That night when Naaman and Maacah retired for the evening, Naaman couldn't sleep. His mind replayed the testimony of Zipporah over and over again. Hearing Maacah turn on her sleeping mat, Naaman queried, "Are you awake, Maacah?"

"Yes," she replied. "Even though it is night, the heat hasn't dissipated. The air is oppressive."

"I suppose, Naaman," replied. "My spirit is so burdened by the decision I must render that I hadn't noticed the fierce humidity. You're right, though, the air is heavy. I fear a storm approaches. For the air to be humid at this time of year is unusual. It does not portend well. A storm may be moving in from the Great Sea. As it crosses Mt. Hermon it could intensify. As you know, the sudden winds that sweep down from the mountains can be fierce."

"Similar to the winds that buffet your soul as you labor over justice?" Maacah asked quietly.

"Yes," Naaman answered with a sigh. "If Zipporah had remained the defiant, proud woman who committed the crimes, I would have no problem rendering judgment, but now I struggle. How can such a haughty slave become so submissive? Has she really changed or is this yet another devious ploy?"

"There's no pretence here," Maacah noted. "I've watched for the last three weeks. No one is so good an actress that she can keep up the facade day and night. I too was cautious about Zipporah's new demeanor. I kept a cynical eye on her at all times, just waiting for her to slip up. Not once have I seen the old haughtiness. Oh, she sometimes gets frustrated. I have seen her reduced to tears as she tried to accomplish what used to be a simple task. But she doesn't take her frustrations out on others. She no longer demands that others cater to her. She no longer tries to intimidate. The slaves who once despised Zipporah have worked to help her regain her strength. At first the men helped out of fear. As she told her story and showed a new attitude, the fear vanished. Now they genuinely want to help her." Shaking her head, Maacah concluded, "I can't begin to understand this Yahweh Baara worships. But I do know that Zipporah's encounter with Him seems to have changed her completely. What she told you today was no deception."

"How do you render judgment on someone for whom there is no punishment she fears?" Naaman questioned aloud. "If I sentence her to die, she believes she will go to a place of peace, love, and light. If I let her live and sentence her to prison, she no longer cares because she has a new zeal to share her knowledge of Yahweh with other prisoners. If I keep her as a slave and give her the most menial of tasks, she says she will perform her duties cheerfully, telling others of Yahweh's mercy and mine. It seems this foreign god of Baara has already judged her, and he has granted her mercy, a mercy I cannot remove no matter what my action. That is my quandary, Maacah. There is no simple answer. I am not wise enough to know what course of action to pursue."

Falling silent, Naaman turned over and drifted into a fitful sleep. As he entered a deeper sleep, Naaman found himself dreaming, but the dream was familiar. He recognized it as the night Baara was captured.

He was astride his horse leading a group of raiders against Israelite upstarts. He had divided his men into three forces, sending each against an isolated settlement. He was with the group raiding the herds of the middle settlement. As his men stealthily released the animals, he watched from his horse. Suddenly a feeling of foreboding and urgency came over him. As though directed by an unforeseen hand, he turned on his horse to look eastward in the direction he had sent another raiding party. In the distance he saw an eerie, flickering light. Without thought, he spurred his horse into action, speeding toward the light, the sense of urgency growing stronger as he rode. He didn't know why he was propelled toward what was obviously a burning dwelling in the area of his raiding men. He knew only that he was filled with foreboding and urgency. He took out a whip he rarely ever used and urged his mount to its limit.

As his horse thundered along, Naaman did something he had not done on the night he was reliving. Rather than keeping his focus on the flickering light, he looked upward as though compelled. Instead of seeing a black night punctuated by only stars and a sliver of a moon, he saw a bright, iridescent finger beckoning him onward. Shaking his head in his dream to erase the vision did no good. The finger still beckoned, and it was the light from the finger that illuminated his way keeping his horse from the hazards hidden in the dark.

Awaking with a start, Naaman discovered his body was covered with sweat. He quietly arose from his sleeping couch and went to the window. The shutters had been left open because of the oppressive heat. He looked out into the black night, looking upward in some trepidation, still caught in the aftermath of the dream. But no apparition lit this night, not even the pinprick of stars cast their lights. Instead, a total darkness inhabited the land as though a curtain had been drawn across the heavens. Shivering involuntarily despite the heat, Naaman returned to his bed, only to dream again.

This time Naaman found himself in his bedchamber. He stood in the corner fully clothed, watching as Zipporah lay on his sleeping couch. Baara and Mara dosed nearby. As though in a trance, Naaman approached Zipporah's sleeping couch and touched her brow. She was burning with fever. Suddenly Naaman snatched his hand back as fire enveloped the sleeping figure.

The girl began to writhe, pulling at her restraints, and then to convulse and foam at the mouth. The flames blazed around her, but her clothing did not catch fire. Her eyes opened. At first they were vacant, unseeing, and then they filled with fear and revulsion.

