Chapter Seventeen

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. 

Intruders
 © Jeannie St. John Taylor

“And now, the giants, who are produced from the spirits and flesh, shall be called evil spirits upon the earth, and on the earth shall be their dwelling. Evil spirits have proceeded from their bodies. Because they are born from men, and from the holy Watchers is their beginning and primal origin, they shall be evil spirits on earth, and evil spirits shall they be called.” Book of Enoch, Section One 15:8 – 10

“Stop!” a familiar voice hissed close to Atarah’s ear. “It’s me. Tirza!”

Still only half awake, Atarah ceased struggling and opened her eyes, momentarily uncertain whether Tirza offered help or a threat. Remembering the baby, Atarah’s eyes swept the bed beside her. Empty. She bolted upright, shoving aside Tirza’s hand, adrenaline pumping. “Where’s . . .”

“Shhh!” Tirza pressed a finger against her own lips and raised her eyebrows in warning. She nodded toward Shua who stood cradling the baby in the narrow space between the two hollowed-out stone beds of hay. His head rested contentedly on her shoulder. As soon as Tirza saw Atarah’s eyes light on the baby, she placed a hand on Atarah’s shoulder to get her attention and pivoted slowly to point toward the door.

That’s when Atarah heard the wheezing followed by a nasty laugh. Dagaar.

She leapt to her feet, panicked, but with a quick shake of the head Tirza warned her to silence then slid her eyes sideways toward the sleeping child.

Yes. Right. Atarah didn’t want to awaken Gadreel . Baby sounds, even happy ones, would attract her enemy’s attention. Atarah’s eyes raked the room for a hiding place. Nothing. The usual ones were useless here. The wooden table was too small to hide anyone. Dug into the rock wall, there was no space under or behind the beds, but . . .

Frantically, Atarah clawed at the hay. Perhaps they could burrow into the dried grass and keep Gadreel out of sight until Dagaar passed by. Tirza placed a restraining hand on Atarah’s arm and shook her head. With her mouth in a tight line, she crooked a finger and angled her head toward the door way. She wanted Atarah to go with her!

Reluctantly, Atarah stood. Tirza was right. Dagaar was too close. Atarah’s only hope consisted in distracting Dagaar before he found their sleeping quarters and the baby. He might chase her and overlook Gadreel. Glancing back to make certain Shua and the baby stayed safely in the room, Atarah strode past Tirza and out the door. Directly toward the voices. 

            Before Atarah got five steps, Tirza grabbed her arm and yanked her to the wall. Hard. Confused, Atarah rubbed the back of her head while she questioned the other woman with her eyes. With her hand firmly on Atarah’s shoulder and her back tightly against the wall, Tirza demonstrated what she expected, inching sideways toward the sound. Atarah imitated her movements.

The volume grew continually louder and the words more distinct while currents of fear swirled through Atarah. Her eyes darted about the wide space, peering into every shadowed corner and crevice, but she couldn’t locate the owner of the voice. The place appeared empty. How was that possible?

Tirza stopped and pointed upward. Atarah followed her gaze to a small hole in the ceiling. The voices came from there. Dagaar and his men were engaged in an argument on the floor directly above them.

“Fools!” Dagaar bellowed. The hole magnified his voice. Atarah suspected she could hear him if he whispered. “She is here and we will find her!” He launched into a tirade of filthy intimidations, giving Atarah the impression some of the men had threatened to give up and return home.

One of Dagaar’s cronies swore and called him a foul name. In the confused jumble of angry voices that followed, Atarah couldn’t make out words.

Finally, Dagaar shouted them down. As soon as everyone quieted, he switched from angry-forceful to slimy-conciliatory. “You can do whatever you wish with her after I’m finished.” Eager guffaws once again melded them into a unit. Someone spat.

Atarah shuddered and Tirza placed a reassuring hand on her arm.

“And then . . .” Dagaar oozed, driving the frenetic blood lust of his men. “we’ll smell fresh blood and burning baby-boy flesh.” Laughter burst through the hole.

Shivers crawled down Atarah’s arms and her fingernails bit into her palms.

