Crown in the Stars

by Kacy Barnett-Gramckow

  “I will.” After a grim pause, Ozniy said, “We should go load your gear.”

  Kaleb hugged his burly, self-conscious father. Uncomfortable, Regem lectured him. “Obey Father Shem and Zekaryah. And listen to your brother once in a while—don’t go rushing off like a wild man doing as you please. Ask for their advice; then keep your mouth shut.”

  Kaleb grinned. “I’ll try, Father. Be safe while I’m gone.”

  He dreaded telling his mother good-bye; Pakhdaw had been crying all morning, and her usually placid brown face was blotchy, her eyes very red. As he kissed her cheek, she began to sob again.

  Kaleb bent, facing her almost nose to nose. “I’ma, think how calm everything’s going to be without your rascal son here. You should be glad I’ll be gone for a while.”

  “That’s no help,” she complained, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “You just bring our Shoshannah home and settle down. And don’t get your brother into trouble.”

  Hearing this, Tiyrac protested, “I’ma, do you think I’d let him talk me into anything?”

  “Kaleb has always convinced you to do as he pleases, Tiyrac, and you know it.” She patted Tiyrac’s face as if he were tiny again. “Just be careful. I love you both.”

  Visibly discomfited, Tiyrac kissed her good-bye, nodded to their father, then marched off toward the horses. Kaleb hastily told his parents about his bargain with Ozniy, hugged Pakhdaw in farewell, and fled.

  Heartsick, Keren kissed her daughters. Qetuwrah and Adah clung to her and sobbed. They felt so fragile as she held them. Was she wrong to leave her five younger children in order to be near her firstborn? I should stay …

  Ahyit and Sithriy leaned against her, patting her back—too “adult” to hug her like mere babies. Keren hugged her sons fiercely and kissed their faces.

  Sithriy pulled away slightly, solemn, looking just like his father. “You’ll bring her back safely, I’ma.”

  Keren wished she felt as confident as he sounded. Rinnah burrowed between her siblings now and hugged Keren’s waist. Keren picked her up, swaying, fighting tears. “Little one… be good for our I’ma-Ritspah.”

  Rinnah sniffled. “But I’m going to stay with I’ma-Pakhdaw. She needs me.”

  “You just hope she won’t make you work as hard as I’ma-Ritspah will,” Adah said knowingly. She turned to Keren. “I’ma, don’t worry; Qetuwrah and I will make them behave. We’ll take care of everything.”

  Beside her, Qetuwrah nodded, saying brokenly, “And we’ll clean the lodge.”

  The girls were already making plans to be without her. The boys expected her to go—though they also expected her to return, which might not be possible.

  “Remember us when you pray,” Keren said, kissing them all again. O Most High, please guard them!

  “We’ll stay with the Tribe of Metiyl while you go on to the Great City,” Zekaryah explained to Kaleb and Tiyrac, as they led their horses down a hillside trail. “Until then, as we journey, you’ll practice with your weapons. And we’ll make plans. You won’t be able to just ride into the Great City and demand Shoshannah’s return.”

  Absorbing this information, Kaleb looked down the trail to Shem, I’ma-Annah, and I’ma-Keren, who were following

  Metiyl, the disgraced Echuwd, Yelahlah, and Rakal, who rode proudly atop Echuwd’s horse. “What about Father Shem and I’ma-Annah? Have you persuaded them to stay with you?”

  “For a while,” Zekaryah answered, toneless. “But he’s a First Father.”

  Meaning you might not stop him if he decides to ride into the Great City and confront his enemies, who could kill him. “How can we find Shoshannah?” Kaleb asked. “You’ll become guardsmen—you and Tiyrac.” Kaleb groaned inwardly. “That will take time.”

  “Yes.”

  Give me patience, O Most High.

  Accompanied by Keren, Annah noticed Yelahlah slowing as they picked their way down the hillside. When Annah and Keren drew nearer to her, Yelahlah faced them, tired, worried. “I haven’t told you… Sharah apparently has a son who is the same age as Shoshannah—perhaps a little older.”

  “Nimr-Rada had a son with Sharah?” Annah thought, How terrible to have such parents. “Did he seem well mannered?”

  “I don’t know,” Yelahlah said, eyeing her son and her husband. “Sharah was so hateful and sent us away so quickly that I had no time to watch him—though he is a very handsome young man.” She glanced at Keren. “Father Kuwsh, too, was hateful. Oh, Keren, so many in the Great City blame you for Nimr-Rada’s death.”

