Concealed Innocence: Lost Children of the Prophet, #12

By Angelique Conger

Basya: Daughter of God

Or Daughter of Cain?

Hiding from marauding armies in a cave, Basya hears a strangled cry of pain — and meets Ham. She seeks safety in the west in the ancient home of her earliest parents, Ziva and Nat.

But she carries the mark of Cain …

Ham has traveled east, pursuing solace and understanding. Why would a loving God take his wife and newborn child?

Basya provides healing for more than his broken arm. She helps him understand.

But during the treacherous journey home, will she grow to love him? Will his family accept her? After all, his father is Noah who prophesies destruction.

And she does carry the mark of Cain …

More than a romance, Concealed Innocence is a story of connections, of discovering lost family, and consequences of obedience. Discover the unknown purpose Jehovah had when He allowed Ziva and Nat to be stolen so many hundreds of years before in this 12th and final book in the Lost Children of the Prophet series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Southwest of Zion Publishing
• Release date: May 15, 2024
• ISBN: 9781946550385

Angelique Conger

Angelique Conger worked as a teacher in the years her children were growing. Writing about the earliest days of our earth, those days between the Garden of Eden and Noah’s flood, helps in her efforts to change the world. Many would consider her books Christian focused, and they are because they focus on events in the Bible. She writes of a people’s beliefs in Jehovah. However, though she’s read in much of the Bible and searched for more about these stories, there isn’t much there. Her imagination fills in the missing information, which is most of it. Angelique lives in Southern Nevada with her husband, turtles, and Lovebird. Her favorite times are visiting children and grandchildren. She loves mail and is happy to respond to your questions. Happy reading.

Book preview

Escape

Fire!

Basya coughed in the thick, black, pungent smoke that filled her lungs as she gathered food, healing herbs, and an extra dress and shoved them into a bag. She slung it across her shoulder, then glanced around the home she had loved. Her mama and papa had come here as a young married couple. It had been home for all her life. Not anymore.

Flames crackled on the roof, threatening to bring it down on her. She grabbed her leather cloak and pulled it around her body and the bag, pulling the hood tight. She’d need the protection of the leather if she planned to escape the raging fire.

Smoke filled the space. Basya stumbled toward the door, tripping over the bodies of her parents, victims of the Coos Giants who had attacked the day before. She refused to think about that. She attributed her tears to the smoke, though deep inside her, she knew she grieved for her parents. She’d grieve for them later. Now, she had to find a way out of Safe Haven before the giants found her.

She pushed the door open and glanced up at the burning roof. The roof would fall soon. With a shudder, she looked both ways, hoping the giants had left this part of town.

One stomped toward her neighbor’s home, not yet filled with flames. She crept along the edge of the house and turned toward the wall. If she watched for them, she could escape past them and out the gate into the fields, away from the fires and horror of invading giants.

The conflagration rose above the walls of the town. Houses and businesses burned. Even the sanctuary burned, signaling the end of life as she knew it.

How had this happened? Jehovah had protected Safe Haven for a hundred or more years. He had always blessed Basya’s small community. Why not now?

She shook her head. Can’t think of that now or they will catch me. She peeked around the corner toward the wall. Most of the giants had left.

Sometimes she felt blessed that her parents lived so close to the wall. She could be the first one out the gate when all the girls raced into the fields searching for flowers. She could slip out the gate to meet the man she loved without prying eyes always watching.

She watched the giants walking in front of the broken gates. She’d need to dash past them if she planned to escape. Until she saw an opportunity, she was determined to stay near the walls of her home.

Safe Haven had grown in the past years. Most homes now held more than one generation. Too many times, enemies had attacked, preventing the men from extending the walls outward.

Basya shook her head. No time for memories. Later.

The roof of her parent’s home caved in. She jumped away. The walls would burn now, taking all evidence of the happy times of her life.

Giants turned toward her, staring at the crackling fire and laughing. Basya dropped to a squat. She didn’t want to stand out against the burning building. She wanted to escape their attention.