“What’s this?” Another male voice interrupted the festivity.

Silence. Shuffling sounds filtered downward. “Someone deliberately drilled that.” Dagaar spoke softly. Atarah had been correct in her earlier guess about being able to hear whispers.

They’d spotted the hole.

“What’s it for?”

“Hey, look!” Another voice. Still whispering. There must be more men with Dagaar than Atarah had thought. “You can see all the way through. There’s another tunnel. Or maybe a room, I can’t tell for sure because I can’t see any walls.”

Atarah squeezed Tirza’s hand in silent thanks for her foresight in insisting they remain where they wouldn’t be spotted.

“We couldn’t see if there wasn’t a light burning down there.” Dagaar reasoned.

“I think she’s down there.” someone whispered.

Dagaar wheezed and Atarah knew he was laughing. “We’ve got her.” Atarah’s heart flipped.

“But what’s with the hole?” someone questioned.

Silence told Atarah they were puzzling out the riddle.

Dagaar cursed. “It’s for transmitting sound!” He whispered yet more quietly. “So that whoever built this place could hear enemies approach.” He swore again in a low voice. “They could be listening to us right now. Keep quiet while we find the way down. There’s got to be stairs or a tunnel.”

Atarah spun around without a word and lurched the short distance back down the corridor to Shua and the baby. Tirza stayed on her heels.

“Was that Dagaar?” Shua asked. Miraculously, the baby still slept.

Tirza stood between Atarah and the door.

Atarah nodded. “We have to leave. Now!” she whispered. “Dagaar and his men could be here any second!”

Tirza blocked the exit, her voice low and commanding. “No! You can’t go yet.”

            Angrily, Atarah whirled toward her with false bravado. “You can’t stop us!” She had no idea how they’d get past the stronger woman or what they would do afterward, but surely even weak from hunger the two of them together could fend off Tirza. They’d run blindly to escape Dagaar before. They could do it again.

            “I’m trying to help you.” Tirza hissed. “Do you want them to hear us?”            

Uncertainty wavered through Atarah’s sleep-deprived brain. Could she trust Tirza?

            The doubt must have shown on her face because Tirza said, “I know you’re wondering if you can trust me. Think . . . did I get you away from Peleg?”

“Yes.” The strange relationship Tirza shared with her father almost made Atarah feel grateful for her own father.

“Did I keep you from discovery out there?”

Atarah nodded.

“You don’t know where to go and I do. Plus, there are very few entrances to this place and our people already sealed them all off. The men who are after you can’t get in unless we open the doorways from the inside.” Irritation raised Tirza’s volume and she clapped her hand over her mouth and turned an ear toward the door, listening, before shaking her head with a sigh. She was obviously upset with herself for shouting.  “Well, you’re safe if we both keep quiet.”

“Why does noise matter,” Shua asked suspiciously, “if they can’t get to us here?”

 “You want to expose the location of my people to men who kill, rape and destroy?” Tirza rolled her eyes in disgust. “That’s gratitude. And you’re the ones who brought them here.”

“We didn’t bring . . .” Shua began.

Tirza interrupted. “Do you have any idea what those men will do if they hear us? They don’t sound like nice men.”

Atarah didn’t want to think about everything that could happen.

“If they hear voices they’ll eventually figure out someone lives here and find a way in. They’ll rape and pillage my home and you’ll be the ones responsible for harming people who helped you. Do you want that?”

The injustice of the accusation flashed hot in Atarah, but instead of going on the defensive she covered her anger and said, “I’m sorry. We appreciate all you’ve done for us.” No use antagonizing Tirza further. Atarah did not know if she trusted Tirza or not, hadn’t the woman just said the men couldn’t get down to them here? Was she lying or overreacting by worrying uselessly about her friends? At the moment her motives didn’t matter. Atarah needed her. She had worse things than Tirza to worry about. Like Peleg, Dagaar . . . she could go on. She resisted the urge to look at Shua who, she guessed, was thinking the same things.

“You’re tired and hungry.” Tirza smiled and gestured toward the table which held two loaves of bread and the bowl of curdled milk she’d brought earlier. “Eat while you can. The community is running low on food.”

