Fire and Flood

by Dawn Morris

  Noah stepped out of the shadows and addressed him. “What do you want?”

  “I know you have my grandson. Give him to me, and we will leave you in peace.”

  “I know nothing of your grandson,” Noah stated calmly, folding his arms in front of his chest.

  “The oracle told me about him, so I came to find out for myself. I know all about his parents in Babylon and how he was brought here.” Nodding his head to one of his men, Serug commanded, “Bring her out.”

  Nua was carried out like a sack of grain by one of the men in the group and tossed to the ground. My heart dropped in my chest. She cried out, and I was grateful to hear it, though it was obvious she was in pain. Her clothes were streaked with blood, and gashes in her flesh were evident, even from where I stood inside watching.

  Noah cried out and ran out of the house to her. Two of the muscular, tattooed men grabbed him and pulled him away from his injured daughter-in-law. Serug, seated haughtily on his dark horse, smirked down at him.

  “Terah’s son lives here,” he stated loudly. “Give him to me, and I will leave. You will not be harmed, nor any of the others with you.”

  “Why do you want him?” Noah demanded, trying to pull away from the warriors who held him in place.

  “According to the oracle, he will defeat the powerful one in Babylon. The one called Tammuz. The oracle told me to take Terah’s son and raise him as a warrior. One day, he will face Tammuz and defeat him.”

  No sooner had Serug finished speaking than the whole army before us began howling. With a start, I caught sight of young Abram running toward them in the yard.

  I screamed, turning from the window to run down the stairs and out of the house. As I ran toward him, Serug dug his heels into his horse’s flanks and raced to the boy, scooping him up.

  I screamed his name, but my voice was drowned out by the army’s victorious shrieks. The two men on horseback turned and galloped away. The warriors let Noah go, and the army followed their leader.

  When I reached Nua’s side, Noah was already with her.

  “Has she woken?” Laelah asked me. I sat in a chair next to my friend, my wounded sister. I shook my head.

  “I brought you some stew. You need to eat, Ariana.” She handed me the steaming bowl. I tried to eat a few bites.

  “I’m sorry, I’m just not hungry.” I put it down on the small table next to me. “Has anyone come back? Is there any news about Abram?”

  Laelah’s face said it all. No.

  Why didn’t I watch him? I should have been paying attention to him.

  I turned and looked at Nua. Her face was nearly unrecognizable. They’d beaten her so badly her nose was broken, and her eyes black and blue and swollen shut. I watched over her until I fell into a deep sleep.

  As I slept, I dreamed a dream unlike any other. It was not hazy, but crisp—like an important memory told in advance. I saw the event as if it were happening in real time before my eyes.

  In my dream, I stood in the doorway of my hut. Before me, was a strong young warrior, a stunning dark-haired beauty at his side. The handsome warrior smiled down at me. “Mother, it’s me, Abram!”

  The joy that filled my heart washed over all my grief. Abram caught me in an embrace, and we cried with happiness. Then, he pulled away and introduced me to the young woman. “This is my wife, Sarai.”

  I woke still feeling his embrace.

  I turned my head, but I already knew. Nua was gone. The joy of my dream felt far off, fading into the nightmare of reality. My dear friend. My boy, Abram. Gone, they’re both gone.

  Somehow, in my grief, I found a sliver of hope in the memory of the all-too-real dream. I held on to the memory of that dream, like a talisman, for years.

  FIRE

  Chapter 39

  Though I am surrounded by troubles, you will protect me from the anger of my enemies, you reach out your hand, and the power of your right hand saves me.

  Psalm 138:7

  Nikki was right. As soon as they did their procedure, no one mistreated me, not Paniz or Dr. Winston. But I was still a prisoner.

  The Institute had routines set up for all of the women and girls. I followed their rules. Each morning, soft chiming bells would wake us. Everyone had her own small suite, complete with private bath. We had an hour to shower, or bathe, and prepare for the day in clean, white garments set out by our nurse supervisors the night before. Then we were expected in the dining hall on the second floor for breakfast.