They had ransacked the house before setting it afire, searching for gold and silver. Few homes in Safe Haven held such metals. Enough did, however, to make it worth their time for the giants to search.

Basya waited for the giants to tire of watching the house burn. She needed to move soon. The wall radiated heat from the fire inside. She couldn’t wait much longer.

The giants laughed again and turned away.

No one is left to escape this poor village, a giant complained.

I am going to search through those last houses before they are all on fire. Are you coming?

We were told to ...

What? Wait here and miss out on all the gold? Not me.

The big man strode away toward the houses to the east of Basya.

She watched and waited. The other big man heaved a sigh, picked up his battle ax, and followed the first giant.

When the men had passed her and turned the corner, his rancid, unwashed odor trailed behind. Basya glanced both directions once more. It would not help her if other giants walked toward the gate as she left.

Jehovah, help me, she breathed.

No giants were in sight. She dashed forward and raced across the space between her and the gate. No one shouted at her. Perhaps she would make it.

The giants had broken the gate, which now hung askew on one hinge. The giants had left it open enough they could push their wide bodies past it.

Basya ducked through the opening and stared. They had built a huge fire outside the gate. She thought all the giants were still raiding inside Safe Haven. Instead, giants sat next to the fire. Others wandered around it, talking and shouting.

She’d have to trust the light of the fire would blind their eyes to small, dark shadows like her. The fragrance of a stew tickled her senses and caused her stomach to clench in hunger.

She stepped into the dark and hurried around the giant’s encampment. She’d have to give them lots of space. Who knew what those men would do if they found a girl skulking in the dark?

A girl inside the camp screamed. That’s what they would do. Stay away from them.

Basya walked through the dark to the right, between the giants’ camp and the burning walls of Safe Haven. She hurried toward the ravine near the end of the wall. A hundred years ago, her great-grandmama Alitza had fallen off the mesa into the ravine, breaking her leg. She could sneak past the giant in the ravine.

Where would she go? Where would she find safety?

The Coos giants were not the only men rampaging through the land. Many other men, filled with hate and greed, attacking small villages and large cities. She couldn't find safety anywhere. Safe Haven had learned that.

Basya kept the fires behind her so she could see. She found the hidden path that led to the ravine. She crept down the path.

Stumbling, she bit off a yelp. No need to get safely past the giants and share her location with them.

At the bottom of the ravine, she rubbed her leg. Wet. Bloodied. She gritted her teeth and kept walking. She needed to find a place to hide.

She glanced up at the clouds. Rains would fall soon. Not soon enough to save her home, however. Too late for that. She couldn’t hide in the bottom of the ravine. She’d seen the floods fill and rush through it n the years before during the rain times.

Jehovah, help me get past the giants and find a place to hide.

As she passed near the giant encampment, a roar of laughter blended with the screams of a woman. Basya cringed, knowing she could easily have been the woman screaming within the camp as the giants laughed.

She stayed close to the edge of the ravine, hidden from the giant’s sight. In the middle or on the opposite side, they could see her. A man above her stumbled through the trees to the edge of the ravine. She moved ahead, hoping to avoid his spray.

The urine splattered down. Basya jumped away, covering her mouth to prevent being heard. She shivered and stepped back as it splashed on her.

The big man groaned. Ah. Too much wine, he said, then turned and stumbled away from the edge, snapping sticks and kicking stones, marking his movement.

When he had disappeared, Basya released a soft Ew, and brushed away the splatters from her cloak. Now she would carry the stench of urine on her cloak.

She moved on, silently attempting to pass the camp.

Shouts and laughter filled the air above. The Coos giant encampment spread much farther than Basya had considered. No wonder they overwhelmed our men so quickly.

A flash of lightning north warned her of the beginning of the rain. At this time of year, rains pounded during the day, pausing most nights. They filled rivers and ravines with racing floods.

Basya sent a prayer heavenward. She could move a little faster knowing the usual floor of this ravine. She still had to be careful, for the floor of the ravine changed with every rainfall.

