous ones.

How could he control the uncontrollable? His palms were beginning to sweat.

“Got any idea how to herd lions?”

Japheth groaned. “Please tell me you’re joking. I know nothing about lions, but I’m relatively certain you can’t herd them.”

“We’ll come up with something,” Shem assured him.

“You better. I just work the fields.”

“I have a feeling you’re going to be saying, ‘I’m just a wild animal handler’ after tonight.” Ham laughed.

Japheth moaned again. “I don’t care how excited you are about your wife. That goofy cheerfulness is gonna wear me raw.”

Shem smiled.

Inside the ark, all the wall torches made it easier to see one another, but Shem still puzzled over how he would get the animals to rooms and cages where he could safely lock them up. Warily on the lookout for lions and bears, the men closed doors as they moved down corridors. Only Shem had thought to shut and lock rooms as he checked for Paseah earlier in the day. All the doors left open by Japheth and Ham left literally hundreds of places to check.

Was it really still the same day? Wow. A fly buzzed past his face and he absently swatted at it.

            “Careful about killing flies in here,” Japheth warned. “The ones by the house are okay, but aboard the ark, well . . .

“Well, what?”

“You don’t want to exterminate an entire species do you?”

            Shem chuckled, then caught a glimpse of his brother’s face. “You’re not kidding.”

            “We’re responsible to keep every creature aboard the ark alive.”

            “A fly?” Shem poked his torch into a doorway and scanned a room stacked with wooden crates before closing the door and barring it. “You really think God cares about one pesky fly?” He wished they could skip checking all the hundreds of rooms on this floor.

            “I hadn’t thought much about flies either until Father said something yesterday. He said God loves even flies.”

            “Oh, come on,” Ham derided him.

            “A fly!” Shem repeated, shocked to find himself agreeing with Ham. “Somehow I doubt that.”

            “Father said God loves every detail of his creation.”

Ham hooted. “If he cares so much about his creatures why would he be planning to destroy everyone and everything on earth?” As soon as he spoke the words, he clamped a hand over his mouth.

Still holding onto the door-bar, Shem gawked open-mouthed at his brother. Ham had accused God. Out loud! Though Shem didn’t think saying bad things rated any higher or lower on the wickedness scale than thinking them, Ham’s words indicting God were blasphemy. Paralyzing fear gripped Shem. “God help us.” He released the bar and the slat thudded into place across the door.

 “God heard you say he doesn’t love his creation!” Japheth muttered through white lips.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never thought that.” Ham laughed nervously, though Shem didn’t find his laughter appropriate. An argument between the two younger brothers ensued. Japheth insisted Ham needed to confess and repent. Ham said God would forgive him. Japheth said Ham didn’t deserve forgiveness. He’s just fortunate God is so gracious and loving that he will forgive Ham if he asks.

Lost in his own thoughts, Shem led them toward the family quarters intending to pick up whips for managing the lions and bears before they went any further. The disagreement between his siblings nattered in the background like the cacophony of Spring Peepers in a swamp. Shem couldn’t stop mulling over Ham’s statement. “Don’t tell me you’ve never thought that.”

Had Shem ever believed God didn’t care about him, especially when God failed to provide a wife? Probably. Had he ever thought of God as uncaring because he intended to destroy the world? Yes. Shem didn’t know if he actually believed that, but he had to admit the thought had flashed through his mind a few times. And stayed for awhile.

The words sounded awful when Ham spoke them, but Shem was guilty too. While believing human mothers always loved their children – their creations -- Shem had questioned whether God loved his creation. Shem had unintentionally placed God on a lower moral level than the human mothers he created. By thinking God cared nothing for his own creation, Shem had effectively labeled God as cruel.

“Forgive me, Lord,” Shem prayed. “I was wrong.”

The argument behind abruptly ceased. “What?” Ham asked.

“Nothing,” Shem replied.

“Not nothing.” Japheth wouldn’t let it go. “You said something.”

Shem glanced into a room packed with dried venison then slammed the door. “Just keep doing your job. You missed that room over there.”

“I think you said something about being wrong.” Ham’s grin exposed his relief at shifting the focus from his flaws to his brother’s.

Finding nothing on the top level, Shem led his brothers through one of the passages that cut perpendicular across the ark. They passed an elevator before descending one of the flights of stairs to the second deck. Steepest of the ark’s stairways, this one was little more than a ladder.

“I was just thinking.” Shem smiled ruefully as the trio began lighting wall torches on the middle level so nothing could sneak up on them, “that I don’t have to know everything about God’s plan. Not even his plan for me. All I need to know is that he has a plan and he’s good and he’ll work everything out for the best. That’s all.” 

Japheth nodded approval.

“Never expected you to turn into Preachy-Japheth-Number-Two,” Ham said.

Japheth snorted in disgust.

Shem opened the door to one of the numerous small storerooms located next to the elevators used for lowering food from storage rooms on the top floor to animals on the bottom decks. “Think you can find whips?”

Japheth went inside and pushed aside a small wheeled wagon used to haul animal-feed before fumbling through a jumble of supplies in a dark corner of the room. After a few moments, he triumphantly lifted three short-handled whips above his head. Intricately braided leather engulfed each handle, extending into a long lash with a single cubit-long leather popper at the end.

Ham accepted a whip from his brother and stepped into the hallway where there was more space. He flicked his wrist and arm. A loud crack sounded from the single length of leather at the end, eliciting a broad grin from Ham. “Any lions or bears catching that boom will march obediently into cages.”

“I hope so.” Shem said. “We might not live through this if they don’t.”

© Jeannie St. John Taylor 

Because this chapter is short, I'll post another by Wednesday. 

Chapter Twenty

Mahli

“Have I any pleasure in the death of the wicked, declares the LORD God,

and not rather that he should turn from his way and live?” Ezekiel 18:22Page 136

            “At l-least I don’t have to g-go right n-now.” Atarah huddled in the corner of the dried-grass bed in the room they’d slept in the night before, her teeth chattering. With knees drawn to her chest and her face buried in her hands she exhaled a hot breath that deflected from her palms to warm her skin. And still she shook. Almost convulsed. Obviously not from the cold. From fear and disgust. Peleg had advised her that his men would fetch her the next afternoon. He planned to allow her a long night of sleep, he had said with a leering grin, so she could be at her best for him the next day.

            At her best for him! She shuddered and pushed away the jar of scented oil the guards he’d stationed outside her door had given her to use after she bathed. 

Over on the opposite bed, Shua bounced a screaming Gadreel. He’d been crying when Tirza brought him to Atarah following their return from the ash storm and, for the first time ever, his distress escalated when Atarah reached for him. He pulled away from her. 

Shua crooned to the baby.

“H-he’s upset because I-I’m upset,” Atarah murmured through her fingers. Not likely. He’d seen her upset many times over the last few days and hadn’t acted like this.

