Crown in the Stars

by Kacy Barnett-Gramckow

  “What did you give Rab-Mawg?” Ghez-ar demanded as Awkawn blearily wandered out from the sleeping area.

  “I’ve just awakened. I didn’t give him anything.” Awkawn rubbed a hand over his rough-whiskered face, staring at Rab-Mawg, who was now sitting against a wall, disoriented and clutching his head, guarded by Ebed.

  Baffled, Ghez-ar looked around and spied the mashed clay tablet and the clay cup beside it. Inside the cup was a murky liquid with a thick, foul-looking residue at the bottom. Rab-Mawg had evidently been experimenting on himself with some of their latest “herbs” and had underestimated the strength of this mixture. Worse, he had impatiently tested his potion during the girl’s lessons—a terrible mistake. Ghez-ar frowned. Their revered chief magician was obviously becoming dependent on the herbs for his “visions,” seeking Shemesh.

  We must stop you from destroying yourself—and us.

  The next night, as she knelt with Demamah on the darkened terrace beneath the star-scattered sky, Shoshannah watched Rab-Mawg and listened to him, shocked. He was soft-spoken, courteous, and baffled by her account of his wild behavior the previous morning. “Surely she misunderstood me.”

  Impatient, Ra-Anan snapped, “Don’t pretend with me! Perek said you were raving. Whatever you drank, don’t drink it before her next lesson. Any more scenes like this, and I will beat you both.”

  “I regret worrying you, Master.” Rab-Mawg sounded wholly sincere.

  Was he the most convincing liar in the world, or did he truly not remember his terrible behavior? While Shoshannah was deliberating, Ra-Anan beckoned her severely. “Come here. You will behave now and not waste any more of our time with your foolish excuses; sit and pay attention. These lessons are for your benefit.”

  Lessons, Shoshannah thought bitterly. Stories created from your own little minds to fit pictures in the stars.

  Gracious, as if forgiving her for accusing him unjustly, Rab-Mawg inclined his head toward Shoshannah. Behind him, Ebed, Ghez-ar, and Awkawn watched her, clearly worried. They were probably hoping she wouldn’t persist with her accusation—though it was true. No doubt they feared that Master Ra-Anan would dismiss them from their coveted, honorable positions as servant-priests in the tower of Shemesh.

  What would the four of you do then? she wondered, as she and Demamah knelt a little nearer to the priests. They would have to become ordinary farmers and tradesmen, or canal diggers. It would be quite a tumble for them if they were removed from their golden temple on this tower. I’m sure you would do almost anything to keep your positions here, including killing me. Scared by the thought, Shoshannah paid careful attention as Rab-Mawg explained the patterns in the stars.

  “We are now in the month of Shemesh, with the Serpent, the Lady, and the Lion, represented by these stars here and those stars there. Soon, the Promised Child will be revealed over there.” He rested his hands on his knees, his face shadowed. “These signal the times of harvest, which are followed by the days of balance—of weighing and measuring grain. In the coming months, you will see the symbol of our Great King riding the eagle of Asshur, for he conquered those tribes.”

  Father Metiyl’s tribe. And Tsinnah’s tribe, Shoshannah thought desolately. She’s had her baby by now. And it seems as if I never visited her at all. Sternly she scolded herself, Don’t think of them! Finish your lesson so you can leave.

  The detestable Master Rab-Mawg talked for half the evening. She forced herself to listen to him and to repeat what he had told her. She indicated which stars were a part of her lesson tonight, and why. And she recited which stars were to appear in the following weeks. By the time she finished, even Ra-Anan was pleased with her. “Very good, child.”

  Though his tone was patronizing, it was the first time he had actually complimented her. But having his approval felt more like a betrayal of her parents than an accomplishment.

  Demamah had been silent throughout the evening. Now, however, trailed by two guardsmen, she clasped Shoshannah’s arm, delighted, as they pattered down the moonlit tower stairs. “You did so well! That went so easily—thank you!”

  “Were you afraid I’d create another scene?”

  “Of course.”

  Despite herself, Shoshannah laughed in the humid, bug-rasping summertime darkness. Feeling better, she scampered down the last stairs after her uncle, heading toward a torch-bearing guard who waited with their horses.

  Suddenly other footsteps rushed at them from the darkness. A shadow collided with Ra-Anan, jostling him, obscuring him briefly. Ra-Anan cried out sharply, then roared and lashed out at his attacker. Shoshannah heard scuffling, an appalling choked squawk, and a terrible bone-crunching noise, followed by a loud, hollowish thud.

