Crown in the Stars

by Kacy Barnett-Gramckow

  Rain suddenly spattered inside the one small window, making the cook hurry to close the shutters and light oil lamps. Irritated and defensive, she shook her dark-braided head, saying to Demamah, “I have no choice but to light these lamps; you can tell your mother so if she complains about the low oil supply. It’ll be too dark to work in here otherwise.”

  “I know it’s true, Tabbakhaw, and I’ll tell her so,” Demamah promised.

  “See that you do!” Tabbakhaw stomped back to pluck the birds, while Ormah smirked, evidently amused that Tabbakhaw had snapped at Demamah.

  Graceful as ever, Demamah ignored them. Instead, she began to think aloud, “After this, we’ll shape the bread dough. And we should prepare more vegetables…”

  “If you want more vegetables, you’ll have to chop them yourself,” Tabbakhaw scolded, whisking a clump of down and feathers into a nearby basket.

  “I am planning on doing it myself,” Demamah answered, giving Tabbakhaw a subtly threatening look—far more restrained than Shoshannah would have been. “And Shoshannah will help me. Though we don’t have to.”

  Mercifully, Tabbakhaw took Demamah’s hint and went to work, feathers flying away beneath her fingers as she grumbled to herself.

  An amused masculine voice made them all look toward the kitchen doorway. “I’ve found you. Is work better than my own exalted company?” Adoniyram stepped into the kitchen, smiling.

  Demamah shook her head at him. “If you’re not going to be useful, Adoniyram, you should leave. We’re busy trying to make your food.”

  “I doubt I’m useful at anything, dear Cousin. However, I’ve sent for food from my own household. I’m sure your cook won’t mind. And I have no intention of leaving. Your mother is sewing—which doesn’t interest me—and Ra-Anan and Father Elam are napping, which is also dull, so you’ll have to endure me.”

  As he sat comfortably on the mat with Demamah and Shoshannah, two of his attendant-guardsmen marched in and lowered several heavy baskets onto the floor near the openmouthed Tabbakhaw. Heaps of soft bread, pots of spiced honey, roasted meats, jars of preserved fruits and oils, and bunches of pungent dried herbs scented the air. Also, to Shoshannah’s disgust, there was a basket trap full of scuttling, menacing crabs.

  Instantly, Tabbakhaw was beaming, praising Adoniyram. “Blessings from our Son of Heaven! How wonderful; these crabs are just what we needed. I’ll heat the water at once; thank you, my lord!”

  “I’m glad you’re pleased. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to stay here and visit with my cousins.”

  “Oh yes, let it be as you say, my lord; thank you. We won’t disturb you.”

  Disgusted by the change in the now flattering and fluttering Tabbakhaw, Shoshannah muttered to Adoniyram, “We’ve been working here for half the afternoon without one smile from her. But you walk in and she’s overflowing with compliments—though you didn’t lift a finger except to order the food.”

  “As I said, I’m not very useful.” He waved his guardsmen off, taunting them cheerfully. “I noticed you left the wine and beer outside! Don’t drink it all, or you’ll be punished—you’re not in my residence now.”

  The guardsmen laughed and departed, and Adoniyram settled down, watching Shoshannah and Demamah pit the dates. Carelessly he began to pit a few. To Shoshannah, it was strange to see her privileged cousin doing such an ordinary task; he looked and smelled so clean, so perfect, so wrong for work.

  Mithqah, Shoshannah argued silently to her dear absent friend, it is possible for a man to be too handsome. Adoniyram is proof of that. Mithqah would have disagreed fiercely, Shoshannah knew. Particularly if Adoniyram had looked at her the way he was watching Shoshannah now, from beneath his long eyelashes.

  Softly he commanded, “Tell me why I’m not the Promised One.”

  Aware of Demamah listening, and knowing that she must report everything to Ra-Anan, Shoshannah said beneath her breath, “You cannot be the Promised One because you aren’t born of the sons of our First Father Shem. Actually, of Arpakshad.”

  “Arpakshad?” Adoniyram looked perplexed. “How can anyone from his tribe restore perfection to us? They have nothing to do with our Great City.”

  Shoshannah pondered this briefly, then murmured, “Perhaps the Promised One won’t be concerned with ruling the Great City. It may be that the Promised One will ‘restore perfection to us’ with the Most High and then return us to the Garden of Adan. There’s so much we don’t know.”

