Free Forty Days: Neima's Ark, Book One by Stephanie Parent Page A

nowhere, a sound
not of water but of something solid rending, splitting, falling,
followed by shrill screaming. I run to the door without thinking
and the water hits me like a wall, blinding me, pushing me back. It
takes all my strength to force my way outside, where, eyes
narrowed, I make out children bracing themselves, hands on knees,
some down on all fours in the now-slippery earth. The rains can be
ferocious, yes, especially when they first arrive…but have they
ever been like this before? Not in my lifetime, I don’t
think.
    I struggle forward till I can just
glimpse the cause of that solid crash, blurred through a curtain of
rain: a cottage has crumbled to the ground, its roof split down the
middle, its foundation collapsed under the weight of the roof and
the water. My throat tightens: that is—or was—Hannah’s dwelling. As
a widow with no sons, Hannah had no one to shore up her cottage
before the rainy season. How many years have passed since anyone’s
even offered to patch her roof?
    I look for Hannah herself, knowing
Mother would want me to offer her shelter, but I can’t see past the
crowd of taller villagers quickly forming around her cottage.
Someone will take care of her, at least.
    Another crash rings out over the rain,
the sound reverberating down to my bones, and before my eyes the
roof of another cottage slides forward, over the still-standing
walls and all the way to the ground, as easily as mud sliding down
a hillside. And this is Emir’s house. I saw him repairing his roof
just a day or two ago.
    I’m trapped in place, suddenly, my
body turned solid as stone in my bewilderment and fear, even as the
world is tearing to pieces before me and the rain seems determined
to knock me onto my knees. And then, through the swirl of wind and
water, a single word rises, a harsh, cutting word, repeating and
gathering strength like a chant:
    “ Curse. Curse. Curse.
Curse. The ark has brought this curse upon us.”
    I need to move. I need to
run to the ark and warn the men, or hurry back to my mother and
tell her—what? That our roof may cave in on her?—and Arisi and
Grandmother Nemzar and even Aunt Zeda, I must tell them too. Why
can’t I move ?
    When I see my father appearing out of
the chaos, his form parting the sheets of rain before him, I don’t
trust my eyes. But his rain-slicked hand on my arm is real enough,
and my feet finally remember how to lift and step forward, as he
leads me back to our own cottage.
    Inside, my mother grabs Father’s arms
and pulls him to her, but he shakes her off—along with quite a bit
of water. “We must go now,” he says, “or the river will be too high
to cross.”
    “ Go?” Her brows furrow.
“Go where?”
    “ The ark, of course.” He
casts his gaze desperately around the cottage, looking, I guess,
for any supplies he can grab. “Noah wants me to bring our goats,
but you two can run ahead and—”
    “ But Father, they’re
saying the ark has caused—”
    He shoots me a warning
glance nearly as fierce as the weather outside. “Don’t alarm your
mother. Not even Munzir could keep a torch lit in this downpour,
and the ark will be safer than this cottage. If we can get there now. Grab what
you can—blankets, bread—and go! I’ll tether the goats and catch
up.”
    “ The ark, safer? Why?”
Mother asks, but Father is already running out the door. I think of
the roof caving in over our heads and decide I don’t want to spend
one more minute beneath it. I grab a shawl to tie around my head, a
blanket and a few extra shifts, and then, impulsively, I reach
under my pallet and pull out my bronze knife, tucking it beneath
the blue cloth at my waist.
    I lead the way to the open doorway,
Mother at my heels, and when we step outside she reels back,
shocked by the force of the water and wind. I grasp her hand, and
she squeezes mine, clutching so hard it’s as if she needs my
support to move forward. It’s a strange feeling—I don’t think
either one of us