Alarm must have registered on Atarah’s face because Tirza chuckled.

“It’s not that desperate, I said we were running low, not running out. We always have milk from the goats even if they have to eat our beds to stay alive, and tonight we go gathering. Everyone is required to help, so I’ll be back to get you later.”

“Gathering?” The possibility of returning to the temple to retrieve stored food drew a cold line of fear down Atarah’s back.

“Don’t worry, Peleg doesn’t go along. We glean from the fields and orchards outside after dark. We collect enough to keep us well fed without taking so much the owners of the fields notice. After tonight we may even have honey for the curdled milk. Someone scouted out a lion’s carcass with a honeycomb inside.” 

Tirza planned to show them the way out! Atarah’s heart soared. They could flee to safety. With every limb trembling, she sank onto the pile of grass where she’d slept the night before. She needed food.

“You eat first. I’ll hold Gadreel ,” Atarah held out her arms. The baby didn’t awaken when the slave transferred him. She wondered if he slept so much and so soundly because of a growth spurt. Atarah could see a difference in him just over the last few days.

Shua bit a large chunk from one loaf. “Delicious.”

“You have to be hungry.” Tirza’s mouth quirked into a grin. “Hoda made that and she’s a rotten cook. Peleg chose her for her looks.”

Was that an attempt at humor? Unwilling to offend, Atarah squeaked out a polite chuckle while Shua giggled.

“So how are your parents?” Atarah asked cautiously.

The baby whimpered and opened his eyes. Atarah swayed with him, grateful to look in his face rather than at Tirza.

“Peleg didn’t mention you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Chiding herself for her transparency, Atarah stood and bounced the baby on her hip. She picked up one of the loaves with her free hand and broke off a piece for Gadreel. “Want some bread?” she cooed.  He wriggled chubby fingers and broke into a sparsely-toothed grin. The dampness of the underground crimped his fine curls into frizz. Atarah didn’t bother to smooth it and, since Tirza had already mentioned his extra fingers, she made no attempt to hide them.

“You don’t need to concern yourself with Peleg right now.” Tirza leaned against the door jamb and rubbed her forehead. “He has other things on his mind -- rumors of giants headed this way.”

Shock ripped through Atarah.

“Giants?” A dark flush colored Shua’s cheeks.

“I know. Giants scare me, too, but we’re safe here.” Tirza turned to Atarah. “You should eat.”

“We can’t be safe from the giants!” Shua still suffered from nightmares of the giants from her youth even though the beasts had not come near the City of a Thousand Gods as long as she’d lived there.

Atarah set the baby on the floor and placed the bowl of curdled milk in front of him. She put a comforting arm around Shua.

 “I assume you noticed the size of the tunnel entrance when you came in here.” Tirza said. “It was barely big enough for you to squeeze through, right?”

“Right,” Shua answered.

Gadreel played in the slimy mush, dipping his fingers into the bowl before bringing them joyfully to his mouth. Soon he’d smeared his face with a thick coating of white.

“Could a giant make it through?”

“No?” Shua sounded doubtful but hopeful.

 “A giant in one of those would be like a buffalo stuffed into a fox’s hole.” Tirza strangled herself and stuck out her tongue. “They would have to fold in half to pass through even the highest part of most tunnels.”

Shua giggled.

Atarah understood Tirza’s statement as an exaggeration and appreciated her efforts to quell Shua’s fears. She broke a loaf in half and began to eat. Shua was right. The bread tasted and smelled delicious.

“The Nephilim have to duck heads when they walk through those corridors and the giants are much taller,” Tirza assured them.

 The bite of bread caught in Atarah’s throat. She bent forward coughing and choking. Tirza grabbed the baby while Shua slapped her on the back.

“The Nephilim know about this place?” Atarah finally choked out her question.

A quizzical expression furrowed Tirza’s brow. “Of course. They’re our gods. We can’t keep out our gods.”

Atarah’s knees wobbled. Zaquiel must know about this place.

“They fit through the small entrances?” Shua’s eyes met Atarah’s. She had obviously remembered Zaquiel, too.