  “Then why are you telling me that I’m not the Promised One?” he whispered, becoming mildly exasperated. “Since there’s so much you don’t know…”

  “Because you wanted to hear what I do know.” Shoshannah lowered her voice even more, making Adoniyram and Demamah lean toward her. “Listen; if you wish, I’ll tell you the stories of the Ancient Ones.”

  Demamah looked interested, but Adoniyram shrugged, tossed a pitted date into the basket, then reached for another.

  Sighing, fearing that he was only humoring her, Shoshannah whispered, “In the beginning, by the Word of the Most High, the heavens and the earth were created…”

  By the time they finished pitting the dates, Adoniyram seemed genuinely interested, for Shoshannah was telling them of the Adversary, the Serpent. But Demamah interrupted by fetching a large trough of puffy dough. Then they had to show Adoniyram how to select and pat out bits of dough, which amused him. And Zeva’ah entered the kitchen then, disrupting everything with questions, commands, and complaints about the oil lamps—which Demamah quickly defended. Zeva’ah also threw a suspicious parting glance at Shoshannah, who remained silent.

  The instant Zeva’ah left, Tabbakhaw announced that she was ready to steam the crabs. Immediately Adoniyram and Demamah went to help her. Evidently, putting an end to a bunch of scuttling crabs was more fun than subduing lumps of dough.

  As she watched her mitt-protected cousins laughing and snatching at the doomed crabs, Shoshannah formed another oiled grain-speckled cake of dough. At this pace, she thought, it’ll take me all spring and summer to tell them about the Promised One, the histories, and the Great Flood. I don’t want to be here that long. But I’m sure I will be.

  Disheartened, she reached for another lump of dough, longing for her home, her family, and Kal.

  Twelve

  SWEATING BENEATH the late-spring sky, Kaleb wedged a thick mud mixture in between the stones abutting his—and Shoshannah’s—new lodge.

  “Here’s more,” Zekaryah told him, slapping another heap of mud-mortar onto the stonework.

  Kaleb nodded, still unable to believe that Shoshannah’s father was helping him. Or that he had agreed that Kal should marry his daughter. He had expected resistance from Zekaryah, perhaps even some anger. Instead, Kaleb was dealing with Zekaryah’s intense determination that Shoshannah’s lodge be perfect.

  I want the same thing, though, so this is good, Kaleb reminded himself, beating the mud in tight with a padded mallet.

  He rested briefly, wiping his mud-spattered face with his equally muddied forearm. Shoshannah would have teased him for looking messy—and he would have loved her teasing. He longed to hear her voice again, ached to see her smile, her dimples… He was becoming dull and gloomy without her.

  “That will do,” Zekaryah said, standing beside him, studying the small, handsomely built lodge.

  That will do. A high compliment from Zekaryah.

  Kal grinned. “If it weren’t so rude, I’d go to the Tribe of Metiyl and bring her home now.”

  Zekaryah grunted, still staring at the lodge. “Furniture.”

  Kal almost said that furniture didn’t matter to Shoshannah, but that would be a serious mistake. Zekaryah would stare at him instead of the lodge.

  “It’s wonderful!” Keren called out, approaching them now—her beautiful face bright with pleasure, the edges of her linen head scarf dancing in the breeze.

  As they admired the lodge, Rinnah bounded up to them, her curls springing out like dark wood shavings. �
��Is it finished? Can I go inside?”

  “Are you finished cleaning out the goat pen?” Keren demanded, eyeing her youngest child.

  Rinnah shuffled and dug her leather-clad toes into the dirt. “Well, almost. The goats were playing and—”

  “Tie them. And finish cleaning,” Zekaryah commanded, silently threatening dire punishments that made Kal want to protect his small soon-to-be sister-in-law.

  As Rinnah ducked her head and escaped to the goat pens, Kal said, “I almost let her go inside. I’m going to be a terrible father.”

  “You’ll learn,” Zekaryah said.

  “But we didn’t have to learn—we’re perfect,” Keren added, so demure that Zekaryah flung her a suspicious glance. She laughed, and Zekaryah shook his head, his usual dignity failing as he smiled.

  “My children will learn better manners if I pen them with the animals,” Kal decided aloud.

  “Kaleb!” a voice cried, almost wailing.

  He turned, alarmed, to see a bedraggled and weepy Mithqah trudging from the woods into the clearing with her mare, followed by a grim Metiyl and the exhausted Yelahlah and her family. And Father Shem. And I’ma-Annah. The sight of all these travelers terrified Kaleb.

