Gold. Golden bronze hair above a face grown thinner, lined with streaks of dirt but still unbearably familiar and it can’t be, he’s dead but—
I take in the torn clothing, the leaner frame that seems to waver, not quite substantial, the silent footfalls, and I know:
It’s Jorin’s ghost. I’m not sure if he’s real, or just a vision conjured up by my own guilt and longing, but either way the urge to scream rises from my gut, all the way to my throat, choking me—
—he comes closer, closer, till I can hold my cries of alarm back no longer, and then—
“Shh, shh,” the spirit speaks, placing two heavy hands on my arms—
—how could a ghost’s hands hold such warmth and weight?—
“Neima. It’s me, Jorin.” That voice… Those hands…
I run my own hands over his arms, his chest, cup his cheeks between my palms, trying to convince myself he’s truly here, flesh and blood. “Is it really you?” I say aloud. My hands make their way back down his body, searching for a heartbeat.
“Neima, I’ve never known you to be so forward. I’ll have to suffer through near-death by drowning more often.” His face, though dirty and ravaged, breaks into that familiar impish grin.
And then I know it’s really him, and, improper though it may be, I throw my arms around him. “How did you…” I speak into his shoulder.
“I followed you into the ark,” he says as I pull back to examine him again, still overcome with the miracle of it. “I had to talk to you, and you just wouldn’t listen.” His words tumble out, fast and jumbled, as though now he’s begun speaking he can’t stop. “And then Noah closed the doors, and the rain was so strong, and I couldn’t get out… And then the floor started to rise…”
“Neima!” A sharp female voice rings through the ark. My mother. Instantly Jorin disappears into the shadows as she calls, “Are you all right? I thought I heard you cry out.”
I turn toward Mother where she hovers in the doorway. “Fine,” I call back. “I only tripped and startled myself.”
Though I can’t see her clearly, I know her eyes are narrowed, lips pursed as she regards me. “Well, hurry and finish up,” she says at last. “I don’t want you down here by yourself.” And then she turns and walks away.
I can’t force myself to wait more than a breath before I run back to Jorin. “Why haven’t you revealed yourself?” I ask. “We could use another set of hands, and you must be absolutely miserable, stuck down here with the stench and the stale air—”
Jorin grabs my wrist, hard. “Neima, you can’t tell them.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve overheard your grandfather—he believes your family is special, set apart, that only you were meant to survive this disaster. What will he do if he thinks I’ve destroyed his plan?”
I consider that for a moment. “Noah’s not a monster. Perhaps he’ll think his God has placed you here—”
The grip on my wrist tightens. “Neima, no. You must promise to tell no one.”
I study his face—the set of his jaws, the lowered brows, the darkened eyes—and the certainty I see there frightens me.
“All—all right,” I say, sure there’s something I’m not understanding, perhaps something he hasn’t told me. But then my thoughts turn in another direction. “You—you’ve been following me for days. You left those wood remnants for me!”
He casts his gaze downward, sheepish yet satisfied. “I can see it in your eyes, Neima, when you look at those animals—you want to capture them in the wood. You should do it. You should let yourself do something just for the pleasure of it. You need it—we all do.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I settle on a more practical question: “How do you even know I have my knife?”
He smiles again, but it’s softer, more subdued. “Because I know you, Neima.” Something seems different about him, something beyond his physical transformation. A new sadness hides behind his words, beneath the curve of his lips—a sorrow I’ve never seen before, not even when he spoke of his father. This disaster has changed him, as it’s changed us all. He reaches for me, tentative now, and brushes his fingers across my shoulder…
…and I pull away, suddenly irritated. “You followed me. Watched me without my permission. Frightened me.”
“I’m sorry, I just—”
“It’s… It’s…” I search for the right word. “It’s wrong. It’s an intrusion.”
“I know. I said I’m sorry, all right? I think I wanted you to find me, if that makes you feel better.” I scowl at him, and he throws his hands up in frustration. “I just had to make sure you were safe, in case Kenaan tried anything. After I failed you last time…”
My breath catches. With the surprise and relief of finding Jorin alive, I completely forgot why I was so angry with him. Now, he takes advantage of my confusion and grabs my hand.
