Enoch's Ghost (20 page)

Naamah sighed and lowered her head. “And now here I am.”

“I’m the one who covered you,” Elam said, “so I guess you’re supposed to tell me what you learned.”

“But it is such a mystery! The angel showed me the face of a mountain, like a tall slab of marble, that drew pictures on itself as he sang. He told me that I should lead my new master to the cliff and that the words of a new song would alter the scenes and explain what my master needed to know. I didn’t understand the drawing or the angel’s song, so how can I explain them to you? And I don’t even know where the cliff is. How can I possibly lead you to it?” Naamah spread out her hands and sighed. “Since I didn’t have a chance to ask the angel before he left, these thoughts have tortured me ever since. And now that I have found my new master, how can I ever gain the eternal life that flows in his blood, since I’m unable to do this task?”

“I know of a cliff that holds drawings,” Dikaios said. “It is far, but I think we can reach it before we tire.”

Elam stood and brushed off his pants. “Then, if you would be so kind, good horse, please lead the way.”

Dikaios snorted and gazed at Elam. “Most unusual, indeed.” He turned toward a high ridge in the distance and loped away.

Elam reached for Naamah. “Shall we follow?”

“If it pleases you,” she replied, taking his hand. “But I fear that I will disappoint you greatly.”

After a few minutes of walking, they came to a grassy field striated with bands of knee-high red flowers. More stones than usual littered the grass, most smaller than hens’ eggs, but a few would have taken both hands to lift. Dikaios picked up the pace, avoiding the random stripes of nodding blossoms, and pulled ahead by about forty feet.

Elam quickened his gait to match the horse’s, but Naamah slipped away and waded into one of the flower beds.

“We’d better get going,” Elam said, waving his hand. “He’s leaving us behind.”

“Wait!” Naamah bent over and picked three red flowers. “The aroma is so sweet!” She ran up to him and pressed the petals up to his nose. “You see?”

Elam sniffed. The smell was sweet … dizzying. He backed away, feeling confused. “Dikaios!” he shouted. “Wait a minute!”

Hoofbeats sounded. “Get rid of those flowers!” the horse yelled.

Naamah threw them to the ground. Dikaios grabbed Elam’s sleeve with his teeth and pulled him away from the garden while Naamah followed, her head bowed.

When they were in a clear, grassy area, Dikaios let go. “Those flowers are for weary travelers,” he said. “The scent helps them get to sleep quickly.”

Naamah yawned and laid a hand on her brow. “They work very well.” Lowering herself to the ground, she yawned again and stretched her body across a soft bed of grass. “I’m sorry. I just can’t help it. I have to rest.” The moment her head touched the ground, she fell asleep.

Elam rubbed his eyes. “It’s got me, too.” Yawning, he looked at Dikaios. “How long does it last?”

“It depends on how deep a draught you took and how tired you are. When did you last sleep?”

Elam shook his head, barely able to see through the fog building in his vision. “I had a pretty bad night’s sleep in the second circle of Hades, but I don’t know how long ago that was. Time passes so strangely. And I slept for a little while when I first got here, but that wasn’t exactly a normal nap.”

“Since you are both still among the living, you require sleep.” Dikaios nudged his ribs. “It might be better if we all take a rest. The journey is difficult.”

Elam yawned again. “Just a short nap.” He knelt close to Naamah and was about to lie down, but he quickly rose again. “I’d better put some space between us.” As he walked about twenty paces away, putting Dikaios between himself and Naamah, the horse just watched, saying nothing.

Interlacing his fingers behind his head, Elam lay back and closed his eyes. Within seconds, he was asleep. At first, he knew a dream had begun, but the scenes absorbed his mind, making them come alive.

He was back in the brick kilns with Raphah, his fellow slave in the days before Nabal, the giant taskmaster, cruelly whipped him to death. They had just finished a day’s work and were washing their hands and faces in the underground spring. They scrubbed away kiln residue that had coated their bare arms, exposed by short-sleeved tunics necessary for the hot labors of brick making.

Nabal entered, Naamah at his side. “Nabal,” she said, pointing at Raphah, “take him to the antechamber.”

Jerking Raphah’s arm, the giant led the boy away. Raphah looked back at Elam and pressed his hands together in a prayer posture.