  Shoshannah …

  Followed by Zekaryah and Keren, he ran to Mithqah. He had to hold her up as she cried.

  The entire Tribe of Ashkenaz gathered in the central clearing. Kaleb sat between his parents and Zekaryah and Keren, all of them listening to Mithqah’s story. Then they stared at Yelahlah and her husband, Echuwd, who knelt with the hushed Rakal on the other side of the central open hearth.

  Father Ashkenaz growled to Echuwd, “Our Shoshannah was your guest, under your protection; you should have listened to her fears. You deserve a beating!”

  “I am also your guest, and under your protection,” Echuwd argued, lifting his head to stare at Ashkenaz.

  Seething, Kaleb almost answered Echuwd himself, but Ashkenaz stood first. “You are nothing but a man with evil news, Echuwd, which was your fault to begin with! You’re not a guest until I’ve accepted you as one—and I haven’t! So don’t you dare answer me smartly, you whelp, or we’ll pound some sense into that thick head of yours.” Quieting slightly, he said, “It’s only for your wife’s sake that we haven’t whipped you already.”

  Rinnah huddled against Kaleb, quivering like a trapped baby rabbit. As Kaleb hugged her, she cried out, “Is Shoshannah going to die?”

  Her thin tremulous voice stopped everyone. Adah and Qetuwrah, kneeling beside Keren, burst into tears, while their brothers, Ahyit and Sithriy, sat and stared in shock, their bony, scraped knees drawn up to their chins.

  Seated nearby with I’ma-Ritspah, Mithqah said, “They intend to keep her alive. As bait. Father Kuwsh said, ‘Her mother should suffer for her, as I have suffered for my son.’”

  “I’ll go for her,” Keren said.

  Immediately Zekaryah shook his head. “No.”

  Mithqah said, “You can’t, I’ma-Keren. Shoshannah doesn’t want anyone coming after her. She meant it. She’s afraid someone else will die, and that would be worse for her—you know it.” Hesitantly she lifted her rounded chin. “But if anyone else is willing to go to the Great City to help her, I’ll accompany them.”

  “No.” It was Ozniy who spoke, large and foreboding, like an echo of Zekaryah.

  Kaleb stared over his shoulder in surprise at his usually calm brother. Ozniy was watching Mithqah steadily, and she looked back at him, seeming both pleased and distressed.

  Mithqah’s father, Uzziel, cleared his throat. “You’ll stay here,” he informed Mithqah gruffly. “Your mother and I say you’ve done enough; Shoshannah would agree. And you have other obligations.” As simply as that, Uzziel confirmed that Mithqah would marry Ozniy.

  Any other time, Kaleb would have laughed and tormented his brother, but now he was too worried about Shoshannah.

  “Forgive me, Father Ashkenaz,” he said loudly, “but I must say that I’m going.” Certain he had everyone’s attention now, Kal turned to Zekaryah and Keren, asking, “Please, do you consider your Shoshannah to be my wife?”

  His question was a risk. As head of his household, Zekaryah could declare his daughter married with a single word. He could also set conditions that had to be met before the marriage could take place.

  Kaleb watched his prospective father-in-law closely. Would he take offense at being forced to make such a sudden and serious formal commitment? Kal could see the older man thinking. Planning.

  Zekaryah looked up. “Yes,” he said firmly.

  Beside him Keren nodded, smiling, though he saw tears in her eyes. And Kaleb heard his own tenderhearted mother, Pakhdaw, utter a choked, wistful, “Oh…”

  Profoundly relieved, and married, Kaleb sighed. “Thank you.” Tousling Rinnah’s curls lightly, Kaleb stood and crossed to the other side of the hearth to face Echuwd.

  Now the wild-haired Metiyl called out, “You take whatever he gives you, Echuwd! Remember, I warned you that you deserve this!” But rather than thrashing the unfortunate Echuwd, Kaleb merely spoke to him in a calm voice. “If you stand while I talk to you, Echuwd, I won’t touch you. But if I have to drag you to your feet, you’ll earn scars.”

  Echuwd stood, looking up at Kaleb, who subdued his impulse to pound the man to dust. “You’d better pray for my wife’s safety, Echuwd, because if she dies, your wife will have to find a new husband. I will kill you.” Pausing for effect, he added, “And if I die while I’m trying to save my wife, then my brothers will find you and kill you. So be sure you pray.”

