Chapter Fifteen

Not Alone

“He will surely be gracious to you at the sound of your cry. As soon as he hears it, he answers you. And though he Lord give you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, yet your Teacher will not hide himself anymore, but your eyes shall see your Teacher. And your ears shall hear a word behind you saying, ‘This is the way, walk in it, when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left.’” Isaiah 30:20, 21

At the sound of the voices, fear pulsed through Atarah’s veins and throbbed in her throat. She quickly gathered Gadreel and turned to scan Shua’s face. Had the slave heard the voices?

Shua stood frozen, mortar and pestle in hand, the emotion on her face mirroring the fear in Atarah’s heart. Shua had heard.

Gadreel giggled.

Alarmed, Atarah positioned her face nose to nose with the baby’s and pressed a piece of dried fruit on his tongue. “Shhhh.” Would that keep the wide-awake baby quiet? She kissed the tip of his nose.

Already at her side, Shua cupped her hands around Atarah’s ear and hissed. “Pinch his nose and cover his mouth.” Atarah drew back in shock. She would not! She was still in charge, not the slave.

“He has to learn,” insisted Shua.

Shock reverberated through Atarah. She knew the slave had suffered through severe treatment as a child when marauders raided her village repeatedly, but Atarah had no idea Shua approved her culture’s harsh method for teaching babies not to cry.

With no time to reprimand the slave, Atarah gestured toward the fire, motioning for Shua to douse it. Smells would betray their presence even if no one uttered a peep, and right now the aroma of corn cakes and scented oil lingered in the air along with the smoke. And the torches. She’d grown so accustomed to the odor of burning pitch she’d nearly forgotten the strong smell of torches.

 Atarah snatched up the leftover corn cake and stuffed the other visual clues of their presence into the goat pouch. Glancing toward the coffin she briefly considered closing the lid, but remembering the loud scraping it would make decided against it. Hopefully, if intruders came this way they would think an earlier sloppy visitor failed to close it.

Keeping her voice low, Atarah spoke tersely. “Where’s the exit?” The voices grew louder. How many people were there two? Twenty? Hard to tell.

Shua pointed in a direction away from the sound, an obvious choice. Atarah nodded for Shua to move and shoved the goat pouch into the slave’s hands, securing the baby to herself with the sling as they ran.

A foreboding darkness shrouded that side of the temple. Because she’d delegated the chore of scoping out their surroundings to Shua, Atarah had no idea what lay in the passage beyond. She made a mental note never to make that mistake again. Her decision to relax and pamper herself at the spring may have cost them dearly. For most of her life she’d passively obeyed Father’s instructions and willingly allowed slaves to coddle her.

No more. Gadreel needed a fully-functioning mentally-alert parent.

Atarah snatched a torch from the niche in one column as they passed and bent to scoop up a fresh one from the floor beside it. She strode toward what appeared another hole leading to another tunnel. The mistress silently questioned the slave with her eyes, had Shua discovered where this passage led?

Shua shrugged and shook her head mouthing, “No time.” The slave didn’t know

this place any better than Atarah. She stepped ahead of Shua. Atarah would take responsibility for the trio. Her baby’s safety rested on her shoulders.

On the other side of the doorway, images of humans worshipping Nephilim led away from the temple. After a short while they again hiked downward on a dirt and stone path much like the one they’d traversed from the ledge. Atarah kept her finger on the fruit in the baby’s mouth and hummed softly in his ear to entertain him. Better to risk a low hum than have Gadreel suddenly shriek because he wanted out of the sling.

Soon the voices grew fainter and Atarah found herself breathing more normally despite the strenuous activity. The walls and ceiling arching overhead looked no different than every other wall and ceiling in this maze. They switched mindlessly from passage to passage moving through tunnels that twisted and turned through the complex. Atarah knew they were hopelessly lost, but reasoned that as long as they continually angled downhill they would eventually reach an exit and make their way to safety. She dare not think otherwise.  She dare not worry whether they would find food again.

Yet staying on a downward slope proved difficult since most of the paths kept to the level. Occasionally one would dead end and the women would have to backtrack. At the end of one such tunnel, a waterfall tumbled over the rocks and they drank their fill. 

The possibility they might be traveling in circles niggled at Atarah’s brain, but she dismissed the thought as pointless. She could only do what she could do, and right now her job revolved around keeping the baby safe.

The slave had been her companion since childhood, but she’d been no more than a slave. Now the dynamics of their relationship had changed and Atarah saw Shua as her equal. As equals they were accountable and responsible for one another.

Numerous murky tunnels intersected their path. Every time one slanted downhill, Atarah took it. She derived comfort from the occasional arrow scratched into rock and gradually came to believe that an unknown benefactor had trekked these passages years earlier and scored markings into the wall to guide the lost to safety.

Shua’s light fizzled and Atarah handed her the extra torch she’d picked up before they left the temple. Her slave held the new torch to Atarah’s still-burning one.

In some spots the trail grew wider. In others the path narrowed until they were forced to turn sideways to squeeze through. In those places Atarah shifted the baby to her hip, drawing him through after her. Shua brought up the rear.

Step after repetitive step they fled toward safety until, without warning, the path switched to a gradual winding ascent. Atarah trudged up the incline and around several turns, expecting the trail to adopt a downhill pitch again. When it didn’t, she stopped and looked at Shua. “Think we should turn around?”