  Keren nodded, as if unsurprised, but her color faded. “I pray Shoshannah hasn’t been treated too badly.”

  Giving Keren a pathetic sidelong look, Yelahlah asked, “Can you forgive me?”

  Annah saw Keren struggling to restrain the hurt and rage she felt over her daughter’s predicament. She clearly blamed Yelahlah, though she loved her. As Annah hoped, Keren finally nodded, subdued. “Yes. I know you tried to help her… afterward.”

  Yelahlah was obviously disappointed that Keren’s forgiveness wasn’t wholehearted. But what could she expect? Surely Yelahlah would feel the same way if her own Rakal were endangered by someone else’s foolishness.

  To divert them, Annah wondered aloud, “Do you suppose your cousin Tsinnah has had her baby yet?”

  Counting off months on her fingers, Yelahlah said, “If not, then it’s any day now.”

  “I’m glad for her,” Keren murmured.

  Annah noticed her wistful tone; Keren was evidently longing for another child.

  Keren caught Annah’s glance and said, “I’ma-Annah, does Father Shem really intend to go into the Great City and confront Sharah and Ra-Anan and Kuwsh?”

  “If need be,” Annah replied, dreading the thought. She looked ahead at her husband, who was talking with Metiyl. “All I can say for certain is that my Shem and I feel compelled by the Most High to go with you. Our Noakh and I’ma-Naomi agreed, so surely there’s a reason—though I am afraid to know what that reason might be.”

  “It’s not too late to turn back,” Keren offered. “I’m not trying to be rid of you, I’ma-Annah, but… what if Kuwsh and the others no longer respect your age and your status as our First Father and First Mother?”

  “If that is true, then the children of my children have no regard for anything, including the Most High, which means that I’ve failed completely.” Pondering this, Annah said, “I would despise living with such shame.”

  “We need you to live,” Keren told her, widening her pale gray eyes—suddenly looking very young and distressed.

  Cherishing Keren’s obvious concern, Annah said, “We also need you to live, Keren-child. Don’t forget that.”

  Keren looked away, shrugging as if she had already given up the thought of survival. Watching her, Yelahlah seemed ready to protest. But then she lowered her head despondently. In silence, the three women continued along the rocky, downward-sloping path.

  Thirteen

  “DO YOU THINK we have enough of the crimson to continue the pattern?” Demamah asked, crouching beside Shoshannah in the small, private courtyard. They both studied the emerging cream-and-crimson woolen pattern in the ground loom, which extended for half the length of Demamah’s garden.

  “I’m sure we’ve figured it accurately,” Shoshannah mused, resting her chin on her fingertips. “But if we’re in doubt, we could make this as a border, reduce the crimson in the main pattern, then finish the other end of this fabric as we’ve begun it, so the edges will match. And if we have some crimson left, we can make a belt.”

  “For me?” Adoniyram asked, startling them from the shadowed doorway. “Thank you, dear Cousins.” He strolled into the warm afternoon sunlight, bare chested and coppery brown, wearing a simple fleece wrap. His dark curls shone, fresh scrubbed, and he smiled appealingly at Shoshannah.

  She made a face at him, exasperated. How brazen of Adoniyram to come into Demamah’s private courtyard unsupervised. Why didn’t Ra-Anan and Zeva’ah restra
in him? Pushing back her hair, Shoshannah said, “The belt’s not for you. We’re making this fabric for Aunt Zeva’ah.”

  “I’ll ask her for it then,” Adoniyram said, crouching beside her. Whispering, he added, “And when I wear this fabric, I’ll remember that your hands have touched every part of it.”

  “Oh, you’ll remember; I’ll weave some itching burrs into the area covering your backside—and it would serve you right!”

  Demamah looked scandalized, but Adoniyram laughed warmly—as attractive as Kaleb in a playful mood.

  Disturbed by Adoniyram’s nearness, Shoshannah arose and stepped around the low wooden loom. He grinned and moved as if to follow her, but she put up a defensive hand. “If you’re going to visit, then you stay there and don’t interrupt us; we’re working.”

  Sobering a little, he said, “I give you my word… I’m here for a reason.”

  “Then say it,” Demamah commanded, winding some of the precious crimson thread onto a slender shuttle. She had begun to adopt Shoshannah’s dictatorial air with Adoniyram, which he enjoyed—to a point.