  After breakfast one morning, I walked into the lounge to join Nikki and invited her to go on a walk with me.

  “I’m sorry, Dani,” she responded apologetically. “My ankles are so swollen I can’t walk. Can we just sit here?” We made our way to a table. I pulled another chair up for Nikki to rest her feet on. “Do you want anything to drink?” I offered.

  “No thanks, I’m fine for now.” She looked around the room disgustedly. “In a few days these babies will be born, Dani,” she said. “I don’t think I can take it again.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I felt the same way. Most of the other women and girls there seemed to like living at the Institute; it was beautiful, and there was plenty to eat. But all that didn’t matter to us. We were prisoners kept for breeding.

  “I wish we could escape,” I said for the millionth time.

  Nikki and I sat quietly for a long time. She closed her eyes. I looked past her out of the window.

  “My life is ruined,” I told Nikki. “I don’t care that I’m safe here from all the terror of the world. I’d rather face the monsters out there than face having my own flesh and blood sold and taken away from me.” How had Nikki already done this twice?

  We had access to all kinds of things to pass the time: tablets, computers, books, and movies. Nikki showed me how to find maps on the Internet, and I’d been studying them. Maybe the yacht I get on will go to the Gulf of Aqaba and stop in Haql? Then I’d wait until dark and sneak off of the boat. I imagined myself going all the way back to Petra, back to Jannik.

  Whenever I imagined my reunion with Jannik, my stomach lurched. What would he think, if I were pregnant? Maybe he wouldn’t want me.

  Nikki whimpered and gripped her belly. “Oh no,” she moaned. She stood up and for a second, I thought she had wet herself. Her water had broken.

  “No, no, no . . .” Nikki started crying, clutching her stomach.

  I knew what would happen next. Her nurse supervisor would hustle her to the infirmary to prep her for surgery. Nikki would be unconscious while her babies were taken from her. She would hear no cry, have no memory to carry with her—only the feel of them moving inside her and a ghostly image she’d managed to see on a screen.

  “I can’t do this again,” she whispered to me as I wrapped her in my arms. “The emptiness after . . . to not know where they are, how they are. It haunts me, Dani.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I gripped her hand in mine and kissed it tenderly. Paniz, trolling the room, noticed the movement and immediately scurried over.

  “What’s going on here?” she demanded. The tattoo on her forehead seemed lit from within. Involuntarily, we shrunk back from her.

  Her sharp eyes saw the wet floor. “Let’s get you going, then.” She pulled Nikki up and led her out of the room.

  Nikki didn’t come back the next day. Or the next. I grew frantic waiting for her return. Finally, five days later, I was sitting in the library reading when Nikki’s nurse supervisor, Cressa, came to find me.

  “She’s back in her room now. She wants to see you.”

  Setting my book aside, I rushed to the elevator and pushed the button. As soon as the doors opened, I ran down the hallway to Nikki’s room and pushed open the door. Nikki sat in the dark, huddled in a chair.

  I moved over and knelt beside her, placing my hand on her shoulder. There was nothing I could say, so I kept my mouth shut. After a while, great gulping sobs began silently racking her body. Pulling her into my arms, I held her, as the silent cr
ies became guttural groans. She began to scream.

  “My babies, where are my babies?” She grew frantic and panicked, her voice growing horse with the screaming. There was nothing I could do but hold her and pray. Dear God, please rescue us.

  I was surprised as another week passed, and the blood tests the doctors ordered were negative. I wasn’t pregnant! Daily, I prayed that God would protect me from this horror. I felt comfort knowing that somewhere, Jannik and my friends back in Petra were praying for me. Though I was physically alone, I was not spiritually alone. I believed Jesus’ promise that I had read in the Bible, that He would be with me, “even to the end of the age.” Surely, this must be the end of the age! I thought. How much worse can it get? I felt a strange peace, a peace I couldn’t even understand.