“Can’t you stop shaking? Maybe that will settle him.”

“I-I’m trying.” Atarah gripped the stone sides of the bed, desperately struggling to hold still -- but not because she worried about the noise level. Gadreel couldn’t betray their hiding place -- they were no longer hiding. Peleg had dropped them off at their old room and stationed three of Tirza’s burly men outside the door. Everyone knew their whereabouts.

            Shua lowered her voice and glanced toward the doorway. “We know the way out now. If we can get Gadreel to quiet down maybe we can get away.” She rose to her feet and Atarah noticed for the first time that the rounded ceiling barely cleared the top of her slave’s head. Already hardened by mistreatment at the hands of city-dwellers, Shua seemed only marginally concerned over what Peleg planned to do with her after he finished with Atarah. Sad and hard to comprehend. But commendable that she cared so much for the baby.

            After a few minutes, when Gadreel’s shrieks modified to a whimper and Atarah stopped trembling, Shua moved closer. “See if he’ll come to you now.”

Atarah forced a wan smile and reached over to wiggle each of the baby’s twelve toes in turn. He ducked his head and angled his shoulder up and away from her, leaning into Shua. Ignoring his reaction, Atarah grinned and nuzzled the bottoms of his feet. The baby looked at her doubtfully for a moment then reached toward her with a moist smile. She placed a kiss on the end of his nose and drew him into her arms. He felt so good. She shut her eyes and wrapped him in a tight hug, absorbing his comfort.

He still comforted her even if The Dream no longer did. She admitted she’d misjudged the Light. The “new thing” hadn’t meant losing Gadreel after all. But after giving into her disappointment and rejecting the Light, she hadn’t been able to open herself to it again.

The baby snuggled against her and twined twelve fingers through her hair. He was the same Gadreel. Why had she been afraid? “He’s all right.”

“I know. He’s just never seen you cry.”

“That’s right. I’ve never cried in front of him before.”

“Never.”

“I was just so . . . “             “Scared about Peleg and what’s going to happen to you.” Shua stated almost matter-of-factly.

Atarah absently bobbed her head and stared with out-of-focus eyes. She’d kept  herself pure for so many years and now . . . The familiar nausea thickened in her throat. “I’m scared about a lot of things.”

 “Yeah.”

“Besides, it’s too early for Gadreel to start changing.” Atarah hadn’t realized she’d been worrying about the awful things people claimed about baby giants until she uttered the words. She automatically covered the baby’s fingers with her hands in a protective gesture though she had no idea who she was protecting him from or how hiding his deformity would help.

Her slave studied the floor and chewed her thumb nail. “They do say the babies start changing early.”

“But Gadreel won’t change,” Atarah snapped. She lifted her chin, cloaking herself with a confidence she didn’t feel. Even though she’d thought ill of her mother a thousand times for covering over problems and pretending they didn’t exist, Atarah couldn’t stem the flow of defensive words. “We’ll love him, and when he grows up he’ll grow into a harmless larger-than-life human who loves us in return.”

“Yes.” Shua agreed hastily, but her eyes betrayed her. “He’ll never turn into one of them. He’d never hurt us.”

Atarah suspected that only a lifetime of servitude kept the slave from expressing her true thoughts, but Atarah knew Shua no longer believed in their dreams for Gadreel. The slave expected him to turn into one of the evil giants who had destroyed her village and killed her family.

The knowledge dizzied Atarah. Unable to deny, yet unwilling to admit, that Shua’s fears about Gadreel were founded in reality, Atarah turned away. Immediately, terrifying images of giants and the god Ninlel and the Nephilim and Tirza and the ash storm and Father and Dagaar and the ark streamed through her head. The pictures ended with an image of Peleg’s ugly, twisted smirk.

Her stomach lurched and she abruptly stood. “I’m going to get some water.”

“I don’t like to go out there. Those men scare me.”

“Me, too, but I’ve been cooped up too long. I need to move and get my mind off things.” She didn’t dare allow her thoughts to dwell on Peleg and his rotten-potato breath.

“God of Noah, spare me,” she whispered into Gadreel’s hair. But she knew even as she prayed . . . there was no hope.

Peleg’s men didn’t take Atarah to Peleg the next day as expected. Or the next. Another week passed and another. Still no sign of a summons. She rubbed the scented oil Peleg gave her on the baby and dumped out the rest. “You shouldn’t use the oil either,” she told Shua. “Neither of us want to do anything to make ourselves more attractive to Peleg.” The slave agreed. But they both knew Peleg stank so badly he wouldn’t notice how they smelled.

Each morning the beautiful young woman Atarah had noticed staring at her on their first day with the community brought them a bit of bread and curdled milk. She introduced herself as Mahli. She seemed gentle and timid, different from anyone else they had met in this place. Well-bred, maybe. And young. Atarah suspected that if circumstances were different Mahli might giggle and bubble, but her eyes remained dark pools of sorrow.

Once when the guards briefly moved out of hearing, words burst from Mahli like water over a rapids, rushing out as though she hungered for words she hadn’t tasted in months. She reminded Atarah of Tirza the first night they’d met her. Before Tirza kidnapped Gadreel and her character did an about-face.

Mahli informed them the ash storm had obliterated the crops. The giants had arrived shortly after the storm, hungry and on the rampage, causing the entire underground community to hunker down. As a matter of fact, fleeing to the safety of the cave to escape the storm had probably saved them all from a disastrous encounter with the giants. Since then, the monsters had been fighting to get into the city, but spies reported they hadn’t been able to break through.

Mother! Sharp pain knifed into Atarah, but she shoved the concern to the back of her mind. She couldn’t spend time worrying over Mother when she was powerless to do anything to help. The baby and Shua were her responsibility now.

The giants, Mahli continued, were the reason meal portions had been small and only once a day. But on the plus side, Atarah and Shua had avoided Peleg so far because he’d been occupied with planning what to do in case the giants discovered them.

A guard approached. Mahli’s eyes dimmed and her mouth clamped tight. Timid again. Atarah got the distinct feeling the woman felt some sort of affinity for her. As though they had something in common that Atarah knew nothing about.

Other than Mahli’s brief visits, Atarah saw no one but Shua, Gadreel and the ever-present guards. With nothing else to do, Atarah and Shua took turns entertaining Gadreel any way they could. They rocked him, crossed their legs and jiggled him on their shins. They tickled him and dangled their long hair in front of him until he giggled. He gummed Atarah’s finger and grew crankier by the day. Teething. Poor baby. They made no attempt to keep him quiet.

Late one afternoon, just as Atarah started to think Peleg might have forgotten about her, a stir outside proved otherwise. An angular whiskered face poked into the room. The man snapped a forefinger her direction and jerked his head toward the door. “Come!” A surge of fear ripped through Atarah, buckling her knees as though someone had clipped her from behind. She sat down hard on the bed, unable to breathe.