“Listen, Neima: that’s what I wanted to tell you. When I saw you and Kenaan, I—I thought maybe you wanted him to… So I hung back, and by the time I was sure, you were already fighting him off, and I tried to come help you, but you were so fast—”
I look away. “It’s all right. It hardly seems to matter anymore, with all that’s happened.” I force myself to stare into those brown eyes, not so open and hopeful as they used to be, but still flecked with hints of gold. “I don’t suppose Derya’s hiding here as well?”
Now he looks away. “No. No, I’m afraid not.”
A moment stretches out in what seems like silence, despite the animal jabbering that fills the room; then a wolf’s howl rents the air, high and keening and mournful. I shiver and say, “Look, Jorin, I’ve promised not to reveal your presence; will you promise me something as well?”
His hand squeezes mine. “Of course.”
“Don’t follow me anymore. It’s eerie enough down here without—”
“But…but Kenaan! If he tries anything, I’ll never forgive myself.”
I drop his hand and reach for my belt, pulling up the handle of my knife tucked within until Jorin can see it. “I can take care of myself. I did before.”
“All right,” he agrees, but his hands clench into fists at his sides. He opens his mouth to say more, and then—
“Neima!” Mother again, though the echo of her voice tells me she’s still a safe distance from us. “We’re all going upstairs. Hurry and finish up.”
“Yes, Mother,” I call back as frustration fills me. Why must she choose this day to be concerned? I wait a few breaths before whispering to Jorin, “I should go, or they’ll get suspicious. But I’ll come back tonight, when they’re sleeping. I’ll see if I can find you a fresh tunic—Aunt Zeda brought extras—and a blanket, some bread and water— How have you survived for so long?”
Jorin casts his eyes downward, rolls his shoulders inward: sheepish again. “I’ve been poaching off the animals. But just a little from each one, I swear!”
“Not the tigers, I hope?”
He grins, relaxes his shoulders. “No, not the tigers. Nor the wolves or jackals.”
“All right, well—” I can hardly bear to leave him. I’m afraid he’ll vanish again, that all this is no more than a desperate wish, a vision brought to life by my own hunger and confusion. But I have to go. “Tonight. I’ll meet you by the elephants?” Impulsively I grab his arm once more, squeezing the solid flesh.
“Ow!” He shakes his arm in pretended agony. “You don’t have to maul me! I’ll be here, though I have to say, it will be quite an imposition on my valuable time.”
I smile again; it feels good. “Tonight,” I whisper, and then I turn to go.
***
I intend to doze awhile before I bring Jorin the supplies I’ve gathered and hidden under my blanket: a full water skin, a sack of bread and raisins, and a tunic of Kenaan’s I’ve taken from Zeda’s stash. If she notices it missing, she shouldn’t have any reason to suspect me.
Still, once night falls and even Aliye and the other birds next door quiet down, I find my b
ody and mind unwilling to fall into sleep. Maybe it’s a good thing, since I won’t suffer through another nightmare of Derya’s ghost… Then something occurs to me. That’s why I didn’t dream of Jorin’s ghost. Some part of me must have sensed his presence here, alive and only steps away from me in the depths of the ark.
When I can hear not only the snoring of the women beside me, but the even louder breaths and snorts and wheezes drifting in from the men’s room next door, I know it’s time.
I hold my breath as I gather my hidden stash, rise to my feet, and tiptoe toward the doorway. My greatest fear is that Aliye will wake and call out, but to my relief, she doesn’t. Then I have to weave a perilous path through the sleeping men, within a darkness so deep it seems solid, in order to reach the ladder. Halfway down the rungs, my foot lands too hard, and the wood groans below me. I freeze, certain I’m about to be discovered, but when the snoring continues I creep the rest of the way down to the lower level.