The furrows on the slave’s forehead matched Atarah’s. Shua sighed deeply and sagged against the wall. “We’ve come such a long way.” Shua’s face was flushed from exertion, her shoulders slumped. She looked as exhausted and confused as Atarah felt. “I don’t know . . . I can’t.”

Exactly. Atarah also felt incapable of making decisions and she was beginning to thirst again. She sighed. “Let’s just keep going.”

The incline rose steeper. Progress slowed. The baby seemed heavier now than at any other time since they’d left home. Atarah’s labored breathing echoed in her own ears and, though she couldn’t have articulated the reason for the feeling, warning prickles ran down her spine. Why were they traveling up rather than downhill? “This can’t be right.” She stopped to trace her light along the wall. An arrow pointed back in the direction they’d just come. When had that happened?

She sucked in a sharp breath. “Where are we?” she asked the slave. It was a rhetorical question;. Shua knew no more than her mistress. “Maybe we better retrace our steps.”

“Maybe.” The slave tiptoed a few paces backward and returned. “There’s no sign of anyone back there.”

Atarah leaned against the wall and released a shaky sigh, unable to render a clear decision. Retracing their steps seemed pointless, but the darkness behind prickled the hair on the back of her neck. Gadreel fidgeted, wanting out of the sling. She reached to lift him from his confinement, but a hunch she couldn’t explain changed her mind. “Not yet, Sweetie.” She rocked back and forth to placate him and cast a worried glance up the trail. Since no one was within earshot, she no longer tried to keep him quiet. Let him babble all he wanted while he could. She patted him absently. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“That this leads to a house in the city?”

“Uh huh.”

Silence hung between them in the semi-darkness. The slave evidentially agreed with her. “Maybe they people who live there will be sympathetic,” Shua offered tiredly. Her tone betrayed her words. She didn’t believe her statement any more than Atarah did.

“Can you think of a single soul in the city who wouldn’t turn us over to Dagaar and Father?”

“Or give Gadreel to the priests?” Shua finished the thought for her. “Not really.”

Unexpectedly, a gentle breeze flowing down the tunnel blew a tendril of hair into Atarah’s eyes and she automatically reached up to brush side a curl. With the next puff of wind, a cold ball of fear dropped into her belly. A draft from above might possibly indicate a ventilation tube like the one they’d encountered on the way down from the ledge. But if so, wouldn’t they have felt the air stir sooner?

“People?” Atarah exhaled the word. As though in answer to her question, a buzz of voices drifted down the tunnel. Panic clutched her heart.

“God of Noah, help us.” Atarah breathed the involuntary prayer at the same moment Shua grabbed her arm and starting pulling back in the direction they’d just come. “Stop!” Atarah hissed. She planted her feet and firmly gripped the slave’s hand, stopping the slave’s mad rush down the tunnel. In the flickering light, Atarah recognized raw fear in Shua’s expression.

Gathering her emotions, Atarah spoke slowly and deliberately with a confidence that belied her quivering heart. “We need to move at a cautious pace. We have no idea where we are. If we dash wildly back the way we came, we could run headlong into the others.” She waved up the tunnel toward the last voices they’d heard. “They don’t know we’re here yet.” She rubbed her hand in a circle on the baby’s back, quieting him while her thoughts spun. How many people were down here and why? Had the trio unknowingly circled back toward the temple?

 “We’re totally lost,” murmured Shua.

“I’ll lead.” Atarah had little idea where they’d come from let alone where they were headed. She patted the slave’s shoulder as she squeezed past. “We have to keep moving if we’re going to find a way out.” She moved briskly back in the direction they’d just come. The adrenaline rushing through her had made a decision easy: She would check every intersecting tunnel until she found another with arrows to guide them.

Behind her the slave wept quietly and guilt seized Atarah. No one had required Shua to risk her own life by accompanying her mistress. She’d done it voluntarily out of love and probably hadn’t expected all the troubles they faced. Did she remember Shua saying that she would return home once Atarah was safely on her way? Atarah couldn’t remember for sure. No matter. Shua had stayed because Atarah needed her. Shua deserved to indulge in a temporary meltdown.

Atarah understood all that.

What Atarah couldn’t understand was where her own strength was coming from. She’d always been the placid, scared rich girl, submissively waiting for everyone to care for her needs. The only place she’d ever stood her ground was in her refusal to worship at the temple and she’d managed to keep a low profile concerning that thanks to Mother. Of course rescuing Gadreel required courage, but she couldn’t have done that without Mother and Shua taking the lead.

Now, after the initial flush of fright brought on by the new voices, determination rather than fear pumped through Atarah’s veins. She hurried rapidly onward, aware that fear lurked just beneath the surface and could bob up in a flash.

The first tunnel they found was narrower than the one they currently followed and large rocks littered the floor. Atarah reasoned that if the people behind them were looking for them – and she was relatively certain they were – they would expect two inexperienced women to stick to the wider smoother path. So she and Shua needed to turn into this new passage. But they couldn’t afford to get trapped at a dead end. Did they have time to check out the tunnel to see which direction looked most promising before the people behind overtook them?

They had to take a chance. 

She motioned Shua to the passage on the left and barked, “Walk twenty paces and see what’s there then meet me back here as fast as you can. Hurry!”