“They don’t have to. We meet them inside the temples. Each temple has one entrance big enough for the Nephilim. We don’t know their location.”

“Temples? There’s more than one temple?” Zaquiel could show up anywhere at any time.

Shua pressed a fist to her mouth, visibly upset. “How often do they come?”

 “We have no idea. They just suddenly appear.” Tirza handed the baby back to Atarah. “We stay prepared. And when they arrive we drop everything and go meet their needs.”

The phrase “staying prepared” explained the fully stocked temple.

“When anyone arrives – Nephilim or human -- we keep track of every movement by listening through the warning holes. That’s how we knew your whereabouts.” Tirza inclined her head toward the door. “And that’s how I knew where those horrid men were.”

Atarah commenced eating again. Strength from the food was finally beginning to flow into her, clearing her thoughts. The way Tirza casually handed Gadreel back to her and willingly offered information eased several niggling concerns. For the first time, Atarah relaxed enough to notice the weariness-etched lines in Tirza’s face. Atarah found herself softening toward the woman. What had she suffered? With a father like Peleg, Atarah didn’t want to know.

“How long did you track us?” Atarah asked with feigned indifference.

“An entire day. Impressed?” Tirza smiled.

Atarah tried to remember how many days or weeks since they left home, but her mind blanked. However, if Peleg tracked them for one day only she and Shua had gone undetected for a good while. And that told her Tirza and her people must live deep in the underground.

“You were moving in circles a lot,” Tirza continued, “plus we keep lookouts. Peleg says there are at lease thirty levels wandering back and forth through the mountain. So we keep guards on duty day and night and when anyone gets too close we seal off all exits. You passed several.”

“Several guards?” Atarah licked the curdled milk off Gadreel ’s fingers and regarded Tirza curiously.

“Not guards. Exits. Entrances.” Tirza shrugged. “You wouldn’t have seen them because you didn’t know what to watch for. When you’re focused on the path it’s nearly impossible to see an extra boulder plugging a hole. Just looks like another rock against another wall.”

“We might have gotten here sooner if we’d gone down one of those corridors we discounted.”

“Not necessarily. A lot of the tunnels lead nowhere and some entrances are simple openings without tunnels leading to them. Easy to miss.” Tirza pushed away from the door and stretched. “You can stay with us for as long as you like. We don’t have much food left, but I’ll bring more bread later and the goats continue to give milk – even when we have to feed them our beds.” She chuckled.

“How can we ever thank you?” Atarah asked.

“You can thank us by helping gather food later. We have to bring in as much as we can before the giants get to it.” Tirza stooped to tweak the baby’s nose. “You’re such a big boy,” she cooed. “Yes you are.”

“No, he’s not!” Atarah shot off the words too quickly then bit her lip.

 A knowing smile appeared briefly in Tirza’s eyes. “I’ll be back.” She waved goodbye then poked her head back through the door. “Just stay put so Peleg doesn’t catch your scent.”

After few moments, Atarah ran after her. She caught up to her by the pool of water. “One more question.”

“Go ahead.” Tirza bent to drink from cupped hands.

“If you seal off all the exits when you hear intruders,” Atarah asked, “why didn’t you close off the one we came through?”

Tirza froze, her hands still brimming with water. After several moments she straightened. When she looked at Atarah, her eyes swam with pain. “Peleg wants the two of you.” 

A shiver of dread rippled from Atarah’s soul.

Chapter Sixteen

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. 

Community 
© Jeannie St. John Taylor 

“’For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the LORD, ‘plans for wholeness and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.’” Jeremiah 29:11

Rising cautiously to her feet, Atarah’s gaze swept the area, evaluating her surroundings. This wasn’t the temple. Like the temple, the space was hewn from mountain rock and large enough to accommodate many people, but the similarities stopped there. A single central room held many of the comforts of home and almost looked as though it had been lifted from one of the poorer homes in the city above.