I know the blackness hides wild things with sharp teeth—I can hear some of them crying out and others pacing, prowling in their cages—but I’m too excited to feel much fear. Still, I wish I’d thought to bring one of Aunt Zeda’s oil lamps. Though I hold my arms out before me, I knock against cages quite a few times, but eventually I make it to the far wall. I’m feeling down the length of it for the doorway when a hand falls onto my shoulder, and my whole body seems to snap in shock.
I’ve just recovered enough to breathe again, and I’ve opened my mouth to tell Jorin off for scaring me, when a pair of lips presses against mine. Fleshy, demanding, somehow familiar lips, and I know—
It’s Kenaan.
I drop my sack to the ground, use both arms to push him away with all my strength. He goes willingly enough, only to snarl out, “Still playing coy, Neima? Surely you know there’s no point to that any longer.” He moves closer again, so I can smell the sweaty, animal stink of him, and kicks the sack at my feet. The sloshing sound of water reverberates in my gut as he asks, “Water for your precious elephants, huh? They can’t wait for morning like the rest of these miserable creatures?”
A pause; I can sense his body coiling with tension, a predator about to strike. “Or was there another reason you snuck down here?”
I freeze, willing myself not to panic, not to reveal how close he’s come to the truth.
“You know what I think?” He moves closer still, so I can feel the hot puffs of his breath hitting my face, can see the gleam of his teeth against the darkness. My back is pressed against the ark wall now; I have no space left to retreat. “I think you wanted me to hear you, to wake and follow you down here. I think you want this as much as I do—”
I actually relax the smallest bit; Kenaan’s inflated ego has him so thoroughly deluded, I won’t have to worry about him discovering the truth. But then he breaks through the meager space left between us, closes his lips over mine once more…
…and I realize I still have plenty to worry about. I can’t breathe, can’t escape the acrid taste of him and the insistent pressure of his body against mine. Though I can’t see them in the darkness, a vision of his eyes swims before me: black and narrowed, shrewd and cold. Hungry. Jackal’s eyes. Wolf’s eyes. Then his hands are on me, pawing at my threadbare shift, but they don’t touch my belt and I realize the darkness gives me an advantage as well. Kenaan is so sure of himself, he’s not even bothering to restrain my arms.
I take a deep breath. Steel myself.
And then, all in one movement, I pull the knife from my belt and place the cold, sharp edge against his throat.
His mouth goes slack against mine. His hands fall from my shift. He steps back, and I let him, but I continue to hold the knife up before him.
“Have you gone mad, Neima?” he asks, his voice shifting from bluster to disbelief. “Where did you even get—”
“I have not gone mad,” I cut him off, fighting to keep my own voice from trembling. “But we are not married yet”—I step toward him, and he stumbles back, away from the knife—“and I will not allow you to touch me.” We move in an awkward sort of dance, keeping a safe distance between us, dodging cages as we make our way back to the ladder. I’m afraid my heart will beat itself out of my chest, but I manage to keep my steps sure, my breath steady, till Kenaan reaches the ladder and scrambles up it.
I wait to see if he’ll return with the others, though I don’t think he will—he has too much pride to reveal what happened tonight. By the time my heartbeat has slowed, I’m sure he’s not coming back.
I tuck my knife into my belt and take a few steps away from the ladder and into the darkness. I know that once again, I’m not alone, and there’s no point in trekking all the way to the elephants.
I take a deep breath. “All right,” I say. “You can come out.”
Chapter Nine
By the time Jorin and I reach the elephants, my limbs have stopped trembling, but my muscles seem about to melt with the sudden release of tension. Jorin clearly knows this maze of cages better than I do, and he’s led me through the darkness without a single misstep or collision; still, I’m so exhausted that, after fumbling through the latched door of the elephant’s fence, I nearly collapse onto the filthy floor. I feel around for Bilal and Enise’s familiar leathery skin, and I find the nearest of the two lying on its side, legs and trunk outstretched. My hand catches on the cold smoothness of its little tusks—so this is Bilal, not Enise. I’ve never seen the elephants sleeping before, and somehow I imagined they’d do so standing up, like Aliye upstairs; but I like the fact that they sleep lying down. It makes them seem more childlike, somehow. More human.
