Heavens Before (38 page)

Far to the west, in the most distant grasslands, a small herd of tawny-haired, finely hoofed grazers trotted up to the edge of their watering place. They whinnied to each other, then stepped into the water and lowered their heads to drink. Another herd approached, also grazers, but larger and one-horned, with bare leathery hides. These larger grazers were ungainly on land, but graceful as soon as they entered the water.

Birds, long-necked and elegant, also entered the water, moving lightly between the herds until the earth quivered. Alarmed, the birds took to the air. The sky reverberated and darkened ominously. The two herds milled about, their panic growing with the tremors and the approach of an immeasurably vast, roiling ash-cloud. As the choking, gray, gritty particles of heated ash and gases descended upon them, the herds mingled, struggling to breathe.

The young tried to comfort themselves by suckling, but their mothers were already dying. The birds fell to the earth again and were trampled into the waters. In their blinded terror, the great one-horned grazers charged over the bodies of the delicate tawny-hoofed grazers. One by one, the animals succumbed to the chaos and to the suffocating dust and gases.

Then the waters covered their graves.

To the farthest reaches of the northeast, a large beak-headed female carrion-eater huddled over her carefully arranged nest of eggs. Fearful of the rippling violence of the earth and the sky, the female locked its long, clawed forelimbs together around its carefully arranged nest of eggs.

Then a stifling, life-choking storm-blast of fine red sand buried both the female and her nest of eggs, preserving their remains from the floodwaters that followed.

They sat as a family around the barely flickering hearth of the pen, listening to the storm. This vast downpour of water, punctuated by deafening, inexplicable sounds of destruction, was beyond all of Annah’s imaginings. Throughout the evening, everyone prayed and watched in tense uncertainty. No one ate. And although their few conversations were disjointed, they were unwilling to leave each other for very long.

Now, in the nighttime darkness, Annah felt trapped. All the creatures throughout the pen were hushed and stilled, as if they also were listening to the fury of the storm outside. Another jolt of fierce, breathtaking, white-blue light flashed beyond the shuttered windows. Then came a terrible, heart-stopping crackling explosion of noise that shook the very air, making Annah tremble.
O Most High
, she prayed, fingering the cord of the precious shell-carving around her neck,
I realize that this is all happening as You warned, and that You are protecting us, but I am afraid
.

As Annah was thinking this, Shem clasped her hands comfortingly, his eyes encouraging her:
Don’t be frightened
.

To answer her husband, Annah nodded, leaning against him. Seated beside Annah and Shem, Ghinnah spoke loudly, nervously as she huddled in Yepheth’s arms. “At least the shaking of the earth has stopped for a while.”

Yepheth tightened his arm around her and said clearly, “Has it? I didn’t notice because you’re still shaking.”

“Child.” Naomi beckoned Ghinnah. “At least have
something warm to drink; perhaps it will soothe you.”

Shivering visibly, Ghinnah refused. “Thank you, I’ma-Naomi, but I’m sure I can’t drink anything. I don’t believe this is happening….” Her words stopped awkwardly and she ducked her head, obviously afraid she had offended Naomi and Noakh.

But Naomi nodded in silent understanding, and Noakh’s mouth twitched as if he were reluctantly amused.

Seated near Shem, Khawm grimaced. He was holding the silent Tirtsah’s hands, rubbing her fingers as he called to Ghinnah. “Now, sister, if you don’t believe what’s happening, we’ll gladly push you up a ladder to the windows so you can look outside.”

Ghinnah stared at him, her eyes huge. “I … no–no … forgive me. I do believe you.”

Hugging her, Yepheth said, “Don’t be so frightened. We won’t make you go look outside—unless you really want to go.”

“No, I don’t want to go!” Ghinnah cried, glaring at her husband, almost in tears. “Please, don’t make fun of me.”

A spectacular flash of light and a rumbling boom from beyond the high windows startled them all, making them look up. As the noise faded, Noakh raised his voice. “O Most High, Living Word, thank You for protecting us according to Your loving will. Save us from our fears this night.”

As Noakh prayed, Annah saw Tirtsah wiping her face, and Khawm comforting her.
Tomorrow would have been the eighth day for you, Tirtsah
, Annah thought.
Then you would have been glad to laugh in our faces and call us fools. You would have run in your eagerness to get away from your husband and his family. What are you thinking now? At least you’re no longer angry with your husband
.

Tirtsah’s scornful, haughty demeanor was gone, replaced by the wide-eyed fearful attitude of a young child. Annah held her breath, praying that Tirtsah would finally accept the Most High, and the Lodge of Noakh. But Tirtsah straightened suddenly and wiped her face.
Like one who will not yield
, Annah thought in despair.