Atarah darted into the opening on her right, counting her steps. “One . . .” No arrows. Level. A large boulder jutted directly out of the center of the path. She squeezed past. The rock might provide a hiding place if they needed one. “Two . . . three . . .” The passage turned sharply and sloped downhill. “Four, five, six . . .” Looked good. If her suspicions were correct, this was the way to go. She ran back to get the slave. Apparently, the running excited Gadreel and he giggled and babbled.

A breathless Shua met her as she emerged from the passage. “We can’t go that way. It’s uphill.”

Atarah heard voices. Already close! Did they know about Shua and Atarah? How would she silence the baby? What should she do? Paralyzing fear gripped her and she froze.

Unexpectedly, the warmth of the dream enveloped her and her mind cleared. Fear not! “This way.”

Without a word, Shua followed her down the tunnel. “They’re close. I know they can hear the baby! We’ll never make it. Can’t you shut him up?”

Since she could do nothing about Gadreel’s noise at the moment, she ignored the slave’s question. “If we can just get around that first bend I don’t think they can see our lights.”

She welcomed the comfort of the dream as she ran. Fear not!

“We lost time back there.”

Didn’t Shua understand they could have taken the wrong direction and ended up in worse trouble? Atarah wondered who and how many people might be in the underground with them. There could be people both behind and ahead of them, but it took too much energy to say that to Shua.

The voices were louder now. Was that because the people had had spotted their torchlight bouncing off the walls? Or heard the baby? Atarah increased her speed, fighting tears, breath tearing at her lungs with every hoarse gasp. Moving quietly was impossible.

Fear not!

Just beyond another sharp corner the tunnel overhead swooped suddenly lower forcing Atarah to stoop and run in a crouched position. The configuration of walls and rocks looked entirely too much like the temple entrance they’d left behind hours ago. Moments later a familiar-looking opening loomed ahead and Atarah’s heart plummeted to her belly. They’d exhausted themselves fleeing in a day-long circle. “God of Noah! Help us!”

At her heels, Shua cried, “No!” She must have recognized the temple entrance.

Shouts and running feet reverberated through the passage behind. Louder. Atarah could recognize individual voices. Shouting. Cursing. She heard Dagaar’s familiar malignant laugh followed by a wheezing cough. Her worst fears had come true.

Gadreel escalated to a shriek and Atarah didn’t bother to shush him. Too late for that. Atarah heard Shua, gasping for breath, slow down. Frightened for her slave, she glanced back. Shua had stopped to catch her breath, a disoriented expression on her face.

A few cubits behind Shua, the grinning torch-lit face of Dagaar bounded toward them glistening with sweat. The serpent tattoo on his neck bounced.

A thousand cords of terror slithered around Atarah like a nest of vipers. “Now!” She shrieked – whatever that meant. She had no breath for more. She could only hope her slave understood: Dagaar was behind them, the temple ahead was empty. If they could only get there they had a chance to seal the entrance and keep him out.

Summoning her last bit of strength, Atarah plunged toward the temple through the hole. From the other side, hands grabbed her roughly and yanked her through. Simultaneously she heard an “Oof!” as Shua was hauled in after her. With no help from her, the stone seal slammed behind them.

Dagaar’s muffled curses raged from the other side.

Breathing hard and shaking uncontrollably, Atarah crouched warily on the floor looking up at a group of about twenty men and women who stood, arms crossed, glaring at her. She pulled Gadreel close and rested a clammy hand on Shua’s arm to reassure her. Gadreel ’s screams escalated.

A scowling woman with unkempt gray-streaked hair stepped from the group and faced Atarah, hands on her hips. “You’ve put us all in danger.” An icy rivulet of fear down Atarah’s spine. “And for nothing. They’ll just circle around and find you.”

Chapter Fourteen

Eudocea

“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 18:22

“I told you he’s fine.” Shem spoke to his brothers in an undertone, teeth clenched. “You know scorpions always hold their stingers up like that. Nothing touched him.”

A short distance ahead Father trotted apologetically beside his enraged brother as they descended the ramp and headed in the direction of the house at a furious clip. The unhappiness on Father’s face wrenched Shem’s heart. He could barely endure the astonishing stream of blue expletives aimed at the man who never swore.

 “Does he ever shut up?” Japheth muttered.

“Sometimes.” Shem’s mind cut back to Paseah huddled on the lift, too terrified to utter a sound. He didn’t feel a lot of respect for his uncle at the moment.

“He’s making a big fuss about nothing,” Ham said.

“Not exactly nothing.” Shem increased his speed to catch up with Father. “Uncle was nose to nose with a lion. I was scared, too.”

“First bears and then lions. What’s going on?” Ham asked.

“I can’t figure it out.” Japheth’s eyes narrowed in thought.

Ahead of them Paseah paused his diatribe long enough to bark instructions to slaves who immediately sprang into action. Camels bellowed and grunted. Harness bells jangled while Paseah continued to berate his brother. Noah hovered about his brother, despair written all over his face and posture, saying nothing to protect himself against the vicious tirade.