I lean my back against Bilal’s broad stomach as it moves in and out in the slow, peaceful rhythm of sleep. Jorin lowers himself to the ground beside me, and I’m sure the elephant will sense our combined weight and wake, but he doesn’t. I curl my knees to my chest, resting my head upon them, and listen to Jorin rifling through the sack. He finds the water quickly, and the sound of him gulping it down lasts far too long. “Some of that was for washing,” I grumble. I remember his grime-streaked face, and I know he must stink, though the stench of the animals drowns out everything else. I stink, too—we all do—but at least the rest of us have the rain to wash off the worst of the sweat and dirt.
“Sorry,” he gasps out between more hurried sips, “just…so…thirsty…”
“I’ll bring you more tomorrow, when I’m tending to the animals.” My voice comes out sharper, snippier than I intended.
A few last sips and then I hear the sound of the empty water skin hitting the floor, the collapse and the soft escape of air. “I kept my promise, didn’t I?” Jorin says. “I didn’t follow you—or, well, I didn’t come too close. I let you handle Kenaan.”
“Yes…yes, you did.” Still, all the excitement of this night, the thrill of seeing Jorin and sharing his secret, has scattered and dissolved into the murky air around us. Ruined—not by Jorin, but by Kenaan. I know Jorin feels it too; I can tell by the way he distracts himself, sifting through the rest of the pack and examining the contents by touch and smell. Most of the animals are quiet, and I almost wish for the grumbles of wildcats and the howls of wolves, or at least the dull thud of the rain on the roof that’s become such a constant upstairs.
Rain. Jorin can’t hear the rain down here, and I’m sure he can’t imagine the extent of the disaster outside. No wonder he refuses to reveal himself—he probably thinks that in just a few more days, the waters rocking the floor beneath us will recede, and we’ll all leave this wretched prison.
“It’s still raining, you know,” I say. “The water has risen higher than you can imagine, and it seems to be holding steady, if not rising further. Even Noah hasn’t told us when we might expect—when this will end.” I’ve wondered if my grandfather has some idea, but I’ve been afraid to ask, to hear confirmed what I already suspect: that Noah has no more real knowledge or understanding of this disaster than the rest of us. “Someone else will find you eventually,
or you’ll be forced out when I can’t bring you enough food. I don’t see why you can’t just—”
Jorin’s hand, warm and soft and miraculously dry in this dank place, closes over my arm. “No. You don’t understand—”
“So tell me.”
I hear him breathe in, out in hesitation, and then: “I heard them. I heard the people banging on the side of the ark, shouting, begging to be let in.”
“You—what?” His words are strange, indecipherable. Nonsensical.
He puts his other hand on top of mine, squeezes tight. I imagine his eyes piercing straight into me, the gold in them flashing, though I see only darkness. “I found this nook between the ark walls, right where the two sides join together. It’s actually—it’s just behind us, there.” He takes one hand from my arm to point, a wasted gesture in the blackness. “Your father and the others only come by about once a day, and they make so much noise that I have plenty of warning first. Those first few days, when I could still hear the rain driven sideways against the walls, and then when the floor started to shift, I just lay there with my head against the wall and I…I could hear them. Not all the words, but the screaming…”
I remember those first few days I sat with my own head leaning against the side of the ark, one floor above this one. I didn’t hear any screams. It can’t be…
“You were probably confused,” I say. “We all were—we were dazed and sick and frightened. The wind can sound like voices, and it would have flung trees and fences and bits of houses against the ark—”
“No, Neima. I thought I might be imagining it at first; I wished I was imagining it. But then I overheard—”
He stops, lifts his remaining hand from mine. “What?” I ask, needing to know now. “You overheard what?”
Jorin lets out a long, heavy breath before responding, “Isn’t that enough? They were begging to be let in, and your grandfather wouldn’t allow it.”
I shake my head, though I know he can’t see it. “Even if people were outside the ark—and I still think you imagined it—we couldn’t hear them up on the second level. We didn’t know.”
“They knew, Neima. Your grandfather and the other men—they heard. They saw, when they were up on deck.”