  Echuwd flinched and retreated in sullen, humiliated fear. Kaleb didn’t pursue him. He turned, intending to go sit with his parents again until the meeting ended, but nearly collided with his brothers, who were standing just behind him.

  “We’re going with you,” Tiyrac said.

  Kaleb stared at him, calculating. “No, you’re not.”

  Before they could start an argument, the First Father Shem stood, accompanied by I’ma-Annah. Acknowledging his authority, Kaleb and his brothers quickly returned to sit with their parents and Zekaryah and I’ma-Keren.

  Calm and deliberate, Shem said, “There must be no further quarreling. Echuwd, because of your willful disregard for Shoshannah’s safety, I assure you that Kaleb and Shoshannah’s families have the right to demand your life for theirs. However, for Yelahlah’s sake—for everyone’s sake—we pray that won’t happen.”

  Echuwd knelt stiff faced beside Yelahlah, who looked ashen, as if she would faint.

  Clasping I’ma-Annah’s hand protectively, Shem said, “Your Ma’adannah and I agree that we must accompany Kaleb to the Great City. Shoshannah is being held there because Kuwsh is determined to avenge his son’s death—despite the fact that I executed Nimr-Rada according to the will of the Most High, for being a murderous rebel. But the Most High will judge between us. Therefore, we’ll go with Kaleb.”

  Metiyl shook his head, his nostrils flaring. Father Ashkenaz started to rumble words of protest, but beneath Shem’s unblinking gaze, he actually halted, then shrugged. “As you say, Father Shem. We’ll keep watch over the Ancient Ones while you’re gone.”

  I’ma-Annah spoke to Kaleb’s brothers, her gentle voice easing their tension. “You have obligations here, Ozniy, so you should stay. As for Tiyrac, if he wants to go with us to help his rascal brother—with his parents’ permission—then we welcome his company.”

  I’m the rascal brother, Kaleb thought, trying and failing to be indignant. He was grateful to I’ma-Annah—he had meant to take Tiyrac with him all along. His pretense at a quarrel was only to ensure that the stubborn Tiyrac wouldn’t change his mind.

  Now, Tiyrac lifted his chin at Kaleb menacingly.

  Kaleb glared at him, pleased.

  With Ozniy’s help, Kaleb covered the lodge’s stonework with hides, matting, and rocks to ensure that it would dry evenly while he was gone. As they set the last stones in place, Kaleb said, “After you and Mithqa
h are married, move in and guard this place for us until we return. I’ll tell Father and I’ma that you have my permission. That will give you time to build your own lodge.”

  “Shoshannah won’t mind if others live here first?” Ozniy asked, grateful but concerned.

  “It can’t be helped. I don’t know how long we’ll be away, and I’d hate to leave it abandoned—or else Shoshannah will meet clans of mice when she walks inside for the first time.” Kaleb thumped his brother’s shoulder, scolding, “You should have been building your lodge while Mithqah was gone. Did you think her parents would refuse you?”

  Ozniy shrugged, self-depreciative. “Her parents could have chosen anyone else. I didn’t know she was so interested in me until a few months before she left.”

  “You weren’t paying attention,” Kaleb said, rolling his eyes in mock disgust. “She’s been watching you for more than a year. I didn’t say anything to you because I knew she’d be embarrassed and because Father Ashkenaz wouldn’t have liked it. And Shoshannah would have been angry with me for weeks.” Thinking of Shoshannah, Kaleb’s joy faded. Quietly he said, “I’m sorry we’ll miss your wedding.”

  Embarrassed as their father when confronted with sentiment, Ozniy turned gruff. “Mithqah and I forgive you. Just be sure you all return safely.”

  “We will. Though I wish Father Shem weren’t going with us; it worries me that he’s putting himself in danger. I…” Kaleb stopped and stared, confounded, as Zekaryah rode by, guiding three horses: Keren’s dark one, Zekaryah’s big tawny animal, and a sturdy packhorse, already loaded with gear. “He’s going with us. I’ma-Keren too.”

  “I thought Zekaryah told her she couldn’t go.”

  “She’s obviously convinced him that she can.” Kaleb longed to argue with Zekaryah and Keren, but he knew it would be useless. Truly, if a child of his own were ever in danger, he would do anything to save her. He muttered to Ozniy, “If Ima-Keren’s enemies find her, she will die. Pray for us.”