When Noakh finished praying, Annah looked at him expectantly. It was, most likely, their usual time for sleep. Another flash of light illuminated their faces and the darkness behind them, ending with a frightening burst of sound.

The noise finally ended, and Ghinnah pleaded with Noakh. “Father of my husband, can’t we wait here tonight? We won’t be able to sleep.”

“We should try to rest, daughter,” Noakh answered kindly. “Even if we cannot sleep with all this noise.”

Pressing Annah’s hand, Shem spoke to Yepheth and Ghinnah. “If you wish, Annah and I will stay here to keep watch with you.”

“We’ll stay too,” Khawm added, reacting to a nudge from Tirtsah.

“We should try to rest,” Noakh repeated. “But perhaps we can make ourselves comfortable here. We have some—” Another startling flash and rumbling interrupted Noakh. He finished his words by pointing to numerous rolls of hides and fleeces stored along the far wall.

Somberly, they arranged their sleeping areas not far from the carefully banked hearth, using the cured hides and fleeces. Annah lay beside Shem, staring up into the darkness. Sleep would be impossible, she decided. Even using the fleeces, the wooden, resin-coated floor was still too hard for comfort. And the noise outside could not be ignored. Even if she covered her eyes or plugged her ears,
Annah could still see the eerie white-blue flashes of light, and she could still hear the terrible outbursts of noise that shook the skies. Then there was the incessant downpour of waters from the heavens; it was too powerful to be soothing. But Annah was glad to be lying down. She was exhausted.

This is like the most terrible dream
, she thought, listening to the storm.
But no, truly, the most terrible dream would be to be caught outside
.

Annah stared up into the endless third night of the storm, dazed by fatigue but unable to sleep. Surely it would be morning soon, though the dark days were no different from the nights. She turned uncomfortably and glanced at Shem, who appeared to be asleep.
How?
she wondered, staring at him.
How can you even keep your eyes closed?
Another flash of light made Annah flinch. Shutting her eyes, she curled her fingers around the polished contours of her treasured shell carving. She stilled herself, remembering its glowing colors of luminous pinks and blues, its iridescent sheen, and the endless fascination of the delicately carved waves adorning its edges.

You were considering this destruction when you carved the waves into this piece of shell
, Annah thought to her husband.
Have you thought of this storm often? I kept telling myself that this destruction would be later, someday. It never seemed real, but now it’s here, like an endless nightmare
.

There was a sudden shifting beneath Annah, an unnervingly buoyant sensation.
We’re floating
, she realized, frightened and amazed. The entire pen moved dizzyingly. She lifted her head to look at Shem and the others. They
were all sitting up now, looking around anxiously, seeming to question their own senses.

Noakh said clearly, “If we are already floating, then the lodge is covered.”

If the lodge is covered
, Annah thought,
then the settlement, too, is covered, and they are all dead. Yerakh. Taphaph. Naham. And Haburah and Ayalah
.

Another blinding flash of light and noise resounded outside. Remembering her sisters’ faces, Annah pressed a hand to her mouth, startled by her own grief.
Why do I mourn you?
she wondered to her dead sisters.
You hated me, both of you. And I could not bear to be near you. But I never wanted you to die
.

The pen shifted. Annah put both hands on the floor to steady herself. Then, overwhelmed by an unexpected sense of loss, she began to cry.

Shem moved over in the darkness, holding her, kissing her, murmuring, “We’re safe, beloved. Don’t be afraid.”

“They’re dead.” Annah took a quick, pained breath. “My sisters are dead, and I wanted them to live!” She clung to him and wept.

Twenty-Three

LIGHTING THEIR way with a resin-soaked torch, Annah crept through the second level of the pen, followed by Ghinnah. As Annah held the torch, Ghinnah listlessly checked the animals, making sure they had enough water and food. Not that it mattered; all of the creatures seemed to be in a stupor, moving little, eating less.

Like all of us
, Annah thought.
All we want to do is sleep. Just listening to this storm is exhausting. And we’ve been wandering about like mourners. I didn’t expect to feel such grief for so many days … weeks now. It’s like a continuous bad dream
.

“Poor creatures,” Ghinnah sighed. “They’re all still moping. But they’re alive.”

Unlike your uncle, Qeb-al, and his Etsah and their sons
, Annah thought, almost able to hear Ghinnah’s unspoken words.
Unlike my sisters
. Annah quickly shied away from those
thoughts. Both women turned, sensing another person approaching from the central ramp.