She stumbled and groaned. She slapped a hand over her mouth. The giants were too close for her to be making noise. She breathed through her nose and listened.

After many long, silent breaths, she advanced forward. She wanted to run, but knew she could fall and injure herself. Lifting her feet above the rocks and dry weeds, she stepped forward as fast as she dared.

Lightning flashed behind her again, pushing her faster down the ravine. The walls rose higher than she could jump and steeper than she could climb. A shudder rippled through Basya’s body. She had to get out before it rained farther north.

The moon peeped from behind the clouds, showing her the rocks and trees that littered her path. She had too far to go before she could climb out. Besides, the giants were still too close. She had to move faster.

She took advantage of the moonlight and hurried on down the ravine. She didn’t have time to dawdle. The rain would fill the ravine with a flash flood soon.

Basya quietly growled when a cloud covered the moon, darkening her path once more. I must move faster. How can I go faster if I can’t see? This ravine is going to be full of water soon. Gotta move faster.

She tripped. Her knee landed hard on a sharp rock. Another cut. I’m going to be marked up.

She pushed herself up from the fragrance of bruised marjoram and stumbled on, moving slower than before. How could she get past the deep part of the ravine before the flash flood reached her and keep from falling?

Jehovah, help me, she prayed.

She didn’t see the reflection of the giants’ campfires above her. Maybe she could find a way out of the ravine and be safe from them. It would help if she had found a pair of her papa’s trousers. The skirt tripped her more times than she liked to admit. She tucked the skirt hem into her belt and trudged forward as fast as she dared.

The clouds parted briefly, giving her a vision of the wall of the ravine with bushes she could grab to help pull herself up. The walls were still steep, but she could get out, maybe.

She ran and leapt for the lowest bush, which grew higher than she could reach. Her hand caught hold. The brush scraped her hand, but she gripped it until she could dig her feet into the edge of the ravine wall and push herself up.

As she pushed herself up, another bush appeared. She grabbed it with one hand and pulled herself higher. Another bush grew farther away than the second. Basya climbed until her knee rested on the second bush, then she reached up and grasped the third bush. She stood on the bush and stretched upward, leaning on the dirt and stone side of the ravine.

She heard a trickle of water and glanced at the bottom. Lightning flashed, showing a small, muddy stream of water.

It comes.

She grabbed the next bush and pulled. Her arm muscles burned from the strain. She couldn’t stop now. If she didn’t make it to the top, she’d drown in the rushing water.

She glanced down once more. The trickle had grown.

She stretched for the next bush with a groan. She had no time to plod upward. She had seen these floods before. They would cause her serious trouble if she didn’t get out of the ravine now.

She pulled her foot up to the branch, shoved her leg straight, and glanced upward, hoping to see the top edge. She had climbed less than half the way. With a groan, searched for another bush to take her higher. The closest bush would take her closer to the water. It wouldn’t work. If she stretched almost the entire length of her body, she could reach a bush farther up. The wind blew the clouds away from the moon again. She searched the wall for a handhold, a rock, anything that would help her climb higher.

A rock protruded from the edge of the wall. She could reach it. It left little space for a handhold or toehold, but it would work if nothing else showed. Nothing did, so she breathed in and out, then grabbed the rock.

Basya’s hand became slick with sweat. She touched the wall, trying to dry it. The movement upset her balance and she wobbled on the bush. Help me, she cried softly, though she didn’t want help from the men around her. They were all searching for women to ravage.

She wobbled once more, then gripped the rock and stabbed a toe into the soil. Shoving the weight of her body up, she grabbed on to the bush over her head. She shoved her toe onto the rock and pushed upward.

A deer floated below her, bawling for assistance. Basya glanced down. The water had risen to the third bush already.

Her eyes were drawn north, seeing the water rush toward her, bubbling and swirling. It should smell clean, but the stench of dead animals sprayed into her face.

An uprooted tree spun in the current. A bull elk bellowed. Small animals clung to the branches of the tree.

The water rose ever higher.

Basya turned to the wall and scrambled up beyond the next three bushes, almost blindly.