Mismatched furniture constructed of wood and arranged for work and relaxation clustered around the space. In one area, a table with one leg missing was propped up with a stone. It stood between two rough straight chairs much like the ones found in the slave quarters behind Atarah’s home. Chipped cups and bowls of fired clay rested on small tables. Oil lamps with broken handles flickered from table tops and niches cut into walls. Except for the four long polished tables carved from the granite walls, the space appeared to be furnished with objects city residents had tossed out.

At the far end of the room, bright-white lambs snuggled with their mothers, and chickens pecked at pebbles scattered across the floor. Strange what chickens would consume to make gullets function smoothly. Atarah marveled that the place could feel cozy even though it reeked of livestock odors.

Around the perimeter of the space, multiple wooden doors blocked the view into what Atarah suspected might be family living and sleeping quarters. A few thick doors hung open, offering glimpses of cramped dark interiors.

Evidentially she and Shua had barged into the communal dwelling of the fifteen to twenty people clustered around them staring as though the two women were an entirely new species. Hadn’t Shua told her that sometimes escaped slaves lived down here? Fatigue and hunger so muddied Atarah’s thoughts she could only vaguely remember words and events from mere days earlier. Several of these people who wore rough brown clothing similar to Atarah’s had the hardened appearance of slaves. But one beautiful young woman with large dark eyes and nearly-black hair didn’t look like a slave at all. She carried herself with an elegance that belied her attire.

Atarah wiped the baby’s face and swayed from foot to foot hoping to quiet him. With her hands shaking and knees threatening to buckle under her, she gathered her wits to speak. “Thank you for. . .”

“Oh, she’s thanking us.” The mocking voice of the older woman who had spoken at first left the distinct impression of a person not pleased.

Atarah didn’t blame her. Them. They likely all felt hostility toward the trio. Who would be thrilled with strangers breaking in uninvited with a shrieking baby? She started over. “I’m sorry  . . .”

“Sit.” An older gentleman with a wart on his nose, apparently the leader of the group, interrupted Atarah by pointing to a backless bench dead center of the room. Atarah and Shua obediently walked over and settled themselves on the hard surface. He stood directly in front of them, shoulder to shoulder with the woman who had spoken earlier, studying them. Were the two husband and wife?

They appeared to be a matched set. Both were as wrinkled as elephants and nearly as large. Folds of fat hung from under the man’s chins. Her eyes bulged with fat. Though he bald, thick nose hair grew from his nostrils. The woman’s hair hung thin down her back in strings of non-descript shades of gray. Both wore dirty linen, a step up from the rough brown apparel of the other residents. Atarah picked up their unwashed odor even though she couldn’t remember the last time she herself had bathed properly.

With raised eyebrows and an intimidating look, the man dismissed the rest of the inhabitants. Without a word they spread across the space, busily attending to pre-assigned chores. Atarah counted eighteen people in all, none emaciated. Obviously everyone got enough to eat. Good news for the newcomers.

The woman waited a few beats then, never taking her eyes off Atarah, turned her head slightly and addressed the man in harsh tones loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. “You made a huge mistake.”

“Hush, Hoda!” His snarl trumped her nastiness. The odor of rotten teeth made Atarah’s stomach roll.oHo

“You had no right to welcome them,” Hoda said.

This was their version of a welcome?

With narrowed eyes, the man slowly pivoted to glare at the woman. Hoda pressed her lips into a line, jutted out her chin and folded arms over her drooping chest. The couple stared at one another. Atarah felt Shua’s damp fingertips slid over and make contact with hers. Atarah wanted to pat her reassuringly, but sensed she dare not move.

Tension sizzled through the room and activity increased. A pale red-haired woman bent to concentrate on threading her shuttle through the yarn on a loom. A grey-haired woman loaded a pan into one of the dome-shaped ovens. One man kneaded a loaf of bread while two more worked at a wine press. The dark-haired woman kept her sad gaze on Atarah as she stirred a large metal pot with a wooden implement.

While the man continued to glare at the woman Atarah and Shua sat rigidly, reluctant to draw attention to themselves. No one spoke. Not a word. Unnerving.

Finally, Hoda snapped, “Fine. Just make the right decision, Peleg.” She turned on her heel and stalked away.

