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

has supported the other in years, more like
politely tolerated each other’s presence and nothing more—but I
can’t dwell on it now.
    The raindrops pelt us with the weight
of stones as we go on, the ground beneath our bare feet so slippery
we nearly slide down like that cottage roof with every step.
There’s another crash, and Mother gasps, squeezing my hand even
tighter. I don’t even look, not wanting to know whose home has
collapsed this time. The only upside is that the villagers are now
too distracted to rail on about curses.
    “ Neima!” My name twists
toward me, swirling on the wind, and my eyes follow the sound to
see Arisi fighting her way through the wall of water. Japheth has a
hand on her arm, doing his best to support her, but he’s also
dragging two panicked sheep behind him. I awkwardly shift my bundle
of fabric beneath one arm so that, once Arisi’s close enough, I can
grab her free hand in mine. Then, with my mother on one side and
Arisi on the other, we head farther into the storm.

    ***

    The ark comes into view
gradually before us, its dark form separating by degrees from the
clouds surrounding it, until it grows so solid and formidable I can
almost believe it is cursed, the cause of this destruction around us, still
standing strong while everything else falls. But in spite of this
we’re moving toward the ark, not away, hoping it will offer us some
safety. What else can we do?
    Before we can reach the ark, though,
we have to contend with the river. I have never seen it rise so
fast, the water rushing and roiling toward a boil, and already the
flat wooden bridge has nearly disappeared beneath its surface. When
we begin to cross, the chilly water swirls around my calves, and it
reaches almost to Arisi’s knees, leaving her wobbling and unsteady.
But worst of all are the sheep, who tug on their tethers and refuse
to set foot in the river, no matter how Japheth yanks them forward.
He tries to leave the ewe on the bank and pick up the massive ram,
but the ewe bolts for the village and he has to abandon the ram to
run after it. It quickly becomes clear I’ll have to trust my mother
to guide Arisi across, while I go back to help Japheth.
    I clutch the ewe tightly as Japheth
half carries, half drags the ram across the rising water. The
sheep’s fleece is so slippery I can barely keep my grasp, but I’m
afraid if I hold only her tether, she’ll choke in her struggle to
escape me: she wants so badly to run from the river, she fights my
hold with a force that almost seems to equal the rain above us. By
the time Japheth returns to take her from me, I’m gasping for each
breath, my heart racing and my arms shaking from my
effort.
    When I cross the river this time, the
water nearly reaches my own knees.
    I’ve been so focused on my task that
not until I’m across, and have taken a long moment to catch my
breath, do I notice what Mother, Arisi and Japheth are all staring
at, wide eyed, slack jawed: a bright red spot of flame burning,
impossibly, in the midst of this wet gray world.
    Munzir and a few other
villagers have wrestled a white tarp over a tree and pinned it to
the ground, like one side of an open tent, and beneath it they’ve
somehow managed to kindle a small fire. Munzir holds a long torch
and keeps thrusting it into the flames, but each time he pulls it
out, the rain instantly extinguishes it. As if he senses my eyes on
him, he turns his face toward mine: the rain has soaked his hair
and beard till it’s black as pitch, black as Kenaan’s curls; his
features twist in fury and hatred, and raindrops settle into each
crevice of his skin. What has my family done—what have I done—to make him hate
me so much? Again I find it hard to believe this man is Jorin’s
father. If Jorin’s expression ever contorts with such viciousness,
if his eyes ever turn so dark, I don’t know what I’ll—
    There’s a blur of movement behind the
fire, a figure stepping out from the back of the clump