Naamah, wearing a silky black gown, slinked up to Elam and gazed into his eyes. Her lips pursed as she pressed close. “Elam,” she said, caressing the muscles rippling across his bare arm, “you have been strong. You have honored your father’s rules, and I’m sure he would be proud of you. He wouldn’t expect you to suffer.” She glanced briefly at a pair of shadows projected onto a rocky wall, two forms standing behind a partition, the larger one raising a whip. “Or your friends to suffer.”

Elam averted his eyes, keeping them trained on his day’s work, a tall stack of bricks still radiating heat and smelling of smoke. He tried to slide his arm away from Naamah’s fingertips, but the sight of Raphah’s imminent beating paralyzed him.

“You have something I want, Elam. This is my third visit, and it is not often that I can come here without Morgan’s knowledge. You won’t disappoint me again, will you?”

Crack! The whip’s cruel bark echoed from wall to wall, but no human cry followed.

Elam sucked in a breath. Raphah was holding his tongue. Brave, brave Raphah.

“There is no need for anyone to suffer,” Naamah continued, her fingers creeping toward his shoulder, “when pleasure is so close at hand.”

Elam’s cheeks burned. Prickles crawled across his skin from head to toe. He had to escape. Just run away. But where?

Crack! This time a muffled grunt blended with the whip’s sadistic echo. Raphah’s shadow collapsed, and Nabal’s silhouette began to raise the whip yet again.

“So, Elam …” She pinched his tunic and pulled him away from the wash basin. He shuffled his feet, following her tractive gait, still watching the shadows out of the corner of his eye. Naamah stopped next to his bed. She laid both hands on his chest and nestled her head between them. A subtle aroma from Naamah’s hair sweetened his rapid breaths. She sighed, sending warmth through his tunic. “What is your answer?” she asked, her voice cooing like a dove. “Will you give me what I desire?”

“No!” Elam shook his head violently and snapped open his eyes. A blue sky? Grass and flowers? He exhaled loudly. It was just a dream. He was back in the Bridgelands. But the familiar scent hovered in his nostrils. Naamah’s hair. The same gentle touch.

He glanced down at his body. She was there! One hand was on his chest, and her face was close to his neck but pulling away slowly. Were those fangs over her lip? He lurched to his feet and scuffled back, shouting, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Lying in the grass, Dikaios thrashed his body and lunged upright. “What? What did she do?”

Naamah rose slowly to her knees and stared at them, her cheeks awash in red. “I … I was trying to get close to you. I woke up all alone, and I was scared, so I wanted …” She covered her face with her hands and wept.

“She was after your life’s blood!” Dikaios yelled. “She was using her harlotries to seduce you so she could steal your eternal life for herself!”

Elam’s stomach felt like daggers were piercing it through. “Naamah? Is that true?” As he waited for an answer, the prophetic rhyme swam through his brain.

But still there lurks a dangerous foe

Who seeks to drink of Elam’s life,

To take the fruit that burns within

The flame that melts a subtle knife.

Staying on her knees, she scuffled toward Elam, her hands folded. “No, Elam,” she cried, “Please believe me. I just wanted to be close to you. You’re the only one who ever showed me any mercy.” Grasping his ankles, she bowed low and dripped tears on his sandaled feet. “I confess that I thought about stealing your life while you slept, but I didn’t do it. Even as my lips drew near to your throat, I changed my mind and decided just to rest at your side.” She wiped the exposed part of his feet with her hair, and her cries became a long wail. “Please forgive me!”

As her head bobbed up and down, Elam glanced at Dikaios. The horse wagged his head hard. “The only reason she didn’t steal your life is because you awakened before she could strike! She has used your goodness against you, Elam. She gained your trust only to get close enough to drain your life. She is the worst of harlots! She is a deceiver! A betrayer!”

Elam stepped back, pulling free of Naamah’s grasp. “What should I do?”

“The harlot must die. If you let her live, she will only seek your life again. She is insatiable and can never change.” Dikaios kicked a stone next to Elam’s foot. “You must do away with her. Stone the wretch and cast her into the eternal fire.”

Elam bent down and picked up the fist-sized stone. Tightening his grip around it, he lifted it to his shoulder and glared at Naamah. “You have been a deceiver all your life. You tortured both Sapphira and me and many other laborers in your slave pit. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t do what Dikaios says!”