  One day, not long after Nikki’s babies were born, I was summoned to Doctor Winston’s office. The doctor was nowhere in sight. An unfamiliar nurse motioned for me to have a seat at her desk, where she was looking at a medical report on her computer screen. I could make out my name at the top of the screen.

  “Well,” she said in a businesslike fashion, “It appears you are not a good candidate for in vitro fertilization, after all. The condition of your uterus shows evidence of endometriosis, and the risk of miscarriage is too great. The doctor will have to find a new form of treatment for you.”

  Two days later, I was getting dressed in my room when there was a tap on the door. It opened, without any invitation from me. It was Dr. Winston. My heart tightened and began to burn and my hands curled into fists, ready to fight. I wasn’t going to be subjected again to his violations.

  He stood by the door with a smirk stretched across his handsome, evil face.

  “You can relax. I’m only here to talk to you.”

  Winston took a step toward me, and I raised my fists up and snarled at him. I would defend myself, even if they killed me for it. This time I wasn’t defenselessly tied down on his examining table.

  He stopped, raising his hands up in mock surrender, chuckling. “Seriously, I’m not going to touch you. Come with me; I have someone I want you to meet.”

  He led me to his office where a woman was seated on the couch. My mouth fell open in stunned silence as I stared at what appeared to be an older, richly dressed version of myself. Strawberry-blonde hair, streaked with darker and lighter tones, tumbled over her shoulders. Her green eyes glittered into mine.

  “You were right, Dr. Winston; it is an uncanny resemblance!” Turning from me, she sat back down, smoothing her yellow linen skirt as she perched on the edge of the seat.

  “Now, can you explain to me how the process works?”

  Dr. Winston droned on for about five minutes about the Institute’s proprietary process and in vitro fertilization. The woman was leaning forward, listening intently.

  Winston continued, “Now, I know you particularly want this girl as a surrogate, due to her close resemblance to you physically and her excellent health. But there will be a delay as she receives treatment for her condition. It is curable, but it may be a few months before she is ready to be impregnated.”

  “She must come home with me, then,” the woman insisted. “I will see to it that she receives every comfort in order to expedite the process.”

  “Of course, it is our pleasure to serve you, Ms. Figoli. As the sister of his Excellency, Angelo Cain, we offer you carte blanche.”

  The woman nodded, sitting back in the chair, her arms resting on its arms as if it were an imperial throne.

  “It’s essential to me that I oversee every aspect of my child’s development. I want to be there for every exam, ensure the best care is given to the host.”

  I wanted to scream. They were going to use me after all. And my child would go to the sister of Angelo Cain, the one who served the Antichrist.

  Dr. Winston preened. “Of course, Ms. Figoli!”

  “You may call me Gabriella.” I could see the curve of her cheek rise as she smiled across at Winston. “I want to watch every moment of my child’s development and my dear brother insists I stay near him in Jerusalem.”

  Winston sputtered, “Oh no, madam, we keep our producers here to ensure their safety.”

  Gabriella stood and announced, “You will be well compensated. I insist you take advantage of my patience. As you know, many of the Jews are rebelling against the Promised One. President Bellomo is furious and has ordered my brother to punish them for their rebellion. Angelo wants me by his side; he depends on me in so many ways.”

  Winston reluctantly submitted, a simpering smile stretched across his face. He moved from behind the desk and took the woman’s hand and kissed it. “Of course, we are honored to serve a member of the Promised One’s inner circle!”

  They left the room, walking past me as if I were invisible. A nurse told me to stand up and follow. I never got a chance to say good-bye to Nikki.

  FLOOD

  Chapter 40

  So I will restore to you the years the locust has eaten.

  Joel 2:5

  After Serug took Abram and Nua passed away, life went on. Children grew and married and had children of their own. And although I missed my child and my friend, life was blessed by the Creator, and I was grateful to be back with my family.

  The Creator protected us on our mountain, but we heard stories about Tammuz from people who had fled Babylon—about how he was now the ruler of the city and about his ruthless armies. The land was filled with constant war as Nephilim kings sought to gain power.