A bit of Father’s oft-repeated wisdom shimmered in Shem’s mind’s eye. “Do your best to talk to a fool” Father would say, and then in the next breath, “Don’t talk to a fool.” In the past it had sounded nonsensical to Shem – like one of Father’s jokes, but it made sense now that he’d seen that piece of advice in action. Earlier Father had tried to talk his beloved brother into accompanying them on the ark. But now what would be the point of saying anything? Paseah was in full attack mode, ears clamped shut.

Paseah strode on toward the house, modulating his topic only slightly to include Noah’s small home and accuse his brother of forcing his family to live in poverty so he could direct all his resources toward the ark. “It’s little better than a shack and you’ve made your wife live there for at least – what? a hundred and twenty years?” He slowed long enough to give Noah eye contact. “No wait! Let me guess! Your wife had to help you lug rocks to build it, didn’t she?”  When Noah didn’t answer Uncle’s lips curled into a sneer. “You’ve never even bothered keeping a few slaves to spare her, have you?”

Every insult hurled at Father vibrated through Shem. Yes, the house was simple, but welcoming. No, Father didn’t approve of slavery, though he had hired workers for the first few years before his boys grew enough to work hard. But Mother never complained. She often mentioned how she loved the little home where she’d raised three sons.

Every fiber of Shem’s being pulsed with the urge to throttle his uncle, but he held his temper. Any confrontation would only make things worse. Besides, Father wouldn’t allow him to disrespect Paseah.

Shem attempted to pick up the thread of his brothers’ conversation to calm his emotional turmoil. “Yeah, I can’t figure out what’s going on with the lions and bears either, but it’s more than just them. I’ve never seen scorpions on the ark before, have you? Think their appearance has anything to do with the Flood?”

Ham and Japheth didn’t respond and Shem recognized emotions identical to his own playing across his brothers’ features and in their clenched fists. They probably hadn’t even heard him.

Mother came out of the house wringing her hands. Shem hoped she could not make out Uncle’s words at that distance, but she must have heard the racket or she would still be inside dipping candles with Japheth’s wife.

The abuse continued. “You really believe your god will rescue you! He’ll make

me king before he lifts a finger to help you.” Paseah’s mocking made the hair stand up on the back of Shem’s neck. “Who do you think told me to come up here so I’d believe all the things our brothers and sisters say about you? Your god! He told me you were delusional, and you are. What an idiot I was to give all that gold for you!” Paseah sneered in disgust and cursed using the name of the One True God. Uncle had been arrogant in a way that felt almost endearing when they first met. This was entirely different. “You’re going to die of old age with that outlandish monstrosity still stranded on dry land on the top of a mountain.”

“Think he realizes how he’s hurting Father?” Ham asked.

            Shem shook his head. Not in answer to Ham’s question, but because the entire episode was unnerving. He understood that fear prompted Paseah’ behavior, but what difference did that make? They were seeing his true character. The cruelty inside him had pushed away the pleasant facade and poked out its ugly head. With all control gone, Uncle could no longer disguise the evil in his heart.

A clamor from the slaves drew Shem’s attention. They were gesturing toward a lone figure coming up the mountain. A woman. One of Paseah’s slaves ran to her and she collapsed into his arms. “It’s Eudocea!” the slave shouted.

Ham’s bride!

Paseah stopped mid-sentence. “Eudocea?” Anger forgotten, he hurried toward her, beckoning his slave to bring her closer. “Why is she alone?”

Ham stood frozen, all color drained from his face.

After recovering from his own shock, Shem slugged his brother’s arm. “Go!” The younger man shuddered into action. Easily passing his older slower uncle, he reached the woman ahead of Paseah. Tenderly lifting the still form of his betrothed from the slave, Ham gathered her to him with an anguished moan.

“Is she alive?” Shem asked.

The slave shrugged, concern etching his forehead.

Paseah brushed gray powder from her hair. “Ash!”

Holding her close, Ham hurried toward the house. The woman’s arms bounced limply. When he neared the front door, Mother held it open for him. Ulla was already wiping the girl’s forehead with a cloth as Ham carried her inside.

 Though it was difficult to ascertain anything with confidence from that distance, Shem could tell her eyes remained closed. But he’d seen enough to know she was beautiful, and if she lived Ham would be enthralled with her. Devoted to her. Ham didn’t worry as much about character and purity as Shem did.

Paseah stumbled toward the trailhead, confused. “Ash . . . in her hair.” He spun in a circle searching the sky. “Where was the eruption?”

“You won’t be able to see anything from there.” Noah guided his brother by the elbow. “This way.” They climbed a rise where they could look over the trees.

Paseah scanned the horizon and pointed at a distant smoking mountain. “My home. I’ve lost everything.” His words were garbled. Unseeing eyes darted wildly about. “Have to go!” He staggered toward his already-loaded caravan on wobbly legs, moaning audibly.

 “Dear brother.” Noah gripped Paseah’ shoulder, his voice soothing. “Stay with us.”

“I have to . . . go . . . salvage something.” Paseah shrugged Noah away and lifted unsteady hands to his temples. “Claim my property.”

 “No, Brother.” Noah’s eyes spilled over with love. “Only devastation awaits. Live with us.”

Shem could almost hear what Father was thinking. Paseah’ family and home had almost certainly perished when the volcano blew. All indications were that the Flood would begin soon. So even anything that survived would still be wiped away. But if Uncle believed Noah – believed God – and stayed, at least his life would be spared on the ark. And as soon as the heavens opened and the deluge began, he would see the promises of the One True God fulfilled with his own eyes. Paseah would have no choice other than believing then.