Peleg crossed his arms over his protruding middle and planted his feet defiantly as he watched Hoda retreat. “I already decided,” he shouted just before she exited the room.

Hoda stopped, her back to him.

A man and woman drinking from a bowl at one of the long tables exchanged smirks. The woman at the loom worked faster. Another woman hurried to collect a kitchen utensil. The dark-haired woman paused on her way to set a bowl on one of the large tables, her eyes dark pools of sorrow.

“I’m keeping both women and the baby,” Peleg taunted. “They’re mine.”

Hoda’s shoulders drooped. 

A horse-faced young woman with strong arms wandered into the room leading three brown spotted goats with swollen teats. Noticing Hoda and Peleg, she stopped and glanced sharply at Atarah and Shua.

A goat bleated.

Hoda straightened. “Never too many wombs for Peleg,” her voice sang out in derision as she exited the room.

            Goose flesh raised on Atarah’s arms. She shut her eyes and envisioned the Light. Fear not.

Cursing, Peleg tore across the room and disappeared after Hoda. Scuffling and shouting reverberated through the corridor for several minutes. Eventually, the shrieking receded into the distance and Atarah could no longer understand the garbled argument, but knowing the fight revolved around her and Shua was frightening.

“Wombs?” Shua gripped Atarah’s hand hard enough to cut off Atarah’s circulation. Gadreel jabbered happy nonsense.

“Hold my animals for a minute, will you?” The woman with goats handed her animals off to a man about her age and tiptoed off toward Peleg’s and Hoda’s voices.

The aroma wafting from an oven near the tables floated into Atarah’s awareness. Her stomach growled. How long had it been since they’d eaten? The baby started to whimper softly and Atarah rubbed his back. His suffering caused her pain and she could do nothing to help him at the moment.

Shua trembled visibly, sending a pang of guilt through Atarah. She blamed herself for Shua’s misery as well as the baby’s. “You hungry or scared?” With the room still full of people, Atarah mouthed the choice.

“Both,” Shua mouthed back. Tears shone in her eyes. “And tired.”

“Me, too.” Atarah could see into a small room directly across from them. Dried grasses filled long narrow trenches hollowed into the rock. Beds? Oh to sink into one of those and drift peacefully off to sleep! But first she’d feed the baby. Then she’d sleep forever.

The goat-girl ambled cheerfully back into the room. “They’ll be awhile,” she announced with a laugh. “Let’s enjoy!” She twirled and pumped her arms in the air. The inhabitants snickered, visibly relaxing. A murmur of conversation filled the formerly-silent room.

“Gehazi! Milk them for me, will you?” the girl called to the man who held the goats for her. “Bring some milk in a skin for the baby.”

“Will do.”

Atarah watched him lead the animals to one of the areas bordering the main space. The girl retrieved a loaf of bread fresh from the oven, wrapped her scarf around it to protect her hands from the heat and hurried over. “You must be starving.” She split the loaf in half for Atarah and Shua. Atarah broke off pieces for the baby as she ate. “I’m Tirza. And you are . . . ?”

Atarah told her.

“We could hear you for the better part of a day,” Tirza told them. “Near the end, I thought those men were going to catch you. Did you know you were running in circles a lot?”

She left no time for Atarah or Shua to answer before she turned her attention to the baby.

“What a cutie! His eyes fill up most of his face, don’t they?” Talking so fast Atarah could barely follow her, the girl held her arms out for Gadreel. “Here. Let me take him for you. You must be totally exhausted and he looks heavy. Love those lavender eyes!”

“Um.” Atarah stiffened, searching her brain for a response. She didn’t want to hand over the baby. “I’m afraid he’ll scream for anyone else. Maybe when he gets used to you . . .” She settled him on her own lap and gave him another piece of bread. He sucked noisily.

“Oh, that’s okay.” The girl grinned. “What a sweet little guy.”  She reached out, pinched his cheek and patted his arm. Too tired to think quickly, Atarah didn’t cover his hands in time. “Look at those fingers! How cute!” The girl sat cross-legged on the floor in front of them, elbows propped on her knees and ran her forefinger down the length of Gadreel ’s fingers one at a time counting them. “One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five . . . six!” She finished with a gentle tickle to the baby’s tummy.

