Crown in the Stars

by Kacy Barnett-Gramckow

  “We’ll see,” she murmured, pretending to ignore him now.

  He smiled, measured his hand against one of her handprints—overwhelming it—and went back to rubbing Khiysh, obviously satisfied.

  In the midst of a spring-green field, Keren eyed Shoshannah’s stance during bow-and-arrow practice. She could see her daughter’s impatience. “Shoulder down. Watch your target.”

  When Shoshannah heaved a mute but visible sigh and pressed her lips together, Keren said, “Don’t even think that. Weaponry lessons are not a waste of your time.”

  Lowering her bow and arrow, Shoshannah stared at her. “I’ma, how did you know what I was thinking?”

  Because I have lived behind that same expression, and I remember what I was thinking when I wore it. “Because I am your mother.”

  Shoshannah straightened. “I’ma, please…” She hesitated, then tried again as Keren waited expectantly. “I wouldn’t have anyone else as my mother, ever, but none of the other girls in our tribe have to learn weapons unless they want to learn them. You don’t even make Qetuwrah and Adah and Rinnah practice so much, and they’re my own sisters. Why is this so important to you—and to Father?”

  You still haven’t told Shoshannah of the past, have you?

  I’ma-Annah’s gentle voice echoed in Keren’s memory, chiding her tenderly. Keren glanced across the field at Zekaryah, who was teaching weaponry to their scrawny preadolescent sons, Ahyit and Sithriy. They would be busy for a while; she had time.

  She motioned for Shoshannah to sit in the damp grass. Kneeling beside her, Keren summoned her courage. “I have enemies. And because you look so much like me… because you are so much like me… my enemies will hate you.”

  As Shoshannah frowned, Keren hurriedly continued. “I’ve already told you that when I was a little older than you, I lived in the Great City. What you don’t know is that I was taken there against my will with my sister, Sharah, who is very pale and beautiful. Because she desired comfort and power above all things, Sharah married the Great-Hunter-King Nimr-Rada, though she already had a husband and a son.”

  “She had two husbands at the same time?” Shoshannah gasped, her bright gray eyes becoming huge in her brown face. “Didn’t they fight?”

  Remembering Sharah’s first husband, Bezeq, and their newborn son, Gibbawr, Keren shook her head sadly. “The Great-King Nimr-Rada was unnaturally cruel. He thought nothing of killing anyone… men, women, infants. They were less than dust to him. Sharah’s first husband, Bezeq, and their little Gibbawr would have been dead instantly if Bezeq had resisted. And my sister loves only herself. She was happy to leave them for the glories of the Great City. She rules there now, with our eldest brother, Ra-Anan, who controls her every move, I’m sure.”

  “But…” Almost stammering, Shoshannah asked, “Why… what happened to make you leave? I mean… if your own family rules there now, why can’t you return?”

  How much should I tell her? Keren wondered. Do I tell her that the Great King slaughtered my beloved Zekaryah’s family? Or that he murdered one of my dear friends, then nearly destroyed another—my sister-in-law, Revakhaw—before smothering his own newborn son and passing the infant’s body through the fires of the Temple of Shemesh in that horrible tower …

  Haltingly Keren said, “My family members who live in the Great City followed Nimr-Rada. They called him He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies. He pretended to be the Promised One—the ‘man born of woman’ who will return us to harmony with the Most High, as it was in the Garden of Adan, before that Serpent tempted our Havah. Nimr-Rada craved the worship of everyone on earth. But worship belongs to the Most High alone—which is why I resisted Nimr-Rada. Do you see this scar?”

  Lifting her chin, Keren indicated a thin raised weal on her throat. “Nimr-Rada cut me here when he made Sharah and me swear to follow him and the god he created—Shemesh. Not long afterward, Ra-Anan and Sharah conspired against me with Nimr-Rada’s father, Kuwsh, because they believed I was a threat to their power. Ra-Anan’s followers poisoned me; I almost died.”

  Shoshannah stared at her, shocked.

  Reluctantly Keren continued. “Your father was my guardsman then. He managed to get me out of the Great City and returned me to my family and to the Ancient Ones. After I recovered from my illness, I sought revenge against Nimr-Rada because he had killed or devastated so many people I loved. I confronted him at a council of all the tribes of the earth. When he scorned the Most High and threatened further evils, our First Father Shem put him to death an instant before I could release my own arrow. Our Shem executed Nimr-Rada for the sake of justice on behalf of the Most High. But I… I had merely sought revenge.”

