How Dragons Survived the Flood

Chapter 3 Part 2

Japh's calves ached. Without Ismi to talk to, he observed the plants on each of the terraces to distract him from his pain.

Regardless of the terrace's size, each one held large, stone containers filled with small fruit trees, vegetables, or the Tree of Life. Although their roots were contained, the plants were healthy. Many had fruit ripening on their branches. The ones at the terrace's edge cast long shadows over him as he walked by. Others, against the inner walls, were trimmed to keep them from invading the terrace's walkway.

Japh noticed a network of small channels in the ziggurat walls, still damp from the morning's dew. At the bottom of one such groove, he saw a drop of water drip into a covered pot.

He looked up. The group had left him far behind. They were now halfway up the final long staircase; he had still to reach its base.

He lengthened his stride, smoothly increasing his pace. When he reached the final staircase, he took the shallow steps two at a time. However, he was still far behind his group. He bowed his head and quickened his pace yet again, concentrating on covering as much ground as he could.

He reached the summit and took two strides towards the sanctuary. His vision filled with a flash of color. Something warm and solid bounce off his midsection, causing him to gasp. Regaining his balance, he looked around. On the stone floor in front of him sat a young woman.

An ivory-colored scarf covered her hair and the lower half of her face, leaving only her shimmery green eyes for him to see. Dark green flecked with gold, her eyes flashed their irritation at him, reminding him of Ismi. He felt a lump of sorrow grow in his throat. Why, he wondered, did she refuse to answer him?

"Well," demanded the woman, as he gaped at her, "are you simply going to stare or are you going to help me gather my basket?"

Her sharp tone surprised him and helped to hold his sorrow at bay. He smiled. How could someone so small and sitting in a heap on the floor, be so imperious? Just like Ismi, he thought, and frowned again.

Still frowning, he bent down and scooped up the miscellany that had dropped out of the basket. Linen cloth, a wooden bowl, a bronze cup, and a smooth stone ring filled his big hands, as he motioned to the overturned basket.

"Be careful," she warned, as she picked up the basket and held it in her lap.

The fluid tones of chanting priests reached them, startling Japh, he was late. What started out as a careful placement of items in the basket ended up as an ungraceful, jumbled pile.

Much to her dismay, he also grabbed her by the shoulders and hoisted her to her feet, causing the basket to jostle in her grasp again. She looked at him one last time, eyes wide, before turning and hurrying on her way, not noticing that the stone ring had fallen out again.

Japh watched her for a moment before picking up the ring. Not having any place to put it, he slipped in on his thumb and went into the holy sanctuary.

From his vantage point, Japh had a full view of the temple's interior. At the front of the room, gently tossing a blend of plants onto a bed of coals in a deep, clay pot, his father and Shem were finishing their blessing. More and more smoke filled the room.

Everyone started to rock back and forth, breathing deeply of the incense. Japheth found himself rocking back and forth too, rubbing the stone ring.

The priests continued to chant. Japh had no trouble saying the repetitive words, but he could not look at his feet in humility and piousness as the rest did. The more he tried, the more he found himself peeking and looking at the inner sanctuary of Yahweh's temple.

Japh smiled. He saw how a canopy held the smoke around the priests' heads. The smoke reminded him of the low morning clouds rising up from the Euphrates, clinging to the hills. He frowned momentarily and then smiled again, remembering how he and Ismi used to fly through the cool haze of those same morning clouds. If he moved his head just so, he could almost feel the wind rushing by him.

His attention shifted to the beautiful screen at the front of the room. Similar to the one in his father's sanctuary, it was made of intricately woven reeds. Where his father's screen was small and stood in the corner, this one stood at the front of the room and reached from the floor to the ceiling.

The woven reeds seemed to shift and evolve from one shape to another as he watched. In it, he could see the connectivity of life.

Noah had told Japheth the voice of God was as music to a righteous man's soul. Japheth listened closely to the music, trying to divine its meaning, but could not hear any message. The instruments, though, took on their own personalities: the shofar's piercing bawl; the gong's resonating, gut-vibrating sigh; and the solitary flute, soft and dulcet, reminding Japh of a soaring songbird. He soared with the songbird, floating high on its trilling melody above the strident shofar and rumbling gong.

Consumed with the flute's song, Japh swayed back and forth. Time expanded, perception changed. Sound became shape, shape became time. The gong echoed and began to fade away, stretching into the future. In his mind, he saw himself twist and stretch, riding the echo, growing fainter as the echo faded. Looking down, the temple was but a speck on the distance.

There was a small, incessant squeal. The flute, he decided. The squeal turned into a scream that grew louder and louder, entering his head, filling him, distracting him from the gong. The more it filled his head, the more he could feel his body coalesce.

The flute's melody resumed its soothing trill. He reached to soar with it when the substantial blare of the shofar came up from under him, again carrying him into the distance and drowning out the sound of the flute.

Where was he? The shofar blast dissolved in the air, no longer supporting him. He fell, slowly at first, tumbling head over heels faster and faster until the temple below him became a blur.

He stopped falling. He found his way back into his body. A deep breath. He reoriented and shuddered. He felt like he had been gone for days. He looked outside. By the sun's arc, it had only been a few hours.

He bowed his head with the rest of the priests for another prayer. When they finished praying, they turned as one and faced the door. To his consternation, Japheth found himself at the head of the line leaving the high sanctuary. Unsure of what he should do, he walked carefully, head down, watching his feet, and descended the ziggurat's many steps.

When he reached the bottom, he went to the fountain. While he waited for his brothers and father, he twisted the ring around his thumb, looking for cracks in its smooth surface.