Heavens Before (41 page)

“It’s that wind more than anything. It’ll change again, beloved. We just have to live with it for now.” He half-knelt beside her, his long, roughened fingers warm against her cheek.

Comforted, Annah leaned against him briefly. “I want to see the trees again,” she told him. “And I want to see the sky—not just clouds and sunlit mist—but the sky. And I want to feel grass beneath my feet. Instead, all I feel are these.” She kicked out one fleece-covered foot, knowing she sounded sulky and ungrateful. In another instant, she would be crying. “One hundred and forty-eight days—I’m just so tired!”

“We’re all tired.” Sighing, Shem rubbed her back. “One day this journey will end, and we can all go out and look at the sky together. Until then, I’ma and the others are waiting for us to join them at the midday meal.”

“I’m too tired to move.”

“Take my hand; I’ll help you up.”

Shem offered Annah his hand, smiling—his beautiful, tender, persuasive smile.

There has never been anyone like you
, Annah thought. She smiled in return and allowed him to help her to her feet. “I sound like a spoiled child,” she said.

Wrapping an arm around her, Shem guided Annah toward the central ramp. “I think you’re just tired and hungry and wishing you had a tree to climb.”

“You shouldn’t tease me about climbing trees. After all, you were the one having your hair combed by that little-old-woman-of-the-trees creature.”

“Are you jealous?” Shem asked, his dark eyes shining
merrily.

“No! She can have you.” Then, quickly, Annah took hold of his arm. “That isn’t true; she can’t have you. No one else can have you either, although there is no one else.”

“Even so, I would never desire anyone else.” Shem paused on the ramp.

Annah waited with him, suddenly tense. The current was changing, and the turning, shifting sensation of the waters seemed to come up through the very planks. Annah hated being caught on the ramps or ladders when the currents changed. It would be too easy to lose her balance and fall.

Shem’s lips pressed together in grim patience as he steadied himself. Meeting her gaze, he said, “We’re much better with all these turns than when they first began.”

“You mean I am,” Annah corrected him. “You never had much of a problem.”

“None that you knew of,” said Shem, smiling secretively. “There now, the turning has stopped. Let’s go eat.”

As they reached the top of the ramp, Annah felt a breath of light, cool air sweep over her face. The winds had been blustering outside the pen for many days now, and the air of the upper level was chilly and unsettled. As always, she welcomed the glow and warmth of the hearth. She also welcomed the scent of the food: the grain cakes, beans, and vegetables roasted in oil—until her stomach constricted in unexpected revolt.

That last changing of the water currents made me sick again
, she thought, surprised.
But why should I get sick after being well for so many days?
She walked unsteadily toward the hearth and knelt on one of the grass mats, her stomach still churning.
The scent of the roasted vegetables is making me sick
, she
realized. Swallowing hard, she looked away from the food.

By the time they had finished giving thanks to the Most High, Annah was thoroughly nauseated. And when Naomi passed the vegetables to her, she shuddered, quickly passing them to Shem.

Naomi lifted her dark eyebrows, surprised. “Child, don’t you want any vegetables? I thought you liked them.”

“I do like them, I’ma,” Annah assured her. “But …” She pressed a hand to her mouth, too nauseated to explain.

Seated across from Annah, Khawm cackled. “She spends the entire morning scraping manure, but she can’t look at the vegetables—I don’t believe it.”

Naomi’s dark eyes sparkled with a dawning joy. “I have been wondering, daughter. It’s been many weeks since your last time of seclusion. Now you are ill at the mere sight of those vegetables. Ma’adannah, you are carrying a child!”

They were all exultant, Shem embracing her, Noakh exclaiming happily, Ghinnah clapping her hands together, and Tirtsah calling out, “There, Ma’adannah! And all this time you’ve been worried.”

“Let me know when you’ve finished the vegetables,” Annah told them, scrambling to her feet, unable to endure the smell any longer. “I’ll eat later.” She hurried to her sleeping area and collapsed on the bed, sighing in relief. She could no longer smell the food. And it was good to lie down and rest.
I’m exhausted. Am I indeed with child?
She was almost too tired and too nauseated to care.

Annah was just dozing off when she heard Shem enter the sleeping area. He set something down on the storage chest, then crept into the bed, sliding his arms around her gently, nuzzling her. “I brought you some plain food. I’ma
says you should rest.”

“Only for a while,” Annah murmured. “I have to finish feeding those little carrion-eaters.” Lifting one hand, she reached back to caress her husband’s bearded face. “I want our child to look like you.”

“Without the beard,” Shem suggested. “Particularly if we have a daughter.”

She swatted him, then laughed.

Carrying baskets full of seeds, dried fruits, and solid white cakes of rendered fats, Annah and Tirtsah entered the huge netted bird enclosure. To Annah’s amusement, Tirtsah scolded the birds, her voice husky and indulgent. “Back away, you silly things, and don’t you dare let loose any droppings while we’re here, or you won’t be fed.”

The birds responded by fluttering about on the branches, their eyes bright and watchful, some of them whistling sharply, others twittering as they darted from branch to branch. The larger earth-loving birds approached Annah and Tirtsah proudly, their iridescent plumes sweeping, glowing with every color imaginable. Annah was dizzied just looking at them. But it was better than looking at the disgustingly congealed, oily white cakes of rendered fat she carried in her basket.

Bracing herself against the nausea, Annah placed the cakes of fat and the grains, seeds, and fruits in various trays and troughs scattered throughout the huge enclosure. She would not allow her queasiness to disrupt her chores; it would not be fair to Tirtsah or the others.