  Adoniyram remained silent for such a long time that the young women both sat back and stared at him, forgetting their work. Looking hard at Shoshannah, he said, “I wanted to warn you: Our highest day of Shemesh is approaching. Whatever happens, you should not attend the ceremonies in the tower.”

  Before she could request an explanation, he said, “Our Great King died on that day, at the hand of Shem, because of your mother. You could be blamed in her place. Some of the celebrants might demand your blood for revenge.”

  Confounded, Shoshannah said, “The Great-King Nimr-Rada was your father, Adoniyram. If anyone should want my blood for revenge, it should be you. Why are you warning me about this?”

  “Because I would be bored without you,” Adoniyram teased, clearly deflecting her question, forbidding her to pursue the matter further. “Now, since I’ve said everything I’m allowed to say, it’s your turn to talk. Tell me again what the Ancient Ones say of that Serpent in the Garden of Adan.”

  Shoshannah hesitated, longing to demand a straightforward answer to her question.

  But Adoniyram prompted her, “Remember? ‘Now the Serpent was more crafty than any animal…’”

  So he had been listening to her recitations for all these weeks. Encouraged, Shoshannah temporarily abandoned her curiosity at his lack of vengefulness, picked up her shuttle, and resumed the story. “He asked the woman, ‘Did the Most High really say…’”

  Adoniyram listened to the restful cadence of Shoshannah’s narrative, admiring her slender, always-busy hands working the shuttle through the threads on her loom. I would be bored without you, he thought. You’ve given me a sense of being part of a family for the first time in my life—quarrelsome as that family can be. But more than that… how can I demand revenge for the death of a man who probably wasn’t my father?

  His mother’s unguarded expression on the night of Shoshannah’s escape had run through his mind again and again: hateful, triumphant, spiteful at the mention of Kuwsh and the Great-King Nimr-Rada. Now, months later, Adoniyram was finally beginning to confront the reality of this new shame, which must remain hidden. His mother had certainly betrayed her “husband” Nimr-Rada. It would be just like her to stupidly, maliciously give herself to another man for her own petty retaliation against slights, imagined or deserved, from the Great King. I am the result of her revenge.

  In a way, Adoniyram was relieved to think that he wasn’t the son of Nimr-Rada—who was by even the most loyal accounts a brutal, blood-loving man. But he still felt a wholehearted resentment toward his mother. Watching Shoshannah, he wondered how his life would have been with honorable, respectable parents he could admire. Parents like Shoshannah’s.

  “I will put animosity between you and the woman, and between your descendant and her descendant.…” Shoshannah recited, her voice intensifying. “He will bruise your head, and you will bruise his heel.”

  Pondering her words, remembering the histories she had recited earlier, Adoniyram thought, If the Great King was not my father, then another man was. And perhaps he was a descendant of Father Shem. Perhaps even of the Tribe of Arpakshad. Shoshannah, beloved, what if you are wrong? What if I am the Promised One?

  To Shoshannah’s Most High, he thought, Reveal the truth, if You live.

  In the unfinished room behind the temple, Shoshannah watched as Rab-Mawg sipped from a cup and inscribed sun symbols on a pliable clay tablet. Soon he would expect her to copy the symbols and recite their meanings to him again. But Rab-Mawg’s thoughts seemed to shift all of a sudden. He stared at her coldly. What was wrong with him? Was he drunk? Most mornings he was decisive and sharp as flint. Other times he seemed to speak to her from a fog. But now he watched her as if she were evil, an enemy conspiring against him.

  Worried, longing to hurry her lesson so she could escape, Shoshannah asked, “Are you well?”

  Rab-Mawg’s black, unfathomable eyes narrowed fiercely. He thrust the tablet away, mashing its soft contours against the brick floor. “I meant what I said.”

  What had he said? When? To soothe him and avoid a scene, Shoshannah nodded. “Of course you did.”

  “Then why are you so rebellious, resisting me?”

  “Forgive me,” Shoshannah whispered humbly, panicked. How was she resisting him? He wasn’t making sense. Beside her, Ormah shifted uncomfortably, edging away.

  “You thought I didn’t mean it,” Rab-Mawg persisted, standing, approaching, making Shoshannah scramble to her feet. His eyes looked odd—glazed, intense—and his color was heightened. “I’m telling you, Daughter of Keren, she hasn’t fulfilled her vows.”