“I said come!”

With legs too weak to support her, she leaned forward gripping her thighs with white knuckled fingers. Air trapped viselike in her lungs. The man scowled and his eyes narrowed into a threat. He took a menacing step toward her.

“Move! Now! It’s time.”

Before he could say anything further, Mahli appeared magically beside him. “Calm down,” Mahli told him roughly. Elbowing past him she handed a loaf of bread to Shua. “Take care of the baby until I bring her back.”

“What are you doing?” the man asked.

“You’re the one whose been complaining about cranky baby noises. Peleg sent me with a little extra food to occupy him and silence the clamor while his mama’s gone.” With her eyes locked on Atarah’s, Mahli spoke over her shoulder to the guard.  “As long as I’m going that way, I’ll deliver the woman.”

He planted his feet. “Peleg gave me the job and . . .”

“No!” she interrupted sharply. “Peleg sent me for her.” She jutted out her chin and matched his glare with a searing one of her own. “You want to risk Peleg’s displeasure?”

Atarah and Shua exchanged glances. This couldn’t be the same woman who’d been bringing meals.

“She’s all yours.” With a revolting leer, the man crossed his arms and cocked his head, mocking her. “I would never mess with one of Peleg’s girls.”

Mahli blushed and shame briefly flashed over her countenance. She quickly recovered her composure and helped Atarah to her feet. She squeezed Atarah’s hand reassuringly then shoved angrily past the man as she dragged Atarah by the arm through the door and down the corridor. The guard’s voice, thick with innuendo, followed them.

“Just make sure you get the new girl there safely.”

Mahli continued to pull Atarah away from the guards, gripping her arm with the intensity she might use in clinging to a branch high over a rushing stream.

 A hodgepodge of questions and emotions tumbled around inside Atarah. Obviously Mahli knew Peleg in the same way he intended to know Atarah. The woman’s nearly palpable empathy made that apparent. Did Mahli plan to spirit her to safety? As soon as Atarah’s heart lifted at that thought, she remembered the baby and Shua and knew she couldn’t leave them. Besides, there was no safety. Not anywhere.

After a few moments they rounded a corner and Mahli abruptly stopped. She closed her eyes and wrapped herself in a trembling hug. “Give me a minute.” She sucked in a deep gulp of air and held it for several beats before finally exhaling. Then she opened her eyes and gazed miserably at Atarah. “Sorry. I came to try and make it a little easier for you. But then I started reliving everything.” She massaged her forehead. “I’m afraid I’m not very comforting.”

 Atarah studied her. She was beautiful, really, except for the sallow skin with too many wrinkles for one so young. Long lashes brushed her cheeks. Brown hair fell across her shoulders. In a way Atarah couldn’t articulate, Mahli reminded her of a discarded hull. “You took charge back there.”

“Thanks. I was terrified.” Mahli giggled unsteadily. “I attack when I’m scared. False

bravado. I’m not really like that.”

“I appreciated it.” Atarah made no attempt to disguise her admiration.

“I wanted. . . I didn’t want . . . I thought maybe . . . ” Mahli sighed deeply and

started over. “I thought you might feel a little better if you knew that someone else . . . understands. What you’re going through.”

Pity for the girl rushed through Atarah. “You understand because . . .”

“Yes. Peleg.” Crimson rushed up Mahli’s neck. “Regularly. I hate him.”

“I hoped you intended to help me avoid Peleg.”

“I wish.” Mahli lowered her gaze. “There’s no way out of this. Sorry if I gave you false hope.” She started walking again. Very slowly. They moved down the corridor and up a flight of stairs in silence.

“Can you help us leave?” Atarah took care to use the plural so Mahli would understand she couldn’t leave without Shua and the baby.

“I’m sorry.” Wretchedness shone in her eyes. “If there was a way to escape I’d go with you. But there are guards at every exit and the stone seals are so heavy.”

Atarah had already figured as much. She didn’t feel the slightest nudge of disappointment when Mahli told her. She only felt . . . what? Numb. Resigned.

“How can Peleg spare men to watch us at a time like this?”

“He can’t. That proves how determined he is to have you.”

Atarah moved along without feeling the floor. “God of Noah, spare me.” She prayed silently. She must somehow survive this. For Gadreel. “Why didn’t Peleg send for me earlier?”

“I told Hoda his intentions and she’s been keeping him to a short tether.”

“Hoda?”

“Yes. His wife.”

“I know she’s his wife. When we first came . . .” No point in going through that sordid scene again. “I got the impression she already knew.”

“She did. Sort of. She tries not to believe those things about him.” Mahli shrugged. “It’s complicated. Hoda’s not as bad as she seems. She wants to protect us. Sometimes she can. Sometimes she can’t.”

“Us?”

“All the women Peleg . . . claims. Peleg started misusing her when she was still a child and he was already an old man. She’s years younger than she looks. Yet in some twisted way she’s fond of him.”

“She loves him?”

Mahli pushed out her lips thoughtfully. “Maybe something like that. I think she needs him . . . depends on him. I’m not sure. As I said, it’s complicated.” 

            Life in the underground mirrored life in the city; Hoda’s life mirrored Mother’s. “And Hoda just accepts mistreatment,” Atarah mused.

            “She allows the abuse. Sometimes I think she believes she deserves no better.” Mahli let the flat of her hand bump along the wall. “She even lets him beat her. I think that’s part of their unspoken agreement. She submits to that quirky little pleasure of his and he’s willing to forgo pleasures with other women. For a while.”

Atarah didn’t want to hear more, but she did need to map out the route in her mind. While Mahli chattered on, she committed the twists and turns of the tunnel to memory. Until a surprising statement shocked her out of her reverie.

“Crazy Noah is his brother.”

“Noah? Whose brother?” Atarah chided herself for blocking out the conversation.

“My husband’s brother.”

“Your husband?” Atarah stared blankly. Mahli was so young.

“Paseah.” 

            Atarah scrambled to figure out what Mahli was talking about. She was married? Noah had a brother? “I’m sorry, I guess my brain shut down.”

            “Oh, I’m sorry. I should know you can’t think right now.” Mahli’s brow furrowed with distress. “But I kept rattling on and on about myself. I’m so stupid.”

            Atarah caught the faint aroma of bread. They must be almost there. Her heart clenched at the thought, but she pushed fear away. “No, your story will distract me. Start from the beginning and talk fast.” Talking fast shouldn’t be a problem for Mahli.

            “You know who Crazy Noah is? That man who built an ark on the mountain?”

            Engrossed in telling her story, Mahli slowed down. Atarah was only too happy to oblige. They barely crept through the tunnel.

“I was the fourth concubine of Noah’s brother, Paseah. My father sold me to him

before I stood much higher than his waist. I worked in the garden and cooked. Concubines are just glorified slaves, you know.” She glanced at Atarah to see if she understood.