Gadreel giggled. Blood pumped into Atarah’s ears and she exchanged a look with Shua. “Could we have a drink of water?” Atarah’s mouth was so dry she could barely ask the question.

“Oh! How thoughtless of me. You’re thirsty!” The girl turned and shouted, “Elath! Bring something to drink!” Without missing a beat she continued to prattle.

One of the men carried over a bowl of liquid and offered a sipping-reed to Atarah. She didn’t want to take the first drink since Shua was thirsty, too, but she thought it better not to offend. She shot an apologetic glance toward Shua, hoping the slave understood. Placing the reed between her lips, she greedily pulled in a deep draft of the liquid. Immediately, she doubled over choking and wheezing, her throat on fire.

Tirza jumped up to whack Atarah on the back several times while Atarah continued to gasp repeatedly, unable to catch a normal breath. “Someone bring water!” Tirza shouted angrily.

Shua snatched the baby from Atarah’s useless hands.

 “You buffoons gave her barley wine!” Tirza accused, her face crimson with rage. “Idiots!’

The woman with the sad eyes thrust a bowl of water into Atarah’s hands and she drank, but several minutes passed before she could finally control her breathing again. By then Shua had quenched her thirst, the baby sucked on a skin of milk and the woman with the sad eyes had withdrawn. Atarah continued to tremble.

“He deliberately gave you strong wine!” Tirza scowled at Elath who was continuing to laugh with several of his fellows. “Offering the wine to thirsty people is a great joke down here. No one can drink that stuff straight at first, and they know that. I still mix water with my wine and I’ve lived here my entire life.” Still frowning and shaking her head, she handed Atarah the bread she had dropped onto the floor when the spasms first overtook her. “Better eat a little.”

Tirza tossed a curse Elath’s direction. “That wasn’t funny. You trying to kill the woman?” She was even less attractive when angry. Her words did nothing more than elicit more guffaws from the men. Elath lifted his drink with an elegant bow and drained the remainder of the wine. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and burped. Laughter rippled around the room.

“Buffoons!” Tirza muttered. “Bullies! Let’s get out of here. They’re worthless.” Without a word, she took Gadreel from Shua and swung him around to ride on her hip. “Looks like you could use some sleep. Come on. I’ll show you a place where you can hide from Peleg until he forgets about you.”

Atarah wasn’t so sure he’d forget, but with sleep calling she didn’t care.

“Watch out for Hoda, too,” Tirza warned. “She sees you as a threat and she would just as soon kill you as look at you. Do not trust her.”

Tirza chattered non-stop through the trek to supposed safety. Atarah and Shua told her they were from the City of a Thousand Gods but not much else -- though Tirza did guess correctly that Atarah was not a slave. Shua prodded the girl with questions. Gadreel seemed content to be carried by her and Atarah was too deadened by fatigue to argue. Tirza seemed kind enough.

They climbed one flight of stairs, wound through several connecting rooms and down more steps. Atarah tried to keep her bearings, but the dizzying numbers of chambers and hallways and steps left her completely confused.

Remembering the voluminous amounts of information gushing from Tirza proved impossible for Atarah’s fatigued brain. She hoped Shua could take everything in because Atarah felt like a dead person walking. She’d heard of some primitive cultures hiking as they slept and  suspected she might be doing just that -- fading in and out of consciousness as she trailed after Tirza.

Still, Atarah managed to focus on occasional snippets of news. One such morsel astonished her right out of her drowsiness.

“Oh, I’m used to their nonsense,” Tirza was saying. “They’ve shrieked at one another like that my whole life. The fights can continue at high volume for hours and hours.” Atarah assumed the girl spoke of Hoda and Peleg. “I don’t know where they find the energy to drag things out so long. Mother usually comes out of her sleeping space a day or two after one of their nights-of-fury with a few bruises and they both seem as happy as lions eating zebra.”

Was Tirza saying Hoda was her mother?

“They like fighting?” Shua asked incredulously.