She began to scream, "No, no! Go away. I won't go with you, I won't. Those dogs with long fangs and frothing mouths won't get me."

Naaman started and looked to his right and left, fully expecting to be flanked by fiendish hounds. Then Zipporah let out another piercing scream, her eyes fixed on something beyond him.

"What do you want?" she demanded. "You cannot have my soul. So go away and take those fiends with you."

As she writhed in agony Naaman turned to looked behind him where Zipporah's stare was focused. He saw a man standing there with blazing eyes and putrid breath. Steam rose around him, and a smile of pure evil played across his swarthy features. In his hand he carried a scepter that gleamed red in the light cast by the fire. In a deep, chilling voice, he intoned slowly, "You are mine now Zipporah, all mine."

The girl on the bed twisted violently from side to side, saying emphatically over and over, "No! No! No! No! I invoke the name of Yahweh, God of Baara. Do you hear me, Satan? I may have eaten your apple, but I call on Yahweh to protect me from you. She said He is not limited by geography. She said He loves even the unlovable. She said He cares about women, foreigners, and orphans. I am all three, so He must protect me-e-e," she ended on a screech, pushing herself against the restraints as though attempting to escape her tormentor. Finally, she shrieked, "Yahweh, deliver me!"

As Naaman stared the evil man raised his hand, pointing the scepter toward the bed. A strong wind blew the man's sleeve toward the burning couch and a loud clap like thunder sounded. The vision disappeared as quickly as it had come and the girl lay at peace, no longer twisting in agony. But the smell of fire grew stronger, awakening Naaman from his sleep just as the sound of running feet penetrated his room, and Hegai pounded urgently on the door, crying "Awake, master. Lightening hit the stable. The back courtyard is ablaze."

Rising from his bed, Naaman instructed Maacah, "You and the other women must gather the children and go into the streets. Lead everyone to the empty marketplace. You are to stay there until I send servants for you. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Naaman," Maacah replied. "I will do as you bid. May the gods be with you."

As the women tried to herd the children out of the courtyard, a strong wind swept through the city, blowing from the mountains. Thunder sounded and lightning continued to flash all around. The light from one flash illuminated Maacah's white face as her veil was torn from her head, and her turban blew away. Turning to Baara, she hollered into the wind, "If your Yahweh really has power in a strange land, now is the time to call on Him for help. If this wind and lightning continue without rain, we are doomed."

Baara squinted, trying to read her mistress's lips as she struggled to hear the words caught by the howling wind. All she heard over the bedlam was "Yahweh and rain." It was enough. Bowing her head and heading into the wind, Baara began to pray fervently as she struggled with each step that took her away from Naaman's home and closer to the marketplace.

Behind them in the back courtyard, the slaves had begun to douse the blaze with the water reserves, but everyone knew they didn't have enough water to stop the fire that was spreading rapidly, being blown by the wind to the left side of the courtyard. Some of the family units were already aflame, and the blaze was progressing toward the women's quarters. As water was thrown hopelessly on the blaze, Mara suddenly shouted, "Zipporah! Did anyone bring her out? In my haste to help I forgot."

As the fire caught the wall of the women's quarters, Mara darted toward the door, calling Zipporah's name. Hands reached to pull her back, but she disappeared into the room as those gathered heard a coughing response to Mara's call. Hearing Zipporah and recognizing that Mara would be unable to help the girl alone, Naaman followed Mara in the flaming inferno.

Making her way through the smoke filled room toward the sound of Zipporah's cough, Mara called, "I'm coming, Zipporah, hold on."

"No," Zipporah responded. "Go back, Mara. The wall is aflame. There is no time to save me. Yahweh has saved Naaman from having to dispense justice. Go. This flame cannot hurt me the way the eternal flame could."

As Mara stubbornly made her way toward Zipporah unaware that Naaman was not far behind, a flaming beam crashed to the floor between the girls, pinning Zipporah's useless leg to her cot. Through the flames that were relentlessly driving her back, Mara was certain she saw a being clothed in white bend over and lift Zipporah. But her view of the girl was impaired as the clouds broke and released their burden of humidity. Overpowered by the smoke and sudden downpour, Mara sank to her knees in the burning room. Reaching her, Naaman picked up the girl, fighting his way through the water and debris until he reached the waiting slaves.

Rain poured in such a powerful deluge, that the raging fire was reduced to smoldering ashes in minutes. Water filled the courtyard, poured in through the damaged roof and set the slave quarters awash. The wind whipped through the abode, toppling walls that had burned and sweeping away personal items.

After what seemed an eternity, but in reality was less than 30 minutes, the squall subsided as quickly as it had come. The stable and much of the women's quarters were demolished. Unbelievably, the fire had not spread beyond the home of Naaman; neighbors houses were untouched. The male slave quarters still stood, as did the front courtyard and its rooms.