Grief twisting his features, Paseah tentatively reached out to hug his brother. “If things are . . . gone . . . I’ll be back.” They clung to one another for awhile and when they separated tears washed both faces. Finally, with the help of one of his slaves, Noah’s beloved brother climbed onto the back of a camel. With a loud protest, it rocked to its feet and swayed down the mountain, the rest of the camels and slaves following.

Out of respect Noah, Shem and Japheth waited until the caravan disappeared from sight before turning their attention to Eudocea. No one had come out of the house to tell them anything about her condition.

“Uncle didn’t wait to find out if she’s dead or alive,” Japheth said as they walked toward the house.

“I’m not sure he cares,” said Shem. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the differences between Father and Paseah. Why had all Father’s siblings turned away from God? It made no sense when Noah and Grandfather Lamech loved God so much. At the memory of Grandfather, unexpected relief washed over Shem. “I’m glad he died when he did.”

“Grandfather?” said Japheth.

“Yes.”

“Because he did not have to watch Paseah?” asked Japheth.

“That’s right.”

“Hard to believe he’s been gone five years.” Father’s voice was quiet. “It’s indescribably sad. I miss him.”

Shem could not tell if he referred to Grandfather or Paseah, but didn’t matter. It was all sad. “Very sad,” he agreed.

But not as sad as Ham would be if Eudocea didn’t make it.

Shem tried to lose himself in the shrill music of crickets as he watched Ham pace in front of the split-log bench beside the house. Back and forth. In and out of the lamplight streaming from the window. Each time Ham stepped close to the opening, light illuminated his worried features. He kept his eyes averted, giving the women in the house privacy as they fought to save his future wife’s life.

Father sat with hands clasped in front of him, head bent, elbows resting on his knees. Japheth mirrored his pose. Shem pressed a sore spot at the base of his back against one of the stones jutting from the wall of the house and wondered when or if Eudocea would gain consciousness.

Nights had grown darker over the last few months, but for some reason tonight seemed darker, even with light from the fire pit continually changing the shapes of rocks and trees. And faces. Shem watched Father’s wrinkles shift with the moving light. Interesting that Father could appear so youthful, so fit and yet boast so many wrinkles.

Shem changed positions to gaze into the pitch black night. Concentrating on crickets failed to distract him -- he empathized too strongly with his brother. Maybe the thick darkness came from the bleakness of evil and uncertainty surrounding them.

 “How long has it been?” Ham asked.

“Five, maybe six hours.” Father answered.

“Will she be okay?” Like a young boy pleading for reassurance from his daddy, Ham beseeched Noah.

“We’re praying.” Father was gentle, but confident. “And Mother has exposed the infected wound to flies.”

“How long before the maggots hatch?”

“A couple of days. And then it’ll take two or three more for them to eat away the infection.” Father answered the questions even though Ham should know how events would unfold. They’d used that method of healing infected wounds for years.

“I’ll haul water to flush it as soon as the blood turns bright.” Ham said.

“Good.” Father said.

Ham’s words hit Shem like a fist to the gut. Saying he’d haul the water alone was Ham’s way of telling his brother to stay out of his business. Things had changed. The two of them would no longer function as a team. Ham and Eudocea would be a new team.

Without Shem.

A zing of loneliness shot through him, and he pushed it aside. Ham was right. Eudocea was Ham’s wife. Ham should be the one to take care of her. Doing anything he could to help her heal would make Ham feel useful.

“She’s in God’s hands, Son,” Father said.

“She’s so pale.”

“God can and will do whatever he chooses,” Father reminded him.

“I don’t even know the color of her eyes.” 

“You know God loves you.”

“And Eudocea,”  Ham said.

“Yes. He loves Eudocea.” Father said.

“If she . . . ,” Ham didn’t finish the thought.

The angst in his brother’s voice tore at Shem. Ham might get on his nerves occasionally, but somewhere down deep he loved his brother. He wanted happiness for him. A wife, that’s what he wanted for Ham. He wanted Ham’s future wife to live. Sitting idly on a bench in order to show support for his brother was ridiculous. A silly custom. He couldn’t stay here a moment longer.

And Ham shouldn’t either.

Abruptly, Shem rose to his feet and stretched his back. “Those bears aren’t going to rummage around and find the right room without our help.” He and Ham both needed to get busy. It’d get their minds off Eudocea and help them think about something else. “Let’s go lock them up, Ham.”

“It’s dark,” Ham protested.

“What difference does that make? It’s always dark inside the ark.”

“I’ll go with you.” Japheth was already beside him. “Ham should stay.”

“Let’s go then.” Shem lit a torch at the fire pit, hoping his voice wouldn’t betray the anger he felt for Japheth right now. What was Japheth thinking? Ham needed to work off stress, not Japheth.

They hiked in silence, light from their torches chasing darkness in a circle around them. A raccoon lumbered across the dirt path and Shem hopped sideways to avoid tripping over him. He continued to simmer. He didn’t want to work with Japheth. He wasn’t accustomed to Japheth’s work rhythm since the two usually concentrated on different tasks while he and Ham worked as a team.