            “I know.” It was amazing how much Mahli’s life reminded Atarah of Hoda’s and Mother’s lives. Atarah briefly wondered if everything came in threes. “You were married to Noah’s brother? Wasn’t he awfully old?”

            Mahli grimaced. “He was a little younger than Noah, but that’s ancient to a half-grown girl.” Launching into the meat of the narrative she spoke faster, almost without taking time to breathe. “Paseah always talked about how terrible his brother was and how the two of them never agreed about anything and how that’s why Paseah was forced to move so far from Noah even though siblings usually look up to older brothers and  Paseah told us that all his brothers and sisters felt the same way about Noah that he does.”

            “You said Paseah told ‘us?’”

            “Yes. He told all his wives and children. Most of his children are older than I. The other wives hated me and Paseah loved only his money so I was completely alone.”

That the others wives were jealous of Mahli didn’t surprise Atarah. Mahli was so young. She served as proof that beauty wasn’t always an asset.              “So,” Mahli picked up the thread of her story, “he said Noah insisted on worshipping only one god and wasted the family fortune on building an enormous structure for animals because the god told him to and he forced his family to live in squalor in a little thatched hut by the ark. That’s why all Noah’s brothers and sisters were forced to move to another city.”

“How’d you get here?”

“I ran away from him.”

“I get why you ran away, but why did you seek out the area where Noah lives if you thought he was a bad man?”

“See that’s just it.” Impressed with her own brilliance, Mahli’s eyes lit up. “Because I knew how cruel Paseah was, and I knew he regarded Noah as the worst man in the world because they were such opposites . . .” She stopped to lift her eyebrows and palms. “Don’t you see? By default that would make Noah nice. I know. Convoluted logic.” Mahli shrugged. “But I hoped maybe Noah would take me in since I’m family. I thought he might care for me without mistreating me like his brother did.”

            “And you’re in the underground because . . .” Atarah tilted her head, questioning.

            “The day before I got here I ran into some people who told me that everything Paseah said about Noah is true.” Mahli smiled ruefully. “They brought me to Peleg. He stole my money. Kept me. He has a strong appetite for women who aren’t slaves.” She shook her head. “And now Paseah is dead.”

            “What? How do you know?”

“The underground has spies everywhere. They said Paseah traveled to the city – probably looking for me -- and paid some money Noah owed. Then Noah took him away and let some animals maul him to death up by his ark. No one has seen him since.”

Atarah barely had time to experience renewed fear of Noah and his ark when the community’s common area, with people scurrying about trying to appear busy, opened unexpectedly before them. “Peleg’s room is just over there.” Mahli pointed to a corridor Atarah hadn’t noticed the first time she visited the place. “I’m not supposed to go any further with you. Even though you can’t tell, they’re all watching. You have to go on alone.”

Atarah stood frozen.

“He’s waiting. I’m sorry.”

Raw terror closed around Atarah like a mountainous wave.

Chapter Nineteen

If this is your first time reading with us, go to the archives at right, click the second arrow and the title Chapter One will drop down. Double click on that chapter and read it first, then proceed with the remainder of the book in order by clicking down the arrows. 

 Ash Storm

© Jeannie St. John Taylor

“He caused the east wind to blow in the heavens,

and by his power he led out the south wind.” Psalm 78:26

Atarah made her way down the mountain on wobbly legs. Her empty arms ached for the baby. Obviously, Tirza had stolen him to force Atarah and Shua back to the mountain. The woman needed slaves to bring in supplies and they fit her purposes nicely. Tirza knew they wouldn’t try to run without the baby. Used and deceived. Atarah’s heart tight fisted at the injustice. She pushed away thoughts of The Dream. The Light no longer comforted her. She tried to wipe her mind blank, but the truth tormented her.

Tirza would hold Gadreel captive until all the food needed by the community was harvested and stored, but by then it would be too late for Atarah and Shua. By then giants would have desolated the fields and spared nothing anyone could scavenge for a journey. By then Peleg would have forced his rancid self on both of them. Bile rose into her throat and she turned to heave.

 She squared her shoulders. None of that mattered. She’d do anything necessary to spare Gadreel. Even if it meant adding her bones to a pile in one of the temples.

 “Come this way.” Shua touched Atarah’s arm and motioned beyond the golden barley fields below. “One of Tirza’s men said the others are harvesting grapes and wheat. We’re supposed to collect pods from some of those tall plants beyond the barley. It’s too dark to really see them from here, but we’ll be able to see them when we get close.” She pointed to a dark area several fields away.

Moonlight shone on the white ash covering the ground, making the fields and meadows nearly as brilliant as day. The brightness was such a relief after the thick darkness of the underground. Atarah idly wondered if Mother might see them as dark moving dots if something prompted her to stare out over the fields below.

The two women moved along in ankle-deep ash which crept between foot and sandal, abrading their soles and toes. Until she felt the dryness of the light gray powder again, Atarah had forgotten the eruption they witnessed from the ledge. Strong winds had blown much of the ash off the tops of leaves and grasses. A piquant fragrance wafted up from the field. Atarah reached to her side and, without breaking pace, snapped a fuzzy green leaf from a waist-high plant. She held it to her nose. “Mmmm. Mint.” The smell made her feel cleansed. Almost alive.

“I knew I smelled mint.” Shua excitedly copied Atarah’s actions, pulling off a leaf and breathing in the aroma before stuffing the herb in her mouth. “I’d rather have mint as tea, but the leaves taste great after Hoda’s bread.”

“And Peleg’s breath.”

Shua laughed.

“The mint plants are all around us. We’re crushing stems with every step.” Atarah removed her scarf and tied the fabric in a knot and looped the scarf over her shoulder, forming a pocket at her side. Picking as she walked, she loaded the pouch with the perfumed herb. “Gadreel will love this.”

When the scarf began to bulge, she tilted her head as she massaged her neck and rolled her shoulders. A flash of color caught her eye. Orange rivers of molten fire threaded down more than one far-away slope. She turned first to one side then the other, surveying the mountains. The eruptions were directly in her line of vision. Why hadn’t she noticed before? She chided herself for her lack of observance. This was life or death. She couldn’t allow anything to distract her from seeing the obvious. Brilliant rolling color should have been the first bit of information her eyes picked up when she walked out of the cave.

“Look!” Atarah pointed and counted. “Ten. There have been ten eruptions.”

 “Wow!” Shua scanned the slopes. “What’s going on?”

“Not sure, but Noah’s mountain seems unaffected. As always.” Atarah pointed behind them. “It’s that one.” From this lower vantage she couldn’t see the shape of the ark and vaguely wondered how she recognized the mountain.

Shua’s head swiveled to ascertain the location. “Hopefully, Tirza won’t send us there to collect.” She sounded nearly as afraid of the ark as of giants or Dagaar.