When Hegai, Timna and the other slaves were able to enter the women's quarters, they found Zipporah still lying on her bed. The falling beam had severed her useless leg. Her dress was charred at the edges, but her hands were unblemished, lying folded as in supplication on her chest. Her hair was singed, but her face was clear, washed clean by the rain. Her eyes were open, staring through a hole burned in the roof while an ethereal smile was frozen on her lips.

Immediately Timna, signaling the death of Zipporah and the need to mourn, omitted a high keening wail. As the sharp, ear-piercing shriek was taken up by other slaves who had begun to sift through the rubble, a sharp knock was heard at the gate and the anxious voice of Maacah cryied urgently, "Open."

Naaman himself opened the gate and caught a grateful, sobbing Maacah in his arms. Both ignored his torn and sooty garment. He held her briefly, murmuring, "It's okay, my love. I'm safe, as are most of the slaves. Zipporah is the only casualty of the night, and judging by her expression, she has found that place of peace and love promised her by Yahweh in her nocturnal vision."

Keeping his arm around his wife, Naaman pulled her to the side, allowing the rest of the women and children into the courtyard. As the piercing death wail continued in the background, Naaman told the women briefly what had transpired in their absence. He sent his daughters-in-law and their children to their rooms and instructed Baara to take Maacah to the safety of their chamber.

Maacah, though, refused to retreat. "You look exhausted and in need of rest," Maacah said. "I will prepare a bath for you and then help to get Zipporah prepared for burial."

"Do not oppose my wishes," Naaman warned. "You already bordered on mutiny by returning here before I sent for you. Timna has already taken charge of the burial preparation. Others are preparing makeshift tents on the roof as temporary slave quarters. You need to get some rest for what is left of the night. You will need your strength for what the daylight brings."

Undeterred by Naaman's words and his harsh tone, Maacah held out a beseeching hand as she answered, "As will you. Why not let Baara bring water for us both, if there is any left after dousing the fire? Then we will face the devastation tomorrow as a rested team, you and I. Neither of us can do much while the dark lingers."

Much to Baara's surprise, Naaman's features softened into a smile as he reached for his wife's outstretched hand. "As usual, your wisdom exceeds mine," Naaman admitted. "Go, Baara, see if you can find us water to bathe. We both look like dirty, drowned rats."

Baara returned in a short time with water, followed by a slave carrying a large basin used for bathing. The basin was placed in the middle of the room, and Baara filled it with water, indicating that the deluge had partially refilled all containers that had remained upright during the downpour. After asking if it was okay for her to share her room with Mara and Cozbi, Baara retired for the remainder of the night.

Maacah stripped off her wet clothing and bathed quickly in the dim light provided by the small oil lamp Naaman had lit. After she had donned dry clothing and retreated to her sleeping couch, Naaman removed his soiled clothes and eased his tired, sore body into the tub.

As he scrubbed the soot from his face and arms, he heard Maacah say softly, "Would you allow me to wash your back and hair? Your turban must have blown off as mine did. Your hair is singed and dirty."

After allowing Maacah to help cleanse him, Naaman went to her couch. Sitting on the edge of the bed and taking her small hand in his, Naaman said, "Even though it has been a hot night, the events have chilled me to the bone. I imagine you fared worse trapped outside during the fierce storm. Perhaps you will not mind my body heat if I share your sleeping couch tonight."

Smiling, Maacah lifted Naaman's hand to her mouth and kissed his fingers without taking her eyes from his. Sliding toward the wall, she welcomed him to her bed, glad of his presence even though the night remained hot after the torrential rain. As Naaman held his small wife close, he thanked the gods for sparing his family and then drifted into sleep.

As Naaman's consciousness faded, the image of Zipporah's ethereal smile floated through his mind, and he saw again the shining apparition appearing to lift her from the fire. Straining to see what was happening beyond Mara while the rain fell and smoke billowed from the dying fire, Naaman called out in his sleep, "Wait, who are you? Where are you taking her?"

When Maacah turned in his arms, he did not waken, but called again, "Please, I need to know, who are you?"

The being holding Zipporah turned his head toward Naaman. Shining, piercing, deep-set, green eyes seemed to look into Naaman's very soul. The air around the man seemed to shimmer. His skin was almost translucent; light seemed to emanate from somewhere inside him. Without taking his eyes from Naaman's, he began to raise his head, directing Naaman's gaze through the hole in the roof to the dark heavens beyond. There, protruding from the clouds was the bright finger from Naaman's earlier dream, beckoning the being holding Zipporah. The sound of a mighty rushing wind seemed to suck the being and Zipporah upward. As the two and the beckoning finger disappeared into the blackness of the night, a deep voice resonated through Naaman's mind saying, "His name is Michael. He is my messenger." Then an absolute peace enveloped Naaman, and he dreamed no more, but entered a deep, rejuvenating sleep.