As they were leaving the netted enclosure to refill their baskets, Tirtsah put a hand on Annah’s arm. Tirtsah’s
face was claylike and she looked uneasy. Licking her lips, she asked, “When you feel ill because of the child, is it the sight of the food, or the scent of food, or both?”

“Both,” Annah said, staring at her sister-in-law. “It’s almost like being sick because of the motions of the water. Do you think you might be carrying a child?”

Tirtsah shut her eyes. “I think so. I hope so. Just now, while we were feeding the birds, I looked down at those cakes and felt sick. Don’t tell anyone yet. When I’m certain, I want to tell Khawm first. It would be amazing if—just once—I could say something that would leave him too shocked for words.”

“He will be so happy,” Annah said. She dared to hug Tirtsah. “
I’m
certainly happy, because if you are carrying a child, then I’ll have someone else who understands what I’m feeling. And I’ve been wondering … could you show me how to make some of that red spice-paste?”

Tirtsah’s lovely eyes widened, and she chuckled—a low, throaty sound. “You didn’t like my spice-paste before, but you want it now? Actually, it does sound good. Let’s finish caring for these birds, and we’ll make some.”

They hurriedly fed the birds, checked the water pipes and troughs, and poured out small, coarse rocks here and there throughout the enclosure to aid the birds’ digestion. As she was scattering fresh heaps of straw and grass over the floor of the enclosure, Annah felt a firm, jarring jolt. She looked at Tirtsah, who stared back at her, openmouthed. Trembling, Annah said, “I didn’t imagine that.”

“If you did, then I imagined it too. And the birds imagined it also.”

The birds were flapping their wings or darting through the branches; a few screeched in alarm. Then they settled again, some of them preening, some of them
playing in the water and feeding, while others began to sing. Annah released a shaking breath. Her legs felt wobbly. She was used to the motions of the waters now, not this solid stillness. “We’ve come to rest on the land,” she whispered, almost to herself. “We’ve stopped moving. The waters are going down!”

“Perhaps we can leave this place before too many days,” Tirtsah added, some of her natural glow returning.

Tentatively, Annah made her way out of the enclosure, followed by Tirtsah. A long, piercing whistle sounded from the central ramp.
Khawm
, Annah thought. Peering through the filtered rays of sunlight streaming down from the windows, Annah saw him emerge from the ramp.

Immediately he yelled, “Tirtsah? Where are you?”

“I miss it that we can’t sense each other from a great distance anymore,” Tirtsah muttered to Annah. “The men yell so much more now.”

“I hadn’t noticed that, but you’re right.” Annah agreed, amused. She followed Tirtsah, faltering a little, unnerved by the pen’s lack of motion.

Khawm met them eagerly and kissed Tirtsah. “I’m going to check the windows.”

His gait remarkably steady, Khawm hurried toward the far wall, near the bird enclosure. There he climbed the ladder built into the wall. By the time he reached the top, Noakh and the others had emerged from the lower levels of the pen. They all stood near the base of the ladder, impatient. Hardly daring to breathe, Annah reached for Shem.

“Do you see anything?” Noakh called to Khawm.

Squinting a little, Khawm came down the ladder, his exuberance fading to dejection. “Nothing but too-bright
sunlight, mists, and water.”

“No land anywhere?” Ghinnah asked, pleadingly.

“Only mists and water.”

Annah drooped, biting her lip, unable to hide her disappointment.
One hundred and fifty days
, she thought miserably.
And still nothing but water
.

“This is our two hundredth day,” Ghinnah groaned to Annah and Tirtsah as they led the goats, sheep, and oxen out to the central enclosures to exercise them. “The water is still out there, and we’re in here. Forever.”

“No, not forever.” Annah fastened the enclosure, then stretched carefully. The muscles around her abdomen were easily strained now that her pregnancy had begun to show. The sight of Tirtsah, lovely and graceful in her first months of pregnancy, was particularly discouraging to Annah, who felt plump and clumsy by comparison. She tried to reason with Ghinnah. “We’re all impatient, but I suppose if all the mountains were covered enough to float this pen—as large as it is—then it will take a long time for the lands to drain and dry.”

“You sound like the father of my husband,” Ghinnah muttered irritably. “I’m sick of this place! I think I’ll be sick of you soon. Wait, I didn’t mean that.” Flushing deeply, Ghinnah burst into tears.

Annah hugged her, unable to speak, but full of sympathy.

Tirtsah sighed. “When we finally leave this pen, I’m going to run out and roll in the grass. And if there’s any water around, I’m going to dance in it!”

Snorting, Ghinnah wiped her eyes. “By that time,
your belly will probably be so big and round, you won’t be able to move unless you roll.”

“You are such a joy today,” Tirtsah said, glaring at her.

Before they could say another word, shouts and screams arose from the other end of the second level.

“I’ma!” Annah gasped, turning away from Ghinnah. They ran toward the screams, toward the cages where the carrion-eaters were held. “I’ma? What’s happened?”

As Annah ran around the large wood food bins to help Naomi, she heard Noakh protesting in a pain-edged voice, “It’s nothing. Beloved, the creature was not attacking me; it just wanted the food.”

Seeing Noakh, Annah cringed. His leg, just above the knee, was torn and bloodied.

Naomi was crying, raging as she inspected his injury. “I could kill that creature! Attacking my dear one … Oh, this is going to be such a long time healing!”

Lifting one hand, Noakh interrupted, “But it will heal. Don’t blame the creature for my carelessness. Now, help me to stop this bleeding. I think my belt will do to bind the wound.”