“No, Elam!” Naamah raised her folded hands. “You must believe me! The angel said a man would cover me and offer me life. Other men came by, but they did the opposite. They talked of Jesus, but it wasn’t the Jesus I knew. It wasn’t the Jesus I met in Palestine. He offered me freedom from Morgan’s spell, but I refused. He was kind and gentle, not like those fools. They mistreated me and counted me as nothing but a harlot, a worthless harlot.”

She paused and took a gasping breath, her eyes growing wider. “But you … you covered me, so I knew you were the one who had life. All I had to do was somehow get it, but I thought when I came to the mountain face I would be unable to make the drawing change, and you would send me away. So, in my vain imaginings, I wondered if I could take the blessing before you learned of my inability to serve you. But I didn’t do it, I …” Again she paused. Lowering her hands, she gazed at him. As new tears dripped down her chin, she bent her body low and curled up into a trembling ball. “I
am
still a foolish harlot,” she said quietly. “Do to me what you must. Even for thinking about betraying you, I deserve worse than stoning.”

Dikaios nudged Elam’s arm. “She has finally spoken the truth. Take back your cloak, which she has defiled with her filthy body, and cast her into the Lake of Fire. One stone well aimed will take care of this witch once and for all!”

As Naamah’s body continued to shake, a tremulous melody poured from her lips—lamenting, forlorn, and plaintive.

O who will wash the stains I bear

The harlot’s mark of sin I wear?

Exposed and shorn of all I prized,

And now I beg for mercy’s eyes.

O Jesus, look upon my strife

And spare this foolish harlot’s life.

I bow, surrender, pour my tears;

Forgive my sins and draw me near.

Finishing with a sigh, Naamah covered her head with her hands.

Dikaios snorted scornfully. “Her words have proven vain, Elam! She cannot be trusted. Take your vengeance now!”

Elam gazed at the shivering woman on the ground, still wearing his cloak, the very covering he offered in love and acceptance, even after all she had done to him. He glanced at the stone in his clenched hand. Would Raphah have forgiven her? She ended up causing his death when she accused him in front of Morgan. And now, if not for a startling dream, would she have taken his life, the one who offered her help when no one else would? Could she ever be trusted?

He turned to Dikaios, but the horse said no more. His big eyes drilled an icy stare.

Finally, as Naamah’s quaking grew, Elam dropped the stone and laid a hand on her back. “You asked me to forgive you, Naamah. Who am I to refuse?”

She looked up at him. Wet strands of hair stuck to her dirty face. As her eyes widened once again, she could barely whisper, “Do you mean, you …”

He lowered his hand to her. “I forgive you. That’s really the only life I have to offer … yours.”

Reaching out her trembling fingers, she took his hand and rose to her feet. When he released her, she just stared at her palm, as if he had left something there. Her mouth opened to speak again, but no words came out.

Elam kicked the stone far away. “You don’t have to say anything. You don’t have to do anything at all.” He nodded at Dikaios. “If you will lead the way, good horse, I will follow. What Naamah does is up to her.”

Without a word, Dikaios turned and loped in the direction they had been traveling before.

Elam marched behind him, glancing back at Naamah every few seconds. With her hand still in front of her face, she continued staring, and as the distance grew between them, her petite form seemed to shrink even further.

Turning to the front, Elam strode up a gently sloping rise, and when he reached the top, he halted. Dikaios stopped and turned around. Saying nothing, he lowered his head and sniffed the grass.

Elam raised a fist and stared at his hardened knuckles. Naamah really was a deceiver, the worst kind of harlot, but she chose not to follow. Why would that be? If her new repentance was another deception, wouldn’t she just tag along again and continue her pretense, waiting for another chance to take his life’s blood?

Not wanting to turn to look, Elam pictured Naamah behind him, standing pitifully in the distance, watching her hand, waiting. But waiting for what? Elam opened his own hand and stared at his palm. Blistered and bloodied from hanging on to the bridge, dirty and grass-smeared from lying in the fields, his hand was no more majestic than any other. It was human—strong, real, the ultimate symbol of reaching out from one wanderer to another. Finally, it all made sense.

Slowly turning, Elam stretched out his arm and extended his open hand toward Naamah. She leaped forward and sprinted toward him, her bare legs and feet kicking up the hem of his cloak. When she reached the hill, she dashed up the slope and dropped to her knees. She grabbed his hand and kissed his palm, crying, “You won’t regret this, Elam. I promise, you won’t regret your mercy.”