 Tirza chuckled. “I think they’re addicted to the emotional highs and lows that come with the fights. And I know Mother enjoys holding some sort of weird power over the man who terrifies the whole community.”

“So you’re saying Hoda is your mother?” Shua seemed at ease questioning Tirza.

“She is.”

A surprisingly brief answer for a talker, but Atarah didn’t think she’d want to admit a relationship with Hoda either.

“Peleg’s your father?”

“Might be. Mother says any one of a hundred men could be my father. She was a temple prostitute back then.”

The way the girl alternated between calling Hoda by her given name and using the woman’s parental title struck Atarah as strange. Of course now she understood why Tirza could get away with bossing the other inhabitants. Her parents’ power gave her influence when they disappeared for awhile. Tirza could take charge without anyone disputing her right to do so.

Tirza continued to lead onward. Unlike the tunnels they’d wandered earlier, this place held room after room after room. The area the group occupied was massive. Atarah’s guess about the tiniest rooms functioning as sleeping quarters turned out to be correct. But more than the few residents they’d met at first lived down here. The women passed people everywhere. Scores of them. Atarah lost count. The place teemed with inhabitants going about daily lives who, Tirza assured them, had no interest in giving the women up to Peleg. Atarah began to believe they really could find a safe place to sleep where Peleg wouldn’t molest them.

“We’re almost there.” Tirza moved Gadreel to her shoulder where he could look around more easily.

 She pointed out pits scattered throughout one of the more spacious rooms they walked through. In one of the holes, Tirza explained, animal skins were soaked in a solution of lime and cold water to burn hair off the hides in the first step toward tanning. After the skins steeped in the bath for several days, women would scrape away the remaining hair and stretch them. Two women fastening one of the finished hides to wooden planks waved as they passed.

Pits in another place held ash soaking in the water that would transform the gray powder into lye for soap-making. Another pit aged pickles in salt brine. An olive press had been set up in another of the hollowed out holes.

“Almost there,” Tirza finally promised again. She patted Atarah’s shoulder. “You’re tired.”

They passed a room where a number of the cavities were grouped together. “This is where we ferment spirits. That pit is for stomping grapes during harvest season. The others are storage holes. If you get thirsty, you’re close enough to bop in for a drink.” Grinning, Tirza pointed to a great bowl filled with the barley wine Atarah had choked on earlier.

Wearily, Atarah smiled and rolled her eyes. “Any water?” She liked this girl.

“Water is right there.” Tirza indicated a bubbling well. “And . . . here we are.” With a flourish, she led them into a tiny room a few steps from the well. The space held two sleeping trenches filled with dried grass. Atarah longed to collapse into one. Instead she lifted the baby from Tirza and gently laid him down. 

 “Let’s see. Anything else?” Tirza tapped her chin with one finger. “Oh. Relief area. Right over there.” She pointed. “Water from the well flushes away the elimination then crashes out of the underground as a waterfall. Keeps everything nice and fresh.” She winked and quirked her mouth. “Genius, don’t you think? You were wondering why it smelled only musty and not stinky here, right?”

Shua laughed, obviously at ease with Tirza.

 “I’ll bring food in the morning. And goats’ milk. There shouldn’t be anyone else coming down here so you’ll be safe. During wine-making season people from other communities use our presses, but the entire area stays empty this time of year.”

 “Other communities?” Atarah’s mouth dropped open.

“The numbers change all the time, but there may be as many as fifty different communities down here. I may have to switch you to one of those to keep you away from Peleg.” She stepped out the door. “See you in the morning.”

Sinking onto the bed beside the baby, Atarah closed her eyes.

“How could people like Hoda and Peleg raise someone like Tirza?” Shua’s question roused Atarah only momentarily.

“She’s very kind,” Atarah mumbled, but somewhere down deep she had already begun to doubt. If only she could stay awake to keep guard or maybe . . . the unfinished thought transformed to a misty cloud as she drifted off to sleep.

Atarah had no idea how long she’d slept when she awakened to a hand clamped over her mouth and hot breath on the side of her face. Kicking and clawing at her assailant, she blindly fought for her life.

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.”