A wolf howled, caught in the raging flood. Bushes and trees spun close to her, threatening to knock her off the wall. Finally, her hand reached up to a bush not growing from the side of the cliff. She pulled herself upward, almost over the top. A branch of a tree banged into her leg, knocking it from its perch on a rock. She slipped. Water filled her slipper.

She scrabbled for a toehold, then pushed forward once more. She fell forward onto the edge of the ravine. The water swirled across her legs. She couldn’t lay there. She had to move.

With a sigh, Basya pushed herself up and fell forward. Her arms and legs quivered. But water soaking her leg warned her of the need to move forward.

She stumbled forward on her hands and knees, lifting to her toes. She rose and stumbled farther away from the edge of the ravine.

It must have rained hard farther north, for the deep ravine had filled, dragging trees and animals in its current. It spilled over the edge. She couldn’t stop yet.

She took another deep, shuddering breath and stumbled farther away from the edge of the ravine. At last, she stood on dry land. She turned to see the flood raging down the ravine and over the edge. A huge buck scrabbled over the edge and stumbled forward. He shook the muddy water from his hide, then trotted away.

Basya shook her head. What else would climb from the flood? She wasn’t safe.

She breathed in and out several huge breaths, then turned to march inland. She glanced toward the giants’ camp but couldn’t see even a glare of their campfires. Perhaps she had passed far enough beyond it.

She moved forward toward the forest. There would be some safety in there. She could hide among the trees.

Drawn East

io

Abuck lifted his head and gazed into Ham’s eyes. His soft brown trusting eyes stared into his face. Ham held the bowstring tight, ready to release it. He held it still, then relaxed the string.

With that trust, how could he kill the beast? Other beasts lived in the forest to eat. He would not kill and eat this one today. The buck dropped his majestic head to the meadow and returned to grazing.

Ham removed the arrow from the bowstring and slipped it back into his quiver. He could wait to eat.

He turned and retraced his steps through the forest until he reached the fork in the path, then took the other trail. He followed it until he reached another small meadow. No deer grazed there.

Ham left his father’s home early that morning, seeking peace. There, young nieces and nephews shouted and called to one another. He could not think with their noise.

Worse, his heart could not manage the normality of the noise. The family had moved on from his tragedy. They lived. They laughed. They loved. They continued.

Ham could not.

It had been six months since his wife, Channa, had developed a burning sickness during the birth of their daughter. The healer could not stop the burning. Both mama and daughter died.

Ham had not recovered from his sorrow. How could he take the life of another, even an animal?

He wiped an errant tear from his face.

He kicked through the grass, warning any animals of his presence. He had no desire to confront a bear or an elk. All he wanted to do was to find a quiet place to pray and seek the peace he desperately needed. His life had to change.

His papa, Noah, had reminded him recently that Jehovah had required that they preach repentance to wicked people of the earth. He needed Ham to learn to live with his sorrow and return to his responsibilities of teaching. Noah had little hope that the people of the earth would change. They had become filled with violence and wickedness.

Even as Ham walked through the trees and meadows, smelling the soothing fragrance of warm grass and drying flowers, seeking a secluded place to kneel, a part of him heard the army of men marching. Men believed they could find wealth and women in battles with others. This army marched parallel to Ham, more than half a league distant from him. They marched toward the nearest big city, three days march away.

Ham stopped and leaned against a gigantic oak. He had no desire to become entangled in their hatred.

The noise of the army grew louder. Had they turned toward him? The road did not turn, but armies did not always follow roads.

Ham glanced around. Where could he hide from them?

A nearby oak tree had low branches. Ham jumped to the lowest and scrambled up the tree as the noise of the army drew closer. He climbed higher up the tree until he settled on a wide fork in the tree. He pulled his legs up and folded them, then leaned his back against the trunk.

He had climbed trees as a young boy. That had not been so long ago. He had become as comfortable in trees as on the ground. He could wait for the army to pass.

The noise of marching feet and men speaking to neighbors increased. Ham stared down, searching for the army to appear.