  I lived alone in my small hut, now painted blue, and spent a great deal of my time gardening. My dwelling was small, but it had a large table by the fire. I kept a pot filled with flowers from my garden on it, and it was often graced by guests: Noah and Laelah, Shem, and some of my own children, along with their children and grandchildren.

  Over the mantle of the fireplace hung one of the pictures I had drawn long ago when we lived on the ark, in the days of the great Flood. Raisa brought my things to the settlement in the mountains for me. All the time I was in imprisoned in Babylon, she had believed I would return. The sketch of young creatures sleeping in their pens on the ark was one of my favorites. A sketch of Abram perched on the mantle beneath it.

  Often, when I was alone in the hut, my eyes strayed to the sketch of Abram, and I would feel a stab of pain. Where are you?

  I knew he was alive. I was sure of that in my heart. Twenty years passed, and every single day, I hoped for his return.

  One evening in late spring, I was alone in my little home, making dinner. I bent over the fireplace and stirred a stew, scooping up a succulent piece of lamb. As I straightened to taste it, I heard a knock on my door. Since Raisa’s son Ebe often popped in around dinnertime, I thought it might be him. He knew I was making lamb stew! Trust him to show up just in time for dinner.

  I opened the door, ready to tease Ebe, but it wasn’t him.

  Standing on the doorstep was the young warrior from the long-ago dream, and by his side, the stunning dark-haired woman. I gasped in amazed delight, already knowing what he would say.

  “Mother Ariana, it’s me—Abram!”

  Smiling down at me, a now-grown Abram pulled me into his arms and enveloped me tightly. Tears of joy poured down my cheeks as I took his face between my hands.

  “Thank God, oh thank God! I can’t believe it! It’s really you!” I said, looking up into his dark eyes, the same dark eyes as the child I had lost so long ago. “It’s been over twenty years, and now my dream has come true!”

  Abram drew back and put his arm around the young woman.

  “This is my wife, Sarai.”

  She looked exactly like the woman in the dream.

  “Sarai, oh, my goodness!” I hugged her, kissing her on each cheek. Her dark eyes shimmered. “Abram told me all about you, Mother Ariana. I’m so happy to finally meet you.”

  I shook with joy.

  “Noah! Laelah! Shem! We have to go and find them!” We raced to Noah’s home, the three o
f us chattering excitedly.

  When we got to the house, I burst through the door. Noah and Laelah were sitting by the fire.

  “He has returned! My Abram has returned!”

  Abram knelt down between Noah and Laelah, embracing each one in turn, respectful of their old age and fragility. Noah clung to him, weeping and praising the Creator.

  That night, we had a huge family feast, celebrating Abram’s return. Noah and Laelah, Shem, and most of the community gathered together in the field by the communal well. Tables were set up and torches lit against the darkness. We talked and asked questions far into the night.

  Incredibly, Abram remembered quite a lot about living with us on the mountain. He spoke lovingly of his memories of me, Raisa, and Ebe. When he mentioned the night he was taken, I felt the familiar pang of guilt for not watching him closer.

  “No, Mother, the night Serug came, I was woken up by the Creator. A holy one led me out of the house and told me not to be afraid.”

  “A holy one?” Noah asked, his aged face wrinkled in wonder. “The Creator must certainly have a plan for your life!”

  “Indeed. I was taken by my grandfather, Serug, to the city of Ur. When I was old enough, I trained with Serug’s men in the arts of war. Serug is a man easily offended, so there were many opportunities to hone my skills on the battlefield.” Abram stopped to take a sip of wine.

  “One day, a messenger arrived from Terah—my father! He warned us that the powerful Tammuz of Babylon and his mother Semiramis had heard from their god that Terah’s son lived in Ur and that I was a dire threat. Tammuz planned to attack Ur and kill me.”

  “How is Terah?” I asked with great concern. Despite his atrocious action sacrificing an infant to save his son, I still cared about him. Sweet Amalthai loved him so dearly.