  There. She had told her daughter almost everything.

  Shoshannah watched her beautiful, loving mother and listened to her faltering voice. How can this be true? It’s not possible. My I’ma has enemies? And she tried to kill a king? No.

  And yet, didn’t her father still act like a horseman-guardsman? Hadn’t he taught all the young men, particularly Kal, to hunt and ride and fight, sometimes ferociously? And he’s so protective of I’ma. And of me. Because I look like I’ma …

  Moreover, Shoshannah had often rummaged through her mother’s wooden storage chest, fascinated, because Keren had more gold and treasures than anyone else in the Tribe of Ashkenaz. Her mother also had face paints—which she never used now, but which had inspired Shoshannah to paint the unfortunate Khiysh. The paints, gold, fine linens, carved weapons, and gemstones were undeniable evidence of status and power. Her mother possessed all these things. And enemies.

  My enemies will hate you.

  No, they won’t, I’ma. Because I will never go to the Great City.

  Never.

  Shoshannah sat in the Lodge of Noakh, contented, feeling as young as Rinnah, while the dear, ancient I’ma-Naomi combed her hair and talked. I’ma-Naomi’s voice was so pleasant and soothing that Shoshannah could have dozed while listening to her. Almost. How many girls could say that the most ancient woman in the world had combed their hair? She nearly laughed at the thought. Truly, these visits with the Ancient Ones were always precious—and too brief.

  Unable to restrain herself, Shoshannah said, “I’ma-Naomi, I wish you would come visiting with me.”

  “Humph!” Naomi sniffed kindly. “You don’t need an old woman like me fussing over you, child. You’ll have Mithqah for company.”

  “You don’t fuss at all. You know about everything. And we’d have such fun—it would be an adventure.”

  Naomi’s combing stopped. “I’ve had enough adventures for my lifetime, Shoshannah-child. And I don’t know about everything—it would frighten me if I did! I’ll leave that to the Most High. But you’re good to consider me. Even so, all the children of my children know where my dear Noakh and I live. If we leave the highlands, they’d have a terrible time finding us.”

  Shoshannah laughed, flinging I’ma-Naomi a delighted look over her shoulder. “As if we’d ever misplace you!”

  Chuckling, I’ma-Naomi shook her silvery head and resumed combing Shoshannah’s curls. “Bah! You go play with your little cousins, child, and enjoy yourself.” In a subdued voice she added, “The year will go quickly; you’ll see.”

  “Not quickly enough.” Shoshannah sighed, facing forward. Lowering her voice, she added wistfully, “I’ma… I love Kaleb. I don’t want to leave him.”

  “You should tell your parents,” Naomi said firmly.

  “That’s what Kaleb said. But then Father would keep me here, and my cousins would think we hate them—or that I’m a coward.”

  “Let someone try to tell me you’re a coward,” Naomi huffed. “Their ears would burn with the truth!”

  Encouraged, Shoshannah said, “I do feel I should go. Anyway, while I’m gone, Kal’s going to persuade my parents to approve our betrothal.”

  “He should speak to his mother first and ask her to speak to your parents—it’s only proper. But if anyone could happily argue your paren
ts into submission, it’s our Kaleb.”

  Shoshannah peeked back over her shoulder, cautious now. “He’s also going to start building our lodge.”

  Naomi’s mouth fell open and she squeaked, “Before your betrothal? Oh! That’s too soon—people will talk!” She shook the comb severely. “It’s a good thing Kal’s so likable. But your father should give him a stern lecture for being so bold!”

  Shoshannah leaned over and hugged her tenderly—not fiercely, as she wanted to do. For how could anyone on earth ever forgive her if she crushed I’ma-Naomi with a hug? “I’ll miss you!”

  “I’ll miss you too, Shoshannah-child.” Naomi hugged and patted her in turn. She sighed. “Well, let Kaleb make plans to be busy while you’re gone—it’s good for him. And I am sure the Most High has made wonderful plans of His own for you. Oh, but to build your lodge beforehand… the scoundrel!”

  Shoshannah approached Noakh slowly, reluctant to take leave of the ancient patriarch. He was actually alone, seated on a log, carefully replacing the carved antler blade of a threshing sickle, binding it in place with leather strips and thick, dark resin. His lips puckered in concentration, he glanced up at her, then blinked and looked again.