Atarah understood. Dread filled her when she thought of the ark, too. Even though her views about Noah had changed, long-held attitudes didn’t just evaporate overnight.

The sweet fragrance of allspice wafted on the shifting breeze and Atarah closed her eyes, basking briefly in the pleasure.

“The variety of plants is mind-boggling. There’s like a feast of smells here.”

“Unfortunately. Abundance draws the giants,” Atarah said.

She marveled that she could carry on a normal conversation while her emotions felt as though they were rotted with gangrene. She’d never realized before that her mind could run along on two levels simultaneously. The surface of her mind took note of the scenery and chatted with Shua. Yet all the while her deeper self refused to release the worry about Gadreel. Plus she stayed on the alert for giants and Dagaar and Peleg and Tirza and the danger of being too close to the ark. Maybe that was six levels. And occasionally her thoughts flitted home to stew about Mother. Who knew how many levels?

“I figured out why those bushes we’re supposed to harvest are so far away,” Atarah mused. “We’re giant-bait.”

A rueful smile lifted one corner of Shua’s mouth. “Our screams will give the others time to escape?”

“Yes.” Atarah scowled. “Even worse, I’m afraid Tirza deliberately sent us a long way from Gadreel. Scares me.” The image of the baby sent a flush of fear and powerlessness through Atarah. She paused to pull in a deep calming breath. 

A revolting odor stung her lungs and the small hairs on the back of her neck lifted. “Giants!” she hissed. Dropping to the ground she yanked the slave down beside her.

Shua sniffed and her eyes shot open. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “The gods help us!”

Should they stay put or run? If they held very still they might escape detection.  “Can you tell which direction that odor is coming from?” Atarah longed to cover her nose, but instinctively understood that as the monsters closed in the smell would grow stronger. She needed to know when that happened.

Hunkered down in the tall grass, the women sniffed the wind and scanned the fields. Another strong whiff of the odor sent a shudder through Atarah. “That way.” She indicated a broad field of chalky white flowers covering a rolling hill.

“Why can’t we see them?”

“Don’t know.” As she strained to pick up movement, a long-ago memory of an afternoon excursion to the valley with Father nudged Atarah. That smell. . .  She gasped. “Buckwheat!” A husky chuckle escaped her lips. “That’s the smell of buckwheat. I’d forgotten how terrible buckwheat stinks.”

            “That’s buckwheat?”

            “Yes!” 

“Oh my.” Shua pinched her nostrils. The two shook with quiet giggles.

            “I’m surprised the smell is so strong at night,” Atarah managed to whisper between breathy snickers. “The ‘fragrance’ usually fades by noon. Also, I think the flowers may be blooming in the off-season.”

            “Things are out-of-sync everywhere these days.”

             A picture of Gadreel popped unwanted into Atarah’s mind. She brushed away the thought along with a loose strand of hair and retrieved her basket. She couldn’t let herself think about what might be happening to Gadreel. She glanced at her feet rubbed bloody by ash. Neither would she focus on her own pain.

“Let’s go.” Atarah retrieved her basket and took off at a determined run.

They pushed the pace for a few minutes to make up for lost time before tiring and moving along at a more reasonable speed.

“Tirza didn’t even bother sending someone to keep an eye on us,” Shua mused as they neared their destination.

“Didn’t need to. She knows I won’t leave the baby.”

Atarah led the way into a planting of bushes that rose to twice her height. “Here we are.” She gazed at the pod-filled foliage. “These look like small trees.” A spicy scent tickled her nostrils. “Do I smell cardamom?” Reaching high overhead she pulled down a branch and sniffed the three pods growing in a clump at the end. “Cardamom. These bushes belong to Father. He’s the only one around here who grows exotic seeds.”

“Ironic isn’t it?” Shua stifled a giggle. “You’ll be stealing from yourself.”

“Not from myself. Maybe from Dagaar.” Somehow Atarah managed to say his name without shuddering. “I’ve been disinherited by now.” She commenced pulling branches down and stripping them of pods as quickly as possible. The faster they filled containers the sooner they could see Gadreel.

“They don’t need cardamom, you know.” Atarah talked as she worked. “It’s a luxury and they’re in survival mode. They just sent us out here because the plants are so far away.” Since they’d already discussed their role as a warning system she didn’t mention the giants again. Atarah was too numb to fret about the dangers threatening her. She was exhausting all her energy worrying about Gadreel, even though she kept telling herself over and over the baby was not in danger. Tirza wouldn’t hurt him. She needed Gadreel to control Atarah and Shua.

Unfortunately, Atarah didn’t believe a word of it.

As soon as her basket was a quarter full, she decided to test the weight of the over-sized container. Plucking the pods off one final branch, she let the harvested limb snap upward. Bending at the waist, she lifted. Even though she’d grown accustomed to lugging a chubby baby, the weight of the green pods surprised her. “These will be too heavy if we can’t balance them on our heads,” she told Shua.

She gathered her muscles and jerked the basket upward. Pods spilled before she got past her shoulders. Distressed, she set the wicker on the ground and scooped them up. “Can you do it?”

“I don’t know. I’m a house slave, remember? Nobody ever taught me field skills.” 

“Try.” Atarah hurried to help. Together they raised Shua’s basket and positioned it atop her head. She placed a hand on either side and practiced walking. “You’re right. It doesn’t feel too heavy this way.”

“Good. Now we just have to figure out how you’re going to help get mine situated.” But when either tried to help the other while balancing her own load, pods tumbled from their baskets. Eventually they filled Shua’s basket to the brim together and started back to the cave with it resting on her head.

Fixing her eyes on the white waterfall, Atarah half-dragged half-carried her partially-full load. She limped along shunting her basket from one thigh to the other with each step until Shua suggested they switch for awhile.

 “That sounds good.” Atarah set her load on the ground and angled her head back and forth stretching her neck. She helped Shua lower her load before raising her tunic to examine both legs in the moonlight. She gingerly prodded her thighs where the basket thumped her.

“Bruised?” Shua asked as they settled the full basket on Atarah’s hair.

“Afraid so.” Atarah staggered a couple of steps before finding her stride. “The change helps. Thanks.”

Shua tried lugging her new basket the way she’d seen Atarah do it, then lowered the container of pods to the ground and walked backward dragging a path through the ash.

“Wonder what Tirza will do when she discovers we only filled one basket,” Atarah wondered aloud.

“Why don’t you pray to your god and find out?”

The slave’s disapproving tone surprised Atarah, but before she had time to say anything Shua exclaimed over the powdery grit seeping in through the holes in her basket. Her shoulders slumped in dismay. “I thought the load felt heavier because I was tired.” She sighed and lifted the basket, using Atarah’s method. She was obviously weary.

“Time to trade,” Atarah said.

“We don’t have to.”