He saw the noses and flicking ears of horses first, smelled their sweaty bodies as they carried the leaders of the army.

Ham knew some of these men. He had joined his papa in preaching to these men before Channa’s death. Although some had listened to them with a pretense of courtesy, none had asked for baptism. None had come to Noah asking for assistance in repentance.

Ranks of marching men passed below Ham’s tree. It took them much of the day. He brought a hand to his mouth to stop his gasp when his brother, Telamon, marched in the middle of the ranks of marching men. He knew Telamon had met with men from the army, but had not known that he had agreed to join them.

How had their hatred enticed him?

The sun had fallen behind the mountains to the west before the last man and the last of the wagons carrying supplies trundled into the distance.

Ham pulled his blanket from his pack and wrapped it around him. He would be safer in the tree than on the ground.

He munched on a travel bar and watched the orange and purple clouds streak across the sky. The rains would soon come. His parents would worry if he did not return before the rains.

Insects chirped in the night. Owls leapt from the tree branches above him and swooped down to catch mice from the ground. Bats flew through the trees, catching insects from the air near Ham’s face. The wings of one flapped so close it brushed his face. He shuddered away from the tickle. The fragrance of night blooms mixed with the scent of the bats and owls filled the night air. Ham leaned his head against the tree trunk and closed his eyes.

The sun glanced through the leaves into Ham’s eyes the next morning. He lifted his hand to shield his eyes and stared around him. The air smelled clean above the earth, soiled by men. He still sat in the tree. He pulled a leaf to his face and inhaled its fresh fragrance. He had slept well during the night.

He offered his morning prayers to Jehovah, begging for peace and understanding. Papa Noah knew best. The time had come to put sorrow behind him. Ham knew he could manage, with Jehovah’s assistance.

His chest warmed. Jehovah heard his plea.

He shimmied down the tree. The night before, the army had passed going north. He turned east, with the sun shining in his face, and strode forward.

He had no reason to continue forward. Something pulled him east. Something waited ahead of him. His papa would know why he did not yet return.

He walked through the forest and across the open fields, always praying Jehovah would ease the pain in his heart as he sought the thing that dragged him forward.

Clouds thickened in the sky as he traveled over the next days. A morning chill kept the blanket wrapped around his shoulders until the sun had climbed almost directly above him.

Still, Ham pushed eastward. He did not know why he should be always moving east, but something pulled him forward.

Four days after leaving his papa’s home, the rains fell, splashing up a dusty scent until the heavy drops pounded the earth, running in rivulets. He questioned his trek through the drenching rains. He shrugged and pulled his cloak from his pack and wrapped it around his shoulders and body. Whatever called him continued to urge him onward.

Ham crawled into the cavity of a dead tree each evening. One evening, a ground squirrel chittered at him.

I am sorry, little one, Ham said, speaking softly, not wanting to frighten it. It is raining and I need a dry place to sleep.

The squirrel chittered some more, scratching at his leg.

Ham moved his leg. Another squirrel popped her head from beneath his leg.

Oh, I am sorry. I did not see you there under my leg. He bent to lift the tiny squirrel.

The small squirrel moved. A nest of baby squirrels popped their heads up, chittering at him.

Oh, ho. Now I see why you were so insistent that I move my leg. Your family is here. Ham moved his leg. Are there any other little ones here?

The small male ran up his leg and arm and stood up on his back legs to chatter at him once more. He bent his head to the side.

Ham eased to the side. He scooped up the little female and the babies. The male jumped into his palm. He moved again. He saw a stash of nuts beneath his other leg.

He moved aside. Is there anything else I am sitting on?

The squirrel chattered at him, then jumped off his palm onto his leg. He moved again and found another stash of nuts. He found nothing else beneath him.

Ham pulled out a bit of a travel bar, smelled the oats and berries within, then shared it with the little family of squirrels. They held it in their front paws and ate with dainty delight.

After everyone had enough of the travel bar, Ham leaned back and pulled his blanket and cloak around him. The family of squirrels snuggled up against his hip and they all slept.