  “Little one.” He shook his silver curls reprovingly, while his dark eyes sparkled. “You shouldn’t look so much like your mother.”

  “Then, please, Father of my Fathers, tell me how I should change.” She knelt at his feet, smiling, ready to listen.

  “I pray you don’t change, Shoshannah-child. Your mother has been like another daughter to us; it’s a blessing that you are so much like her, never mind how we tease you. Now, daughter, please hold this pot for me—I could dump it over too easily.”

  Shoshannah took the sticky wooden pot tentatively, knowing her fingers would be dark for days afterward. Feeling that she might not have such a chance to speak with him undisturbed for years, she said, “Father of my Fathers, I almost fear being so much like my I’ma. She told me about her enemies.”

  “Yes, one of her own brothers and her only sister,” Noakh agreed, frowning in quiet sorrow. “And our Kuwsh. He was always a little wild, but I never expected such evil of him. It is his pride, Shoshannah-child. When I think of him—and of Nimr-Rada—I believe I have failed.”

  “I don’t believe you have, Ancient One,” Shoshannah said loyally. “You’ve done the will of the Most High. Kuwsh, father of Nimr-Rada, is the one who failed.”

  She was afraid she had been too bold, but Noakh grunted mildly, reaching for the small dabbing stick in the resin pot. “Perhaps I should consider the matter in that way. Even so, we must always have things to regret; it keeps us humble, child.”

  He returned the stick to the pot, wrapped some more leather cordage tight around the base of the sickle to fasten the blade, then sighed, looking at Shoshannah again. “As for your mother’s enemies, little one, leave them to the Most High. He knows them. They won’t escape Him forever.”

  Thoughtfully he added, “Rebellious as the children of my children are… the Most High will punish them soon. I pray His anger won’t overcome us all.”

  Noakh’s quiet words made Shoshannah shiver.

  “I’ve heard something strange,” Mithqah said, as she and Shoshannah walked through the busy encampment, seeking the women’s tent of the Tribe of Metiyl.

  “Tell me,” Shoshannah demanded, eyeing her friend’s worried, rounded face. Mithqah was becoming more and more serious as the years passed. It was unsettling.

  “I heard some of the tribal leaders talking with our First Father Shem. They agreed that the younger generations are aging faster than the previous ones. We might die of old age before our own parents do!”

  Shoshannah halted, staring, wondering if Mithqah had gone mad. “What?”

  “I’m serious, Shoshannah! I was taking food to my father and the others. The instant I walked into the tent, they stopped talking and looked at me as if my hair was green or something. I had to find out what they were talking about, didn’t I?”

  “So you hid and listened?”

  “Wouldn’t you have?” Mithqah moistened her lips, glancing around uneasily. “I heard our First Father Shem say, ‘We can’t continue to deny it.’ He did! As if it were choking him.”

  Father Shem would never joke about something so dreadful. Shoshannah heard her own voice sounding very small and thin. “He meant what he said.”

  “Should we ask him why he believes such a thing? Perhaps you could ask I’ma-Annah.”

  I couldn’t. How could I even find the words? It would upset everyone.

  For the first time in her life, Shoshannah ignored a challenge. “Let us just pray to the Most High that it’s not true.”

  “What do you think?” Mithqah whispered, leaning toward Shoshannah as they ate their evening meal near the hearth in the center of the encampment.

  Picking at a bit of venison, Shoshannah studied her parents and then her grandparents—the tall, somberly dark-bearded Meshek and the kind, brown-eyed Chaciydah. Her mother and Chaciydah were quietly sharing their food. And Meshek was talking seriously with Zekaryah. Truly, they seemed right together—she had no sense that the generations were disordered. Until she looked at Shem and I’ma-Annah, who sat with their raucous, fur-clad, wild-haired grandson, Metiyl, and his plump, sociable wife, Tebuwnaw—all of them whispering earnestly, shaking their heads.

  “Father Shem and I’ma-Annah seem the same age as their grandchildren,” Shoshannah whispered to Mithqah.

  “Younger,” Mithqah corrected, distressed.

  Shoshannah nodded, studying Shem closely. How could Shem possibly be approaching his third kentum—his three hundredth year? Of course he was nowhere near as old as the silver-haired Noakh or I’ma-Naomi, but… No. It couldn’t be true. And yet… It must be true. Look at them whispering. Shoshannah felt ill. And scared.