 “We should swap every little bit to make things easier,” Atarah assured her. “Help me put this down.”

Before Shua could reach for the basket, a sudden gust of wind threw Atarah off balance. She took a few running steps to keep from falling and plopped her load to the ground in a field of wheat. Cardamom pods popped up and out. She sat down hard amidst the golden plants and covered her face with her hands, brittle and teary. Though the waterfall was only a short distance away, she couldn’t go another step. Not even with Gadreel so close.

Shua sank down beside her. “We’ll never find all the pods.”

“We’re not going to try.” Atarah snapped off a head of wheat and rubbed it between her palms. “We’ll pile the lighter-weight wheat on top of the pods. That should make Tirza happy. It’s food.” Husks removed, she handed the meat of the grain to Shua and broke off another head for herself. “Eat.”

“Where’d you learn that?”

“On a trip with Father.” She shouted above a steady wind. “Years ago.” Revived by the bit of sustenance, the women pulled wheat and piled stems and heads on top of the cardamom. Wind lifted their skirts and whipped the fabric sideways. Mint leaves flew from Atarah’s pouch. Ash swirled in the air and field stalks bent double. And still the intensity of the wind increased.

“The wind will knock the basket off our heads,” Atarah yelled. “We’ll have to carry them in front of us. I’ll take the heavy one.”

Through the haze, Atarah could see other gatherers appear out of nowhere, rushing toward the cave. No longer balancing crops on heads, pairs carried baskets between them.

Step by careful step, Atarah and her slave pushed against the wind and ash. Their eyes remained fixed on the waterfall. Atarah ducked her head into her shoulder to avoid breathing grit.

“That ash stings,” Shua shouted.

“Cover your face.”

Atarah shielded her eyes and stole a glance at the scene behind. The base of Noah’s mountain had disappeared behind a wall of hazy gray.

That’s when she recognized the enormous dark cloud racing across the fields. What resembled a close-up version of the ash she’d seen bursting from the mountain during the eruption sped toward her along the ground. The ominous shape pulsed with intermittent light. Jagged spears of white fire shot back and forth through the cloud’s interior.

Atarah knew instantly that the massive cloud was comprised of ash whipped up and driven by the fierce wind. She’d been warned about such storms since childhood. She had also heard of lightning, but never actually witnessed the phenomenon and had no idea such power could be sparked by ash particles rubbing against one another.

Terrified, she lost her hold on her basket. She knew she should move, but couldn’t force her muscles to take action. The strange juxtaposition of the storm with the full round moon hanging peacefully in an undisturbed band of black sky above the chaos mesmerized her. It was surreal. Clutching handfuls of wheat stalks, she froze, transfixed.

Shua stood with her back to the wind and ash. Screaming. And screaming.

Finally, her screams snapped Atarah back to reality. She grabbed the hysterical slave’s arm and dragged her toward the still-visible waterfall, praying they wouldn’t smother in the thick air. The world turned black and the waterfall disappeared. Atarah yanked her slave to the ground. She covered her own nose and mouth with her robe and blindly helped Shua do the same. Breathing through several layers of cloth, the women located the granite cliff and felt along the smooth rock to the cave.

******

Prone on the wet cave floor, Atarah listened to the wind howling above the roar of water. Tears of relief seeped from under her closed lashes. They were safe. For now.

She pulled herself to a sitting position and splashed water into her eyes. Blinking, she opened them slowly, wiping away grit. Touching Shua’s cheek with the backs of her fingers, she shouted over the noise. “You okay?”

The slave’s eyes fluttered open and she grinned unexpectedly. “I’ve got ash in my ears.” Her laugh changed to a cough and she sat up to spit out black ash.

“Me, too. And look at my nails!” Atarah held up her hands.

“Your nails?” Shua said incredulously. “Look at your clothes and hair and the grime on your face and . . . Who are you anyway?”

Atarah felt her hair and laughter rang out for a brief moment. Then she remembered Gadreel. She leapt to her feet, her heart pounding with urgency. “How are we going to find our way to Gadreel without a torch?” 

“Oh, I don’t think that’ll be a problem.” A torch flared, burnishing the rock walls of the cave. Peleg’s malevolent grin flickered in the light. Five of the muscular men who had accompanied Tirza earlier formed a wall of force behind him, arms crossed.

“Clean them up before you bring them to me,” Peleg commanded. He flicked the back of his hand toward Atarah. “I’ll take her first.”

City of a Thousand Gods 

can now be pre-ordered as a paperback 

on Amazon.com. 

Copies will be available to ship in two weeks. 
There are forty-four chapters in the book. 

Chapter Eighteen

If this is your first time reading with us, go to the archives at right, click the second arrow and the title Chapter One will drop down. Double click on that chapter and read it first, then proceed with the remainder of the book in order by clicking down the arrows. 

A Way Outside

© Jeannie St. John Taylor 

“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go.” Josh. 1:9

            Distracted by last night’s Dream, Atarah had to force herself to concentrate on Gadreel as he crawled back and forth between the beds chasing the long stem of grass she’d pulled from their bed. She should be giving him quality time while Shua washed up at the spring outside. Instead, she was treating him like a pet cat, dragging the fluffy end of the weed along the floor, then lifting the grass to encourage him to reach up. Oh well, the new game seemed to make him happy and she needed time to think. To figure out what the Dream meant when the Light told her it was going to do something new.

“You have too much energy for me.” She tweaked Gadreel’s nose and made him giggle. “But of course you get to sleep and play while I work, don’t you?” She took his hands, pulled him into a standing position and planted a loud smooch on his forehead. His legs buckled and he started to scream.

She immediately scooped him up comforting the baby as she walked back and forth between the beds with him. “Shhh. Your little bum didn’t even touch the floor. You are not hurt.” His cries changed to a whine and he lay his head on her shoulder. She paced as she held him, finally able to concentrate on the meaning of the Dream.

The Light had enveloped her once again as she slept in the night. “Behold, I am doing a new thing,” the Light with a voice like many waters told her. “Do you not perceive it? So be very strong and courageous.”

At first she assumed the Light meant she would escape. But later she remembered the part about being strong and courageous and fear started creeping around her like fog, leaving her with a presentiment that something even worse than the events of the last couple of weeks could happen. The light must know she was about to face a time when she would need an extra-strong dose of courage and direction.

She didn’t like the idea of that, especially since the voice had given her no direction except to be strong. She didn’t feel courageous. She felt weak. She wanted to hole up in this room where she felt reasonably, if illogically, secure.

The situation reminded her of the way she’d felt as a little girl when she and Shua burrowed into the garden hedge to hide from Father. She could see his feet pacing beside the hedge while her shoulders hunched in fright and branches poked into the flesh of her arms and legs. She knew he could reach in and yank her out at any moment. Yet the foliage offered a measure of protection. If they could just stay very, very still he would never find them.