A bemused smile lifted the corners of Shem’s mouth at the thought of thinking of himself as a team with Ham. Evidentially he cared more about his brother than he realized.

“What are you smiling about?”

“Nothing.” The last thing Shem needed to do was chat with Japheth.

“You could have sent for a wife, too.” Japheth’s accusation plunged into Shem like a spear.

“Straight to the point.” Ice edged Shem’s words, but he remembered Paseah and ground his teeth to keep from saying something he’d regret. Evidentially Japheth thought he resented Ham because Ham found a wife and Shem couldn’t. Shem didn’t believe himself capable of that kind of jealousy and didn’t want to consider the possibility.

“Well, you could have. It’s your own fault.” Persistent, that Japheth.

“Point made. Now you’re bludgeoning it.”

“Face the truth.”

Shem turned to face Japheth instead, lifting the torch to better see his face. His brother’s simple statement had reminded him why he’d never charged Japheth with deep thinking. “The truth is, I could not have done what Ham did. I need more.”

“What are you talking about? She’s beautiful.”

“Yes, but who is she? Inside, I mean. We know nothing about her.”

“Who cares?”

“Because of the way she looks?”

“Of course because of the way she looks.” Japheth stopped walking and turned to Shem with a perplexed expression. “You think it’s better to spend the next eight hundred years alone while the rest of us raise families?”

“Maybe.” Shem sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t know.” The compassion he recognized in his brother’s eyes made him realize he’d judged Japheth unfairly. Japheth was a solid guy. He might not understand Shem, but he wished the best for him. It wasn’t Japheth’s fault that he couldn’t comprehend how much Shem longed for purity and righteousness in a wife. Why had God made him so different from other men?

Look for an additional chapter on Wednesday this week. 

Chapter Thirteen

Lost on the Ark
© Jeannie St. John Taylor

“And of every living thing of all flesh, you shall bring two of every sort into the ark to keep them alive with you. Take with you seven pairs of all clean animals, the male and his mate and a pair of the animals that are not clean, the male and his mate, and seven pairs of the birds of the heavens also, male and female, to keep their offspring alive on the face of all the earth.”  Gen. 6:19; 7:2,3

Sprinting ahead of his brothers towards his uncle’s voice, Shem was the first to see Paseah materialize from the depths of the dark hallway, scrawny arms and naked five-hundred-year-old legs pumping furiously. Just as Shem reached him, the hem of the robe Paseah had tucked into his belt worked free and swung down to his feet, tripping him. Shem grabbed his uncle’s shoulders to prevent a fall.

“Where’s Father?” He tried not to hold so tightly to his uncle, but fear wouldn’t permit him to loosen his grip.

Paseah stared in his nephew’s face, eyes wide with terror, spikes of gray hair standing up in all directions, chest heaving. He looked like an entirely different person from the self-assured man Shem had come to know over the past few days. Without a word, Paseah’s eyes slid sideways in the direction he’d just come. An unintelligible sound gurgled from his throat. He broke free of Shem and pushed past Japheth and Ham just as they caught up, breathing hard.

The bears! Shem shot down the corridor with his brothers in close pursuit. He checked every open door, refusing to allow his mind to linger on what he might find.

“Looking for someone?” Father calmly emerged from behind a heavy door and closed it.

Sucking air, Shem doubled over with his hands facing inward on his quads and his elbows out. He fought tears of relief. Arriving seconds later, Ham collapsed onto his back on the floor and Japheth leaned against the wall, gasping for breath.

            Noah studied them curiously. “What’s the matter with you?”

            “Us?” Shem straightened, still breathing hard. “We thought bears mauled you.”

            “Bears?”

            “I expected to find you in a bloody heap on the floor,” Japheth said. He sounded a little angry and Shem was feeling a little angry himself. He supposed the emotion covered fear.

            “What are you talking about?” Genuine surprise elevated Noah’s voice before a look of recognition slowly spread over his face. “Oh. You heard my brother scream.” He raised his eyebrows in amusement. “Did I forget to tell you Paseah gets a little obsessed about some things?”

            “About what things?” Ham stood defiantly in front of his father, arms crossed. Ham was evidentially covering a lot of fright, too. His father kept a long look leveled on him before reopening the door he’d just closed. “See for yourself.” He lifted a lighted torch from the wall, still holding Ham’s eyes, and handed the light to his son. He stood aside while Ham entered the room torch-first.

            Shem was tempted to ask if the bears were in the room, but he knew his father would never put Ham in real danger. Ham knew it, too.

            Grinning, Noah closed the door behind his son. A few moments later, a scream matching Paseah’s sounded from behind the door and Ham burst out looking whiter than a newborn lamb. Father slid down the wall laughing so hard tears ran down his face. “You scream like your uncle.”

            Ham spluttered incoherently and prepared to exit down the corridor.

            “Wait!” Shem’s eyes traveled toward the offensive room. “What’s in there?”

Lips pressed in a tight line, Ham thrust the torch toward him. Shem accepted it and peeked inside, but all he saw was empty room. He entered and walked halfway to the back before he understood. Against the far wall two huge sleeping pythons lay laced together like knee-high sandal straps. The largest snake sported a lump the size of small deer near his middle. The other, probably female, revealed a smaller bulge. Maybe a skunk. Well fed and apparently ready to sleep for a several months, the snakes threatened no one.