The next morning, Ham scooted away, careful not to disturb the little family.  The little male squirrel lifted a head and gazed at him as he left the dry security of the dead tree.

He pulled his cloak over his head and pulled it close against the blowing wind and rain. The little squirrel ran up the tree to stand at eye level with Ham. He chattered once more.

Yes. It would be warmer if I stayed here with you, little one, but Jehovah is leading me somewhere. I do not know where, only that I must travel east. I will return and check on you in a few days. I do not think it will be many days before I come back this way.

The little squirrel leapt from the tree onto Ham’s shoulder and nuzzled and tickled his face. Then he leapt back to the tree.

I hope to see you soon, Ham said, then hoisted his pack on his back and hiked out into the rain.

Normal No More

The weak sun shone through the clouds when Basya woke. She had found a tall tree and curled up at its base and pulled her cloak around her, depending on it to disguise her presence if anyone passed by.

It had worked, for no one had disturbed her sleep.

She reached into her bag and pulled out an apple. She took a bite of it and enjoyed its crisp tartness. It hadn’t had time to wither and turn to mush.

She grinned at the thought and marched on into the forest toward the south. She had to travel far enough to pass the end of the ravine before she could turn west. She hoped to find the fabled Home Village of Eve and Adam. Perhaps someone there could help her.

She found a thick length of tree branch lying on the forest floor. She bent to pick it up. It would help her walk without falling.

She marched on through the forest until she reached the edge, seeing no one else. There, she stood in the shade of the tree and stared out into the meadow.

A doe lifted her head and gazed at her. Her fawn, now an almost grown doe herself, looked her way as well. They dropped their heads and continued grazing on the drying grasses.

Thunder echoed from over the forest. The sulfur stench of lightning followed.

Basya turned her face toward the clouds. A big drop of rain hit her next to her eye. She wiped it away and pulled the hood of her cloak over her head before strolling out into the meadow.

She hurried across the meadow toward the forest on the other side. It would protect her from the rain beneath the trees. She hoped the invading armies would crawl into their tents to avoid the rain. She didn’t want to meet any of those men on her journey.

She didn’t know why or where she headed. She wanted to find the family of Eve and Adam. Beyond that, she only knew she needed to travel west. Something in the west called to her.

Basya moved through the forest, that became wetter with each step. Soon, her feet squelched in her slippers.

I should have put on my heavy leather shoes before I left. But they would be wet, as well. She shrugged. Too late to change my shoes now.

She traveled through a stand of trees to a meadow. She stared across it, watching to ensure no men would rush through after her. The rain would obscure even the noise of an army. She walked along the edge, then hurried on. Men were stupid enough to march in this weather.

Who am I calling stupid? You are out in it, too. Basya shook her head. But I don’t have a place to stay out of the storm. Those men have homes.

She trudged through the trees and into the wide fields. If men were marching toward her home, they would find nothing in these fields. And she would find a place to hide. No one had harvested the grain here.

She gathered fragrant heads of grain and pushed them into her bag as she walked through. They would help her have more food for a few more days.

She needed to find a place safe to escape the rains. A cave would be nice. She could travel west when the rains ended.

She hoped the marauding armies wouldn’t find her in a cave. That sounded safe.

She hadn’t been in this part of the land before. Invading armies and a need to gather grain and vegetables close to home had kept her from traveling this way.

She glanced toward the hills that rimmed the valley. There should be a cave in the hills. Many of them had small caves. Some even had big ones. If she planned to stay for the rain times, she would need one big enough for her to move in — one big enough to store some of the food she saw in the unharvested fields.

She continued to hike to the west, drawn that direction. It must be Jehovah. Why else would she feel compelled to travel west?

Basya hiked through the fields to the trees on the other side, near the mountains. Even with the rain and the trees, she moved unerringly west.

Her foot stuck in the sticky mud. Her slipper fell off. She bent to drag it out. The mud held the slipper tight. She grumbled, pulled the other one off, and walked away, leaving both slippers in the