  Guards rushed past Shoshannah and Demamah, toward Ra-Anan, and Demamah shrieked, “Father? Father!”

  “Demamah, hush!” Ra-Anan snapped. After a brief pause, he disentangled himself from the shadows and from a form lying limp on the brick pavings, and returned to the torchlight.

  Shoshannah clung to Demamah, horrified, staring at Ra-Anan. The side of his face was gashed with blood and he was limping, his expression terrible, unearthly in the wavering light.

  “Uncle…” As Shoshannah was trying to gather her wits, the guardsmen dragged a body into view: a rough, thin, death-staring man with blood oozing from his bashed nose. She shrank back. “That’s the man I saw yesterday.”

  Warily Ra-Anan studied her, then looked around. “To your horses, both of you. There may be others.”

  They obeyed him in shocked, hurried silence.

  Fourteen

  IN THE MORNING LIGHT, Adoniyram stood in his uncle’s courtyard, staring at the would-be assassin’s leather-shrouded body. Ra-Anan eyed Adoniyram accusingly. “This is the same troublemaker you encouraged us to compromise with some time ago.”

  “I remember. He was Dayag—a fisherman.” Adoniyram looked away from the dead man’s battered features. Determined to correct his uncle, he pretended ignorance, asking, “Did we fulfill the promises made to him when his lands were claimed by the temple priests?”

  “They offered him lands in exchange, which he rejected.”

  Inferior lands, away from the city and the river—which was his livelihood, Adoniyram reminded his uncle inwardly. And that was your fault; you know it. You control everything here, including your priests.

  Studying the long ointment-laden slash on Ra-Anan’s face, which would leave a scar that could never be hidden, Adoniyram said, “I hope there are no others in the city who think like him.”

  “He is dead,” Ra-Anan said crisply, satisfied. “And I will destroy any others just as easily. One blow to the throat and two to his head.” Contemptuous, he yanked the leather shroud closed and signaled to his guards. “Tie this thing and dump it in the river south of the city.”

  While the guards hurried to obey, Ra-Anan limped toward his residence again. Adoniyram followed, suspecting that his uncle’s fight for life had been more desperate than he implied. In addition to the facial gash and the limp, Ra-Anan’s right hand was bruised and swollen, and he was moving cautiously.

  Keeping his voice neutral, Adoniyram asked, “Are my cousins well?”

  “Still sleeping.” Ra-Anan was terse. “They were unhurt, but badly shocked. I’ll acquire more guards to reassure them.”

  And to reassure yourself, Adoniyram decided, entering the main room. You were badly shocked too, Master-Uncle. You thought you were unbeatable. But perhaps you were wrong. And so was I.

  “If you find any exceptional bowmen, remember, you’ve promised them to my household.”

  “We will see,” Ra-Anan muttered, easing himself onto a heap of cushions.

  Zeva’ah entered the main room now, perfectly robed, flaunting gold cuffs and a new red-beaded necklace hung with flat, gleaming gold leaves. She carried a copper tray laden with flat bread, dates, seared spiced fish, a fine gold plate, linens, and four gold cups—also new, Adoniyram decided. Obviously Ra-Anan had “accepted tributes
” from tradesmen that were meant as offerings for the tower priests. No doubt tradesmen and priests alike were furious with Ra-Anan.

  Zeva’ah set her tray on the woven mat beside her husband and cast a searching look at the gash on his face. He ignored her, reaching for a piece of the soft bread and some fish.

  Ormah entered the room now, bearing two clay pitchers.

  “Go wake the girls,” Zeva’ah commanded as the maidservant set the pitchers beside her. “They can’t sleep all day.”

  Ormah obeyed meekly but sneaked a smiling glance at Adoniyram before leaving the room. He averted his gaze.

  Ra-Anan ate in silence, but Zeva’ah maintained a trivial, sociable conversation with Adoniyram until Demamah and Shoshannah emerged from the curtained passageway. Both girls were barefoot and clad in simple linen gowns and robes. And both looked wonderfully drowsy and young without their usual face paints. They immediately bowed and knelt, worriedly peering at Ra-Anan. He frowned, causing them to straighten and focus on their morning meal.