Backing out of the room, Shem joined his father’s laugh-fest. Japheth took the torch, checked out the room and did the same. 

“Paseah . . . has a . . . snake . . . paranoia . . .  too.” Noah choked out the words between snorting guffaws. Gales of merriment echoed through the ark.

“Not funny.” Ham balled up fists.

“Sorry.” Shem spread his palms toward his brother. “Really . . . sorry.”

Gradually, Shem, Japheth and Noah managed to subdue their laughter and apologize. “Tell you what.” Shem said. “If you forgive us for making fun of you, I’ll take care of all snakes the entire time we’re in here.”

A lengthy glare preceded Ham’s one-word answer. “Deal.”

            “There’s no deal if you hold a grudge.” Shem held out his hand and Ham shook it, then punched his brother in the gut. “Ooof!”

            “Now we’re even.”

            Japheth and father shook their heads, baffled. Shem knew his relationship with Ham puzzled the two of them because they couldn’t understand the single life. They both had wives. He and Ham had only each other. Until Eudocea arrived.

            “How’d the snakes get in there?” Japheth asked Father.

            The look Father gave without speaking a word answered the question. Events were taking place much as Father had predicted. Just as God promised they would. Shem was lost in his own silent world of “too soon” thoughts when Ham mentioned the bears.

            “What bears?” Noah asked.

            “Two grizzlies. Outside one of the second floor hay storage rooms.”

            “Isn’t that the direction my brother went?” Father asked.

 Sudden fear swept Shem. “Oh no! Paseah!” Where was his uncle?

Noah directed with his torch, barking instructions. “Japheth!” He pointed in the direction they’d last seen Paseah. His youngest son sprinted away. “Ham, first level. Shem, lower level.”

Hurrying to the closest stairway, Shem rode the smooth railing to the bottom the way he’d done as a child. It was one of the few banisters that hadn’t left splinters in his behind and sliding was still faster than the steps. He doubted he’d find Paseah down on the lowest level, but who knew? Paseah hadn’t appeared completely rational the last time Shem saw him. Getting lost on the ark with its maize of rooms and hallways was easy to do and his uncle could have wandered down to the lower level in his confusion. Shem had no idea how many stairways they’d constructed over the years. Too many to count.

Dare he yell his uncle’s name? How would they ever find the man if he didn’t? But any noise might put both his and Paseah’s lives in danger. Shem would have to search every room and every hallway the length of the three-hundred-cubit ark. It could take hours. Literally. He couldn’t rush the job and risk coming upon the bears unexpectedly.

 He cautiously stepped inside one doorway and investigated the room. Empty. He’d have to move faster than this. If his uncle had seen the bears, he could be hiding somewhere, anywhere, hoping for rescue before the bears spotted him. Shem remembered a flock of his own chickens that had been terrified by a coyote. They all flew to the safety of a tree, but the coyote just sat below them, waiting patiently. Eventually terror overwhelmed three, causing them to flap from the safe perch and offer themselves up for lunch. Would Paseah be a chicken if he found the bears?

Shem picked up his pace, disposing of the next three rooms in mere seconds.

            All the doors on this level had been affixed years ago since the family built from the first floor up. Most stood open, waiting, and Shem only had to stick his torch inside and run light around the perimeter of the room. He checked room after room on both sides of one hallway then started up the next, carefully closing and latching each door as he went to keep track of his progress. No use in searching twice.

            All were vacant.

            With every step and each additional place examined, Shem’s concern for his uncle mounted. He continually reminded himself that he’d gotten lost here as a child and made it out safely. Paseah would be fine. Fine.

So why was his mouth dry and his hands shaky?

Maybe because there’d never been bears and dangerous snakes on the ark before.

Or maybe because a good bit of time had already passed and he knew if anyone else had found Paseah they’d have sounded the all clear signal down one of the feed elevators or communication openings.

            Two hallways completed, Shem entered the ark’s large center area. Unable to see to the far end of the room where the waterwheel rested silently behind a wooden fence intended to keep animals out, he lit several of the torches set in the wall near him.         

The immense space spread out before him two stories high, seventy-five cubits wide and as many cubits long. Massive support beams marched in four rows down the length of the room. Trees intended for birds and climbing things were anchored in the floor and rose the entire twenty cubits to the ceiling, branches intact. Dead center of the room, a round pool sloped gently downward. Nothing but a dry hollow now, it would become a pool for large animals when the ark floated and Noah opened the water slot low in the ark.

Fresh water would flow though the slot to fill the pool as well as provide running water for the cleansing room in the family quarters. Using the principles discovered by two of Cain’s descendants, Tubal-cain, who forged instruments in bronze and iron and his brother Jubal, who made musical instruments, Shem and Father had collaborated on a design for tubes that could carry water throughout the ark. One entire room on the top deck held replacement parts carefully packed in sawdust.

The water would rush through a waterwheel turned by some of the larger animals. A series of wooden troughs and tipping buckets would direct it to provide fresh drinking water throughout the ark. Additional tubes would flush animal and human waste from an opening above the water near the top of the ark. The family would actually have a shower and toilet like the washing rooms in the elegant homes in the city near them. Quite an improvement over the current wooden one-seater poised over the running stream behind their house.

