Crown in the Stars

by Kacy Barnett-Gramckow

  Next time I will be cautious. And there would be a next time. He was convinced that this new mixture, properly measured and balanced, would provide the euphoric appearances and understanding he sought from the heavens.

  Ebed, Ghez-ar, and Awkawn emerged from behind the linen draperies. Rab-Mawg nodded and smiled, letting them see that his eyes were clear, that he was sober and ready for this all-important day. Mockingly, he said, “We should pray for our Master Ra-Anan’s full recovery.”

  They all laughed together.

  Fifteen

  IN THE TWILIGHT, amid echoing canine yips from the surrounding grass slopes, Kaleb sat with Tiyrac and the others before the small evening fire. But he was uncomfortable, aware of Zekaryah staring at him.

  At last Zekaryah spoke. “You’re too perfect.”

  “That doesn’t sound good,” Kaleb muttered to Tiyrac beneath his breath. His concern heightened as Zekaryah half knelt behind Kaleb, grasped the thick horseman’s plait that Kaleb had proudly worn for years, and began to slice it off with a flint blade.

  Everyone but Echuwd and little Rakal groaned in loud protest. I’ma-Keren cried out, “Zekaryah, no!”

  Don’t argue, Kaleb warned himself, shutting his eyes hard. It’ll grow back. This is for Shoshannah… though she would laugh.

  Beside him, Tiyrac growled as Zekaryah gave his hair the same treatment.

  “Don’t bathe,” Zekaryah instructed. “Hands and face only.”

  “What-what do you mean?” Tiyrac sputtered. “We’ll get fleas!”

  “Even better.”

  Resigning himself to misery, Kaleb mourned aloud, “We’ll look and smell like animals.”

  “Good,” Zekaryah said, brandishing their severed plaits at them.

  Keren approached him now, holding out one demanding hand. “Give those plaits to me; their mother will want them.”

  I want mine, Kal thought. Curious, he glanced sideways at his brother’s brutally chopped locks. “You look worse than I do.”

  Tiyrac snorted, then really stared at him and grinned. “Well, your whole head looks crooked.”

  “Crooked or not, it’s still prettier than yours!”

  Hearing this, the brawny Metiyl slapped his knees and bellowed and howled with his irrepressible laughter until they all joined him—relieving their tension with merriment.

  When they could breathe again, Kaleb stood and circled around the fire to Father Shem. Kneeling before him, perfectly reverent now, Kaleb begged, “Pray for us, please. And for Shoshannah.”

  Shem smiled. Kaleb might be a scoundrel and unruly at times, but he trusted in the Most High with all his might—which was considerable. Thoroughly satisfied, Shem gripped Kal’s shoulders and prayed for him. For Shoshannah. For them all.

  At dawn Keren hugged her son-in-law tight, determined not to distress him with her tears—Kal was almost too tenderhearted. “You be safe!” she ordered, looking up at him severely. “Find Shoshannah and rejoin us as soon as you can.”

  Hugging her, almost crushing her in response, he said, “I’ma-Keren, please don’t worry.” “But I will.”

  Turning to the big, self-conscious Tiyrac, Keren hugged him too. “You’re like my own sons, you and your brother. Thank you for doing this.”

  “Perhaps the Most High will bless me,” he mumbled, abashed yet hopeful, his green-brown eyes shining like Kaleb’s. Obviously, despite his growling, Tiyrac was looking forward to this adventure as much as his brother.

  “Remember your lessons,” Zekaryah commanded them roughly. “Trust no one. And follow the river south.”

  “We’ll remember; you have my word,” Kal agreed, giving Zekaryah a solid, hard-fisted parting thump on the shoulder before going to mount the restless Khiysh.

  Watching them leave, Keren swallowed her urge to cry. Joining her comfortingly, I’ma-Annah said, “We’ll pray for them constantly. But, oh… their hair is so badly chopped—those poor boys! Zekaryah,” she accused gently, “they look horrible.”

  “They’ll live.”

  “I’m sure they will,” Shem agreed, watching the two adventurers ride over a small, grassy hill and out of sight. “But if they don’t rejoin us within a reasonable time, I will go after them.”

  Recognizing her First Father’s quiet, unshakable determination, Keren groaned to herself. Her distress increased when Metiyl agreed threateningly, “If so, then you’ll take me with you. We’ll see this Great City.”

  Weeks into their journey, riding a short distance behind Kaleb, Tiyrac complained, “You smell like rotten meat.”

  “Well, you’re riding downwind,” Kaleb reminded him.

  “Let’s not discuss that! The stew you made last night could purge the innards from a bear.”