That’s exactly how she felt now.

            The baby quieted and she sat him on the bed so she could pick dried curdled milk from his face with her fingernail. Her hair drifted forward and Gadreel grabbed tendrils in chubby hands. “Ouch!” With a smile she kissed each cheek in turn and gently extracted her hair.

“Hey, let’s play a fun game.” She flipped her scarf into the air, letting the fabric billow so it would drift onto the baby. As the scarf settled over his head and face she slowly pulled it away, letting the fabric caress him. He giggled and grabbed for the scarf, she laughed and jerked it out of his hands. He fell backward onto the bed laughing and they started the game over. e lHe lau

She couldn’t help a twinge of sadness thinking how much better one of her gauzy scarves would feel to the baby. Still, though she hated the feel of the coarse fabric, she was grateful Mother had thought ahead and dressed her in slave attire. The common clothing allowed Atarah to blend in. An embroidered veil sewn with jewels set in gold filigree would have immediately alerted the inhabitants of this place to her privileged position. She had no idea what wealth could mean for her down here, but she guessed the appearance of riches could cause problems. Residents of the commune might resent her or try to extort from her or . . . what? Maybe she’d end up in the heap of dry bones back at the temple. Her brain couldn’t sort through all the possibilities or even figure out if her thoughts were logical.

She simply knew she faced enough trouble without adding money to the mix. Especially since she herself no longer owned anything. After a lifetime of luxury it was difficult to comprehend the fact that she was poverty stricken.

 “She knows, doesn’t she?” Shua appeared in the doorway with damp hair. A dark spot near the bottom of her robe revealing how she’d dried her hair. A worried expression creased her face.

“Who knows what?”

“You know who,” Shua snorted. “She knows everything.”

Of course she knew. Tirza. Atarah concentrated on finger-combing the baby’s curls. “I don’t think she knows.”

“Really.” Sarcasm migrated from Shua’s face to her voice. “Then why won’t you look at me?”

Atarah sighed. Why wouldn’t she give Shua eye contact? Because Atarah was her mother’s daughter. Avoid. Ignore. Pretend. “I suppose she might know,” Atarah acceded reluctantly.

“She keeps staring at his fingers. Like she can’t help herself.”

“I know.” Atarah leaned her cheek on the baby’s head. He snuggled into her while she played over his palm with her fingertips. “But she may not know giants have six fingers.”

“She said he was big for his age.” Shua moved to sit on the bed opposite Atarah.

“No. She just said he was big. Not big for his age. She doesn’t know his age. People talk like that to babies. It’s just a way of saying babies are cute.”

“I hope so.” Shua rubbed her thumb nail against her lower teeth.

“I’m sure that’s all she meant. She wasn’t saying, ‘You’re big so I can tell you’re going to grow up and become . . .’” Atarah broke off mid-sentence, refusing to put words to the thought.

Shua finished for her. “Grow up to become a monster who takes all the food and when the food is gone eats people.”

Stunned, Atarah instinctively cupped a protective hand over the baby’s cheek and stared at Shua in disbelief. “Don’t ever say that again!”

 “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.” Shua leaned forward and patted the baby’s leg. Gadreel  leaned shyly away from her and into Atarah as though he understood the slave had been disloyal. Shua’s eyes glistened with regret. “I’m sorry, Sweetie. You’ll never grow up to become one of those nasty giants. You couldn’t.”

“Of course you won’t!” Atarah was glad the baby couldn’t understand. She puffed a raspberry on his belly, walked her fingers over to his ribs and tickled. He giggled.

Atarah blew another loud sound under the baby’s double chin and began to speak the mantra she and Shua had rehearsed many times over the last months. “We’ll love you so much you’ll be the best boy.” They’d repeated the words so often both women fully believed the lie.

“And we’ll keep you safe,” Shua continued.

“You’ll prove to everyone that you are kind and nice, won’t you?” Atarah tickled Gadreel as she baby-talked to him. “Won’t you?” He stretched away from her, giggling.

Smiling, Shua supported his back while he continued to laugh, showing his single front tooth.

Shua sobered. “And he’ll protect us when he grows up.” Her eyes beseeched Atarah for confirmation. “He’ll love us because we love him.”

“That’s right.” Atarah hugged the baby desperately. “With all the love we give this one he’ll have no choice but to love us back.” And she would never tell him that his grandfather and mother and father tried to kill him. That knowledge could ruin him. 

“He’ll have to know his father was a Nephal, won’t he?” Shua anxiously chewed the nail on her pinkie finger.

Atarah shrugged. “We’ll see. If we can keep him away from people he might not notice he’s different.”

Silence hung between them.

“If Tirza knows he’s a young giant, why is she letting us stay?”  

An icy rivulet of fear trickled down Atarah’s spine. Why couldn’t Shua just let it drop? “We don’t have to think about that right now.”

But she did think about it. What did Tirza gain by letting them stay? Letting a young giant boy stay? As hard as she tried, Atarah couldn’t fathom the reasons.

A primal fear rose within her.

**********

She should never have trusted Tirza. Atarah scanned the group assembled in the open area outside the sleeping room while the word “betrayal” twanged in her brain. Was Peleg among them? She had allowed a desire for security to lure her into staying put when she and Shua should have been courageous and fled.

“I thought our whereabouts was supposed to remain secret.” Atarah’s anger flashed toward Tirza.

“Don’t worry.” Tirza lifted her chin and haughty defensiveness laced her tone. “I told you, Peleg’s not here. He’s the man-in-charge who stays back with a few workers to keep the place humming. He’s too good to go out with us ordinary people.”

Several of the impatient-looking men and women holding large baskets sniggered at Tirza’s comment. Evidentially, they didn’t like Peleg any better than Atarah did.

“Are you coming or not?” Tirza began walking and gestured for the group to follow. “Because these people have a long night of work ahead and they don’t intend to wait on you. I thought you said you wanted to do your part.”

“I do.” Relieved that Peleg wasn’t with the others, Atarah looped the long-handled basket Tirza had provided over her shoulder. She pasted a pleasant expression over the sheepish look on her face. She had misjudged Tirza once again. Hoisting Gadreel higher on her hip, she fell in step with Shua near the middle of the group, just behind Tirza. A group of shirtless muscular men, each bearing several baskets on their shoulders, brought up the rear.

Atarah had several reasons for wanting to go on the gathering excursion: Helping gather food would repay Tirza for her kindness, they would move out of Peleg’s range and before first light she and Shua and the baby could steal away unnoticed. “I was shocked she brought people and revealed where she’d hidden us,” Atarah whispered to Shua. The sounds of marching feet and low conversation covered her words.

“Me, too. Someone is bound to tell Peleg. I’m scared.”

“I know.” But they wouldn’t be there when he came for them. Atarah intended to flee before returning in the morning. “Try to map out the way outside in your head just in case we’re forced to return for some reason.”

Shua’s eyes communicated agreement and the two women hiked in silence. Atarah strained to memorize tunnel turns and flights of winding stairs. The focused concentration squeezed her brain until it felt tight in her skull. She would not forget the way out. Gadreel’s life might depend on her remembering.

To Atarah’s surprise, a brief twenty minutes after they began the tangy smell of falling water rushed through the tunnel on wind that rapidly dropped the temperature. The breeze stirred excitement in her, stimulating senses dulled by days spent underground. Atarah bent into the wind, amazed at the sounds of eager chatter swelling around her. These people longed for fresh air and the outside world as much as she did.

“Watch out. The rocks are slick up here!” someone shouted back.

Soon the roar of a waterfall deadened every other sound and mist blew into the cavern. At the mouth of the cave, the group clustered in front of a curtain of falling water bouncing with light reflected from torches. Gadreel awakened giggling and tried to grab the spray while Atarah rubbed his bare legs to warm him. The thrill of imminent freedom lifted small bumps on her arm.

Many of the people laughed and whirled in circles in the spray, dancing with hands raised over heads. Atarah found herself laughing and bouncing the baby. Shua mirrored her joy. They both knew that soon they’d be free! Away from the city and its gods! Away from Peleg! Free to find a place where they could settle down and raise the baby. Maybe plant a few crops to feed the three of them so there’d be little need for outside contact. Even as she thought about the necessity of staying isolated, Atarah realized how that need conflicted with her desire to find a husband.

No matter. Never marrying was a small price to pay for the baby’s life.

Tirza strode to the front of the group and the jubilation stilled. She raised a hand and all eyes swung toward her. “The mission tonight is urgent.” Her voice rose easily above the roar of the water. “Giants may be headed our way. Though they’ve never raided these parts before, reliable sources tell us that once they consume all crops in an area they turn on the humans.” A murmur spread across the group.

“They eat people?” someone shouted.

Tirza did not mince words. “Yes. But only after all other food is gone.”

“Cannibals!”

“They’re not really cannibals,” Tirza asserted, “because they aren’t human. They’re half Nephilim and half human – a new species. But know this . . . ” She paused to let her eyes rake the group threateningly, “every single one of them is evil through and through and they would enjoy slaughtering you. We have to gather as much food as possible over the next few days. Because once they arrive every last bit of anything to eat will be gone.”

This was a different Tirza than the friendly woman who chatted so easily as she led them to their hiding place. This was the Tirza who had assumed control of the community shortly after they met. This Tirza was completely in control of the situation – Peleg’s and Hoda’s daughter. At that realization, Atarah clutched the baby more tightly

“What do they look like,” a woman asked. The woman with the sad dark eyes stood beside her, weeping silently.

“What do they smell like is a better question,” Tirza retorted sarcastically. “You’ll smell them before you see them. Guaranteed. They’re taller than the Nephilim and they all have six fingers on each hand and six toes on each foot.” She broke off and looked directly at Atarah. 

Atarah felt a cold chill that had nothing to do with the mist. She protectively covered Gadreel’s hand with hers. How would the group react when they understood he was . . . she couldn’t bring herself to even think the word ‘giant’ in connection with her sweet child.

“Believe me, you’ll have no trouble recognizing them.” Tirza told the group. “Just be on the lookout and retreat to the waterfall the moment you get a whiff of anything strange. Once you can see a giant you can’t outrun him.”

“They’ll follow us in and kill us!”

“They’re too tall to get past the back of the cave. Once you get to the smaller tunnels you should be safe.” Tirza spoke calmly, reassuring them. “But we must have food to live. Which is why Peleg decided that for the next few days we’ll gather as much as possible without even trying to cover our tracks. He’s gambling that when people of the city notice missing food they’ll assume the giants have already arrived and stay inside the gates. That will leave us free to gather all we want.”

Atarah’s mind flitted to her home. Mother would hide in one of the secret places built for such an event if the giants breached the city.

 “Because our spies learned the giants are coming, I was able to come up with a plan to save all our lives.” A glisten of emotion rose in Tirza’s eyes. “Nevertheless, no one can prevent the monsters from stealing all the food. So gather as much and as quickly as you can. Our lives depend on you.”

Tirza continued to give instructions. “Every time you fill a basket, bring it back to the waterfall, grab an empty one and my boys here will transport the full one back home.” She waved toward the men with extra baskets who now surrounded the crowd. “We’re going to be fine. We just need to work harder than ever.”

Tirza ended her speech, beamed a benevolent smile of encouragement around the group and everyone started toward the exit behind the waterfall. Tears stained the cheeks of a few women, but for the most part resolute expressions hardened faces. Aware this was a life or death situation, they intended to throw themselves into the task. Atarah herself determined to gather as much as she could. For tonight only. She would not go back to the underground and risk Peleg.

She and Shua walked near the rear of the gatherers following the slippery path that led behind the waterfall. The dark slit of sky at the end of the path beckoned. Atarah’s heart leaped in her chest. Balancing the baby and the basket, she quickened her steps.

In response to her change in pace, the man just ahead tossed a warning over his shoulder. “Slow down! If you fall here you’re a gonner. I don’t want you taking me with you.” 

Moments later, Atarah stepped from behind the curtain of water and stood with Shua on the side of a dry mountain watching workers wind down a path to still vineyards below. On her left, granite polished smooth by the wind-blown ash of previous eruptions mirrored the light of a full moon. The night seemed as bright as day. She could pick out the color of azure blue chickery. Yellow ocher kissed the crest of one hill where the moonlight touched the tops of wheat stalks.

Atarah breathed in the fragrance of aromatic lavender and honeysuckle as she struggled to hoist the basket onto her shoulders as she’d seen the others do. But the baby made the task difficult. Atarah didn’t care. The cool night and the view and the fresh air and the freedom were bliss. She felt giddy. She decided she would keep the basket slung over her shoulder. She could set it down when she picked and drag it along behind her as she moved down rows. She didn’t have to work exactly like everyone else.

A shadow fell across the path and Tirza, flanked by her “boys”, blocked the way ahead, smiling disarmingly. “Here, let me help you. That’s a little awkward with the baby, isn’t it?”

“No, no.” Atarah protested. “I can do it.”

Tirza had already taken the baby.

Atarah quickly positioned the basket on her head and reached for Gadreel, but Tirza twirled the baby out of her grasp and headed back toward the waterfall. “I’ll keep him for you till you finish working. We need everyone to be as efficient as possible tonight.”

Determination clenched in Atarah’s stomach. “No. I won’t be separated from my  baby.” She took a step toward Tirza only to find a broad-shouldered brute standing in the way, hands folded into his armpits. Locking her eyes with a hard gaze, he angled his head to the side and spit.

Behold, I am doing a new thing.

No. No. No!

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