Shem walked over to the empty pool trying to remember the number of times he’d water-proofed it with pitch. Hundreds? Standing at the edge he held his torch downward to see into the depression. A large lump of some kind lay on the bottom where there shouldn’t be anything.

His heart thudded. Paseah? The bump was big enough to be his uncle. Shem’s breathing accelerated. How would Father feel if his own brother died on the ark when Father had been trying to spare Paseah’s life by bringing him on? Father would be devastated if, after a life dedicated to the Lord, God allowed this to happen in the very ark God commanded Noah to build.

Shem moved nearer and something flicked away from the bump. He cried out involuntarily and jumped back. Slowly he moved closer again and leaned in aiming the torch directly at the lump. Crocoodiles! A crocodile that shouldn’t be on the ark yet had just whipped its tail out. First bears and then snakes and now crocodiles! Did they need to start locking the ark at night?

“Pssst! Shem.”

Paseah! Shem followed the sound of the whisper with his torch. His uncle stood with his back pressed against the wall, arms out, hands spread, eyes large, obviously afraid to move. “Crocodiles.”

“I saw.” Shem whispered, too. No point in disturbing dangerous animals.

“Bears that direction.” Paseah nodded in the direction of the waterwheel.

“Where? How’d you see anything?” The darkness had been impenetrable when Shem first entered the area. He tiptoed to his uncle and Paseah clutched Shem in a desperate hug.

“Had a torch. Went out. Lost.” Paseah clung to Shem’s arm with two clammy hands. “Get me out of here!”

Shem could feel the man’s frail body trembling. Strange how much more youthful father seemed than his one-hundred-years-younger brother. Shem could see the torch lying at his uncle’s feet. He could also see the bears at the far end of the room. “Move very slowly. We don’t want to call attention to ourselves.”

With one arm encircling his uncle, Shem guided him back to the hall he’d recently cleared. Closing the door behind them, he exhaled with relief. “You’re safe now Uncle.” All danger past, he spoke in a normal tone.

In a flash, Paseah morphed from a delicate elderly gentleman to a tornado of raw fury. “You and my idiot brother nearly got me killed!” He jerked the neck of his robe down to reveal bruised shoulders. “Look what you did when you grabbed me upstairs! Bruised me you oaf!”

He stomped away, but got only three doors down before stopping. He turned on Shem with a murderous expression. “Lead me to the exit!”

Surprised, Shem stared openmouthed. He hadn’t even had time to call up to let Father know his brother was all right. “Let me just . . .”

“Now!” An expletive exploded from Uncle.

“This way.” Shem remained unruffled on the outside though he could feel heat rising to his face. In a way he didn’t blame his uncle. Who wouldn’t get mad under the circumstances? But no one had deliberately tried to harm him. Surely Paseah understood that.

Walking briskly ahead of his uncle, Shem tried not to listen to Paseah rant about the depth of evil and stupidity he’d seen in Noah, how Paseah deserved a more competent older brother and how his own actions in sending a slave to fetch that ridiculous woman for Ham had been brilliant. Just brilliant. He’d been a little worried it might not be fair to Ham before. But not now. Now he was ecstatic he’d tricked his nephew. Let Noah’s son endure her. Better than one of his own boys. As long as he was obligated to find a husband for her who better than one of Noah’s sons?

As they approached the stairway, Shem stepped aside to allow the older man to go first. Against his better judgment, Shem’s mind was already burrowing into the “ridiculous woman” statement. He assumed Paseah meant Ham’s wife. What had his uncle done? What had he deliberately stuck Ham with? His brother had given his word and he couldn’t back out of the agreement. But maybe with the Flood closing in, a bad wife was better than no wife.

At a blood-curdling scream from the stairway, Shem snapped back to the present. Near the top of the stairs, Paseah stood face to face with two lions, a tawny female and larger male with a bushy black mane. They looked like the pair he and Ham had spotted on the hillside earlier.

“Run Uncle!” He yelled.

Paseah didn’t move.

Taking the stairs two at a time while still grasping the torch, Shem grabbed his catatonic uncle. Throwing him over one shoulder, Shem ran down the stairs and darted around a turn. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the lions quietly watching their departure.

As soon they reached the closest feed elevator, Shem dumped his uncle on the thick floor, jumped on beside him and began yanking on the pulley ropes. Paseah huddled in the middle of the floor as far from the open sides as possible. Arrogant Uncle gone. Meek Uncle back.

Shem understood his uncle’s fear. The elevators weren’t really intended for hauling people, but no animals would be on the elevator. He’d keep his uncle away from predators and get him out of the ark as quickly as possible. When they stopped on the third floor they’d be only a few doors from the outside. Hopefully, Shem could spirit Paseah off the ark with little additional trauma. The man looked ready to collapse.

The events of the day had left Shem feeling unsettled, too. Father told them all along that his calculations revealed possibly as many as forty-five-thousand animals would some day troop onto the ark. But it had sounded preposterous to Shem and he’d never completely believed it.

And he had never considered that many of them could offer a threat.

Until now.

“You okay?” Shem asked. When his uncle failed to respond, Shem glanced his direction. Paseah stared straight ahead like a dead man. “Oh. Afraid of heights.” Shem remembered feeling terrified of the elevator as a boy. Falling down the open shaft could easily kill a man.

“No.” Paseah croaked. A scorpion bigger than his hand posed beside him, tail up.