  “The bears look and smell better right now.” Kaleb sighed, exhausted, sweating beneath the warm late-summer sun. To their right, the great western river flowed so temptingly cool and swift that he could hardly resist flinging himself into the water. He craved a thorough scrub, a shave, and a good night’s sleep. Not to mention a decent meal. Would this journey never end? “We’ve got to be nearing the city.”

  “Even so, let’s camp for the night and try some fishing,” Tiyrac suggested. “Then we should tend our gear.”

  As much as he hated to give up any daylight travel time, Kal had to agree with his brother. They needed to restring their bows and replenish their supply of arrows. And the horses were tired. Khiysh was becoming irritable, snapping at shrubs and grass and hinting broadly that he would toss Kaleb if they didn’t stop soon. “You catch the fish, and I’ll tend the gear,” Kaleb offered—fishing was one of Tiyrac’s favorite pastimes. Tiyrac grinned. “Done.”

  Working swiftly, they dismounted, rubbed and covered their horses, then staked their lead ropes deep into the earth, allowing the weary creatures to graze without escaping. While the brothers were busy clearing an area for a small hearth, Khiysh huffed and issued a challenging, stomping snort. Kaleb straightened and turned to see the target of Khiysh’s threats.

  Horsemen. Five of them. Tiyrac exhaled deeply, sounding worried. “Too late to escape them.”

  “We don’t want to escape them,” Kaleb reminded him.

  “You don’t.”

  “Do you have your knives?” “Yes,” Tiyrac snapped. “Do you have your brains?” In better spirits now, Kal gave his brother a complimentary shove. “You’re improving.” “Shut up and keep an eye on them.” “Yes, master.”

  The lead horseman was the biggest of the five, but size didn’t matter; they were drawing their bows, aiming for Kaleb and Tiyrac. Kaleb was surprised by his own calm. He had never met any of these men, but thanks to Zekaryah, he understood them. He could almost hear Zekaryah warning, Don’t fight unless you must. Tucking a thumb loosely into his belt, Kaleb watched them approach.

  While the lead horseman and a fellow horseman held their arrows aimed at Kaleb and Tiyrac, the other three swiftly dropped to the ground. One hurriedly rummaged through the brothers’ gear while the other two headed for their horses.

  Immediately Khiysh reared and lunged, while Tiyrac’s horse, Nashak, furiously bit toward the horsemen who had interrupted his grazing.

  “I go with my horse,” Kaleb told the lead horseman.

  “If you fight us, you’ll die!” the man snarled.

  “I didn’t say I would fight you,” Kaleb pointed out, reasonable. “I said, ‘I go with my horse,’ that’s all.”

  One horseman stopped rummaging through Tiyrac’s gear and called out, “Ghid’ohn, look at these.” He lifted Tiyrac’s bow and quiver, his small brown eyes gazing fixedly, meaningfully at the lead horseman.

  Suspicious, still wielding his own bow and arrow, Ghid’ohn asked Kaleb, “Who are you? Where did you get weapons and horses like these?”

  “We grew up with these things,” Tiyrac said in his deepest, most impressive rumbling voice.

  “My first memory is of riding a horse,” Kaleb agreed. “I’ve never been without one. Or
without my weapons.”

  “You’ll be without them for now,” Ghid’ohn told him. “Kneel, both of you. Dibriy, Ye’uwsh, tie them both tight. Double the cords, then search them for weapons—they’re coming with us.”

  “Well,” Kal whispered to Tiyrac, elated, “that was easy!”

  “Shut up.”

  Sixteen

  “HERE! FROM YOUR MOTHER.” Ormah scurried into Demamah’s courtyard, dumped several skeins of plain wool onto the mat beside Demamah, and darted away again.

  Shoshannah lowered her fringe work and stared after the maidservant, bemused. Ormah was rushing as if Zeva’ah were at her heels. “She’s in a hurry.”

  “She has to finish her work before attending the festival this evening,” Demamah explained, picking at the skeins of wool. “The young women of the city place offerings into the river to commemorate the death of… a young guardsman. After they’ve recited his story and mourned his fate, they light lamps, then dance and feast in the market street after dark.”

  “What young guardsman?” Shoshannah asked, her mother’s stories rising uncomfortably in her memory.

  Demamah fidgeted with the yarn, not looking up. “One of your mother’s guardsmen, Lawkham. They say he loved her and she provoked him to anger the Great King so terribly that… he was put to death. His body was thrown into the river.”

  “And it was my I’ma’s fault, of course,” Shoshannah muttered, infuriated by this twisted version of her mother’s past.

  Her words soft, but bitter edged, Demamah agreed. “Of course. It could never have been the fault of our Great King.”

  Knowing that Demamah had no part in the awful stories told of the “Lady Keren,” Shoshannah controlled herself and went on fringing the