  I’ma, he’s referring to you. “You’re right; she hasn’t.”

  “But you will,” Rab-Mawg said, belligerent.

  “As you say.” She looked down at his clenched hands. He held no knife this time, but she was still afraid—he was behaving so oddly. By now, Ormah was scuttling through the doorway. Shoshannah tensed, ready to run after her.

  “Enough,” Perek growled, coming from behind the linen-draped temple doorway. Ghez-ar and Ebed followed him, their eyes wide, nervous.

  “She thinks I’m lying,” Rab-Mawg said, smoldering, fixated on Shoshannah, who struggled to remain calm.

  “She will do as you say,” Ebed assured Rab-Mawg cautiously. “But she’s called away now. She has to go.”

  “She should stay,” Rab-Mawg muttered, harsh, glaring.

  “She will return,” Ghez-ar said. His voice was tranquil, though Shoshannah saw him sweating. “And meanwhile, you can rest and have something to eat and drink.”

  “He’s had enough already,” Perek retorted.

  Ebed frantically waved a bony hand, signaling Perek to hush.

  Rab-Mawg saw the movement and stared at his assistant. “What are you doing?”

  “Swatting flies,” Ebed lied, sweating as profusely as Ghez-ar.

  Irritated, Perek said, “We’re going. Rab-Mawg, take a nap and be sober for the lesson tomorrow night. Master Ra-Anan won’t be pleased.”

  Rab-Mawg moved toward Perek, but Ghez-ar and Ebed grabbed his arms; they were wrestling with him as Shoshannah hurried from the temple. Perek followed her, though Shoshannah was sure he would have preferred to beat Rab-Mawg.

  Outside, the guard gave her a shove. “What did you say to make him so angry?”

  “I didn’t say anything,” Shoshannah protested.

  “You should’ve noticed he was drunk; I’ll wager you said something rude.”

  “It wasn’t simple drunkenness, Perek, I’m sure. He’s imagining things. Ask Ormah if I said anything rude—she was beside me during the whole lesson.”

  “We’ll see,” Perek snorted as they hurried down the endless bricked stairs. Ormah was rushing ahead of them as if Rab-Mawg was after her. When they finally reached her, she was in the tower yard bowing to Ra-Anan. Irritable, he waved some guardsmen out the gates, instructing them to take sev
eral pack-laden horses to his home.

  Jabbering like a frightened child, Ormah said, “Master, Rab-Mawg threatened us! Shoshannah must have said something during her last lesson to make him angry.”

  “You were at my last lesson,” Shoshannah reminded the maidservant firmly. “If I’d said anything wrong, you would have tattled on me that same day.”

  Ormah’s pert little face darkened, and she appeared ready to argue, but Ra-Anan lifted a hand to stop her. “Ormah, go to your horse. Now. Perek will help you.” Frowning at Shoshannah, he said, “Tell me what happened.”

  “Uncle, I give you my word; it was more than drunkenness. Rab-Mawg was talking wildly, and his eyes were odd.” She pleaded, “Don’t make me study with him tomorrow night. If he’s in the same mood, he will throw me over the edge of the terrace, I’m sure.”

  “He won’t touch you,” Ra-Anan said coldly. “I will be there, and I will speak to him about his behavior today. You quit making excuses to avoid your lessons.”

  He didn’t believe her. Sick at the thought of facing Rab-Mawg again, Shoshannah trudged toward the horses. Perek resentfully tossed her onto the lackluster mount now considered her own, then rode ahead, leading her horse and Ormah’s away from the tower.

  As they passed through the brick gates, a rough, thin, sharp-faced man spat toward Ra-Anan’s back after Ra-Anan and Perek passed by. Shoshannah stared at him, amazed by his open hostility. He returned her look, defiant.

  The guardsmen near the gate ignored him.

  Uneasy, Shoshannah asked Ormah, “Did you see that man?”

  “No, I didn’t,” the young woman answered snippily.

  It was useless to talk with her; Ormah would probably pout for the remainder of the day. Concerned, Shoshannah tried to describe the man to Perek.

  He gave her a disgruntled look. “Don’t make more trouble for yourself, girl.”

  She would speak to Ra-Anan after the evening meal. Surely he would be in a better mood and listen to her then. Though perhaps her experience with Rab-Mawg had shaken her so much that she was seeing danger where none existed. Her fear lingered.