  “You are both much too serious,” a woman’s voice teased lightly.

  Shoshannah looked up, instantly forcing a smile. Her mother’s dear friend Tsinnah—diminutive, pretty, and rosy brown—knelt beside Shoshannah, smoothing her beautifully fashioned red wool robes. Tsinnah was always well-groomed; Shoshannah felt grubby beside her.

  Concerned, tilting her dark, braid-crowned head, Tsinnah asked, “Are you girls worried about leaving with us tomorrow?”

  “Oh no, not at all,” Shoshannah assured her. “We were just thinking of our parents… and grandparents.” She knew she sounded awkward and unhappy.

  Mithqah simply sat there beside her, mute, her food almost untouched.

  Tsinnah clearly suspected Shoshannah wanted to say more, but she quickly changed the subject. “I’m looking forward to our visit. There’s so much for us to talk about—a year may not be enough.”

  Mithqah and I can ask her opinion, Shoshannah thought, relieved. It might be best to talk to someone outside the Tribe of Ashkenaz. “I think you’re right, I’ma-Tsinnah. And perhaps you can teach me how to dress properly—I feel like a wild woman beside you.”

  Tsinnah laughed, pleased. “Your mother never said such a thing in all the time I was with her in the Great City. She hated to bother with her appearance.”

  Mithqah scooted closer, interested, as Shoshannah said, “You were in her household there.”

  Tsinnah’s laughter faded, her liquid-dark eyes becoming distant. “Yes. It was a terrible time. Your mother was so brave—I think I might have died in her place.”

  “But you didn’t. You survived.”

  “Because of her, Shoshannah-child. You should be proud of your mother.”

  “I am.”

  A wild disharmony of howls, laughter, and bellowing interrupted their conversation. Kal, eating with the other young men, had wrestled his brother Ozniy to the ground and was busily shoving a fistful of grass into Ozniy’s mouth.

  “If you steal my food again, I’ll make you eat dirt! Are you full? Here, have some more!”

  “Nmph!” Ozniy growled through the grass in his lips, trying to
squirm away.

  Just beyond them, Shoshannah’s brothers, Ahyit and Sithriy, whooped with excitement, frisking like two scrawny brown colts as Ozniy finally pushed Kaleb off, then managed to escape.

  Shoshannah couldn’t help laughing, but Mithqah was horrified.

  “Poor Ozniy! I don’t believe he was stealing Kal’s food at all; I think Kal just wanted to pound on him.”

  “Enjoy this,” Tsinnah said, looking like a child herself. “After you’ve married your Ozniy, you might long for someone to give him a good pounding.”

  Mithqah eyed Tsinnah curiously. “Forgive me, I’ma-Tsinnah, but who told you that Ozniy and I might marry?”

  “Your mother. While we were in the women’s tent today, she told me that she’s seen you watching him. She intends to speak to his mother while you’re gone.”

  “There! You’ll marry him when we return, I’m sure,” Shoshannah said, pleased for her friend. She was even more pleased to see Ozniy wipe his face furtively, then glance at Mithqah, as if embarrassed that she had seen him beaten. I should ask Tsinnah if my I’ma has said anything about my marriage to Kal …

  “Shoshannah!” Little Rinnah charged toward her now, head down, lip out, followed by the twig-thin, bossy Adah, and the prettier, more reclusive Qetuwrah, who actually looked impatient.

  Shoshannah held out her arms, smiling at her sisters. Rinnah dived into her lap and huddled there, glaring at Adah and Qetuwrah. “Tell them I can go with you!”

  “Oh, little one.” Shoshannah hugged her baby sister, rumpling her curls. “I wish you could. But who will make our I’ma laugh if you’re gone too?”

  Qetuwrah raised her black eyebrows, seeming almost offended. But Adah tossed her head. “Rinnah, I told you, didn’t I? You can’t go. Now, stop arguing.”

  Rinnah’s chin quivered. Shoshannah hated to see her cry, and this wasn’t how she wanted to part with her sisters.

  Tsinnah interposed sweetly, her voice kind but firm. “You each have to take turns visiting your cousins with me. Shoshannah’s the oldest, so she’s first. Now, don’t fight or I won’t give you the bracelets I’ve made for you.”