  “Your father is well,” Zeva’ah told Demamah, smiling too brightly as she poured diluted wine into the gold cups and passed them around. “Thank the heavens and go about your work; last night was nothing.”

  You can’t pretend your enemies are nothing, Adoniyram argued silently, undeceived by his aunt’s smile. Poor Dayag was only one of many.

  Demamah accepted her mother’s verdict quietly, as did Shoshannah. They shared Demamah’s gold cup and picked at their food, downcast.

  Adoniyram forced himself not to stare at Shoshannah—tempting as she was. Let Ra-Anan and Zeva’ah guess at his feelings toward her; he wouldn’t confirm them openly. He knew full well that they used Shoshannah to lure him into their household, but he wasn’t going to fall into whatever else they might be scheming. I may use you instead.

  A commotion sounded from the courtyard: horses snorting, men calling to one another, servants running. Zeva’ah put down her gold cup and smoothed her robe. A guardsman rapped lightly at the wooden door frame, coughed apologetically, then bowed and announced, “Lord Kuwsh has arrived.”

  Ra-Anan quickly swallowed his entire cupful of watered wine, flashed a chilling glance at Adoniyram, and muttered, “No doubt your mother will be here soon also.”

  She will need to gloat, Adoniyram thought. Nodding politely, he said, “I’m sure you are right, Uncle.”

  To emphasize his less exalted status, and to put his enemies at ease, Adoniyram set his food aside and stood to greet Lord Kuwsh. Demamah and Shoshannah also stood, folding their hands before themselves and bowing as Kuwsh entered the main room.

  Showily garbed in new linen robes, massive gold cuffs, and a gold collar, Kuwsh waved a dismissive hand. “Sit. Eat.”

  Adoniyram sat down without a word, watching and listening. Demamah and Shoshannah knelt, eyeing Kuwsh anxiously.

  He ignored them but sat beside Ra-Anan. “You look remarkably well. My servants told me you were badly wounded.”

  Pouring himself a cup of undiluted wine—though it was not his custom to drink so much—Ra-Anan said, “Your servants are useless as spies; you should dismiss them.”

  “Perhaps I should. Obviously they exaggerated.” Kuwsh studied Ra-Anan now, critical. “If that cut was the worst of your injuries, then you’re fortunate. However, I’d advise you against going out before it’s healed. That’s a nasty slash.”

  “Yes, it would be a mistake to seem vulnerable,” Ra-Anan replied, his tone acidic. “I’ve decided to forgo the temple ceremonies. I’ll send offerings to the priests instead.”

  “The more the better.” Kuwsh pointedly surveyed the new gold cups.

  Ra-Anan gave him a sharp, forbidding look. Adoniyram bit down a smile and finished his drink.

  “Will you have something to eat?” Zeva’ah asked Kuwsh gently, offering him the gold plate containing a bit of fish, some bread, and dates. Kuwsh accepted but only toyed with the food.

  Another servant rapped humbly at the outer doorpost, stepped in, and bowed to Ra-Anan. “Master, the Lady Sharah is coming with her household.”

  Adoniyram wished his mother weren’t so predictable. He offered his empty gold cup to Zeva’ah. “I’m finished, thank you, Aunt.”

  Zeva’ah smiled, but her eyes looked stony. She poured a bit of liquid into the cup, wiped it dry with some linen, then refilled it almost to the brim with straight wine for their drink-loving Queen of the Heavens.

  “Trust her to arrive and create a scene,” Kuwsh muttered.

  Adoniyram seethed. How ridiculous of Kuwsh to accuse Sharah of creating a scene when he was enjoying Ra-Anan’s misfortune just as much.

  Soon enough Sharah swept into the room, haughty, fleshy, pale, and overladen with jewels and gold. To Adoniyram’s disgust, her curls were unbound, and her linen robe swept the floor behind her. He greeted her with a dutiful kiss, then offered her his place and sat on a mat nearby.

  “I see you’re still alive,” the Great Lady said to Ra-Anan sarcastically. She nodded to Kuwsh, then glanced at Demamah and Shoshannah, who stood and bowed. Scowling, Sharah waved a petulant hand. “Oh, if you must stay, then sit down!”

  The girls sat.

  Sharah accepted the wine from Zeva’ah and laughed at Ra-Anan, triumphant. “What a scar you’ll have! See what happens when you make the citizens hate you?”

  “Remember your own words, my sister,” Ra-Anan warned, baring his teeth at her.

  Sharah sniffed, pleased. “That won’t happen to me, ever. The people adore me, and you know it. I’m like their own loving mother.”

  And unlike mine, Adoniyram retorted in his thoughts. He longed to escape now, to take refuge with Shoshannah and Demamah, to tease them and laugh with them, to listen to stories, and to persuade them to hunt with him as they hadn’t done for weeks. Instead, he had to listen as his mother demanded Ra-Anan’s account of the murder attempt for her own amusement.

  While she listened, Sharah sipped from her cup and repeated self-righteously, “That won’t happen to me; I

  haven’t made enemies for myself the way you and Lord Kuwsh have done.”

  Adoniyram noticed Ra-Anan and Lord Kuwsh’s offended scowls and wondered, as always, how his mother could be so deluded.

  Shoshannah refrained from squirming in the presence of her elders. All the gold manners and pride in the world wouldn’t make Lord Kuwsh, Lady Sharah, and the smoldering Master Ra-Anan and his Zeva’ah into wonderful people. She hated being bound to them. And yet, it would have been truly horrible if Ra-Anan had died last night.

  She froze at the thought, staring down at the mats, suddenly realizing how close she had been to disaster. If Ra-Anan died, Zeva’ah would toss her out like rubbish. She might escape, but more likely someone else would claim her to fulfill a private scheme: Kuwsh. Sharah. Rab-Mawg. Or Adoniyram.

  Sick to her stomach, she reminded herself that of the four, only Adoniyram hadn’t expressed a wish to kill her. And although he had openly defended Rab-Mawg’s claims toward Shoshannah, she feared that, given the chance, Adoniyram would make her his wife. He had indicated his desire toward her often enough. And marrying him would be another kind of death. She would have no hope of ever returning to her family. Or to Kaleb…

  As Shoshannah stared at the mats, dazed, the Queen-of-the-Heavens Sharah raised her voice indignantly. “These are new cups! And that is a new necklace, Zeva’ah. Did you think you could hide them from me?”

  “This is my home; I have nothing to hide,” Zeva’ah said, an edge beneath her courtesy. “My beloved gave these to me the day before yesterday.”

  “You’re jealous because they snatched them before you did,” Kuwsh taunted Sharah.

  Ra-Anan said, “Sharah, this is not your concern.”

  “Isn’t it? I think you have taken what should be mine.”

  Shoshannah closed her eyes during the petty quarrel that followed, reminding herself to be grateful that Ra-Anan was alive.

  Shoshannah heard Demamah stirring in he
r sleep, apparently disturbed. The attack on Ra-Anan had affected her badly. She wasn’t eating and obviously she was sleeping poorly—as was Shoshannah.

  I’ll talk with her tomorrow, Shoshannah thought, bolstering her own lagging courage. Her father is alive and we don’t have to attend the ceremonies at the tower, which we’ve both been dreading. Truly, there were mercies…

  Turning her thoughts toward the Most High, as she hadn’t for weeks, she wondered, Are You here and guarding me after all?

  Wearing a leopard-skin robe formally clasped over his left shoulder, Rab-Mawg inspected the sparkling gold-covered altar. Fragrant wood, spices, and resins were all there, perfectly arranged, ready to be lit during the ceremony tonight after he had received the offerings. Satisfied, the young chief magician-priest relaxed, smiling to himself. Today, the highest day of Shemesh, was indeed a day to celebrate. For the first time, he would have the worshipful citizens to himself during the ceremony, unrestrained by the presence of Master Ra-Anan.

  Furthermore, Ra-Anan had sent gifts to the temple to atone for his absence. Or, more accurately, he had returned some of the goods he had stolen earlier.

  You survived, Rab-Mawg thought, regretful. But if there was one attempt on your life, there may be another, and the next attack might succeed. Then I’d be free of you. Perhaps next year at this time, you’ll be gone. And then Shoshannah would fulfill her mother’s vows.

  I’m glad you are afraid of me Shoshannah, he thought. Even if you don’t trust in our Shemesh, or follow him, you will follow me.

  Now, contemplating the girl’s near-disastrous lesson, Rab-Mawg frowned, troubled. The new mixture of herbs, seeds, and rhizomes had been more powerful than he had expected. Too powerful. He had gained no vision from the potion. Instead, he had lost his memory of that whole day and the next morning. Ghez-ar and the others had been alarmed and furious that he had endangered their places in this temple.