Forty Days: Neima's Ark, Book One Read Online Free PDF

says as he
finally catches up to the goat. “I told you—she shivers at
night.”
    “ But it’s not cold.” I
find myself smiling for what seems like the first time in days,
though I know it’s been only a few hours at most. It’s such a
relief to see Jorin acting as if everything’s normal, as if the
world isn’t ending in just seven days. Because it isn’t, of course,
and our little world won’t end either, no matter what my
grandfather says and does. Like Arisi said, everything will be
fine.
    Jorin places one broad hand atop the
goat’s back, and she quiets and slows her shaking, though she
doesn’t stop entirely.
    “ Poor thing.” I reach one
hand over the fence to stroke the goat’s silky fur. “She’s
nervous.”
    Beneath my hand, her trembling slows
further and then, at last, stops. Jorin moves his hand closer,
until the tips of our fingers are touching, and looks up at me. “It
seems she just wanted some comfort,” he says.
    “ It seems that way,” I
agree. The moonlight settles against the sharp angles of Jorin’s
face, and I stare a moment too long before I turn away.
    “ Jorin?” a rough voice
calls from the door of his cottage. “Have you caught that goat yet?
Who are you—”
    The broad silhouette of Jorin’s father
appears in the doorway, shoulders set and face creased with
displeasure.
    “ I should go,” I whisper.
Needless words—I’m already backing away.
    “ Good night, Neima,” I
hear Jorin’s hushed voice from behind me as I continue
home.

    ***

    Inside, the cottage is dark and Mother
lies on her pallet, her eyes closed. I doubt she’s asleep; more
likely she just doesn’t want to speak to me, or to Father when he
arrives home. I quickly shrug off this miserable woolen dress and
slip into one of my linen shifts, and then I grab the wood remnant
and my carving knife where I’ve stashed them under my own straw
pallet. In the kitchen, I stoke the fire just enough to see by and
sit cross-legged before it.
    I gaze at the wood, turning it over
and over in my palm, trying to clear my mind of everything else:
Grandfather Noah, the ark, floods and wild animals. I’m still not
sure what shape lies within it, but I brace the wood against one
hand and pull my knife toward me, following the grain of the wood,
until a small pile of cedar shavings litters the floor around me.
My heartbeat and breath slow, matching the careful rhythm of my
movements, until I’ve pulled the curve of a head and slope of
shoulders from the wood. I continue, molding a vague silhouette
that no one else could identify, but I know who is taking shape
from the wood: someone who’s no longer a boy, but not quite a man,
with hair the same shade as the knife I use to carve his
form.
    Chapter Three

    My parents’ urgent whispers, coming
from the kitchen, wrench me from sleep. I stretch my arms and legs
on my pallet, working out the stiffness in my limbs; I can tell by
the sunlight and birdcalls streaming through the small window that
morning has come. I don’t remember Father coming in last night…has
he slept at all? Have he and my mother been talking all
night?
    “… he would not take our
side!” I hear from my father.
    More low mumbles—Mother is better at
keeping her voice down.
    “ Of course I spoke to Ham
alone,” Father breaks in, louder still. “He would not be
moved!”
    More from Mother, as I creep closer to
the kitchen.
    “ No,” Father says, “I
don’t think Ham truly believes in this God, or that the flood is
coming. None of us do. But he thinks he can gain some special favor
from Noah, and— Neima.” I jolt a little, but his voice softens. “I
know you’re awake. You may as well come speak with us.”
    I move into the kitchen, and Mother
swiftly turns her back on me to tend the fire—though only after
throwing a look of disapproval my father’s way.
    “ She’s not a child,
Nahala,” Father says. He looks at me, his face sagging with
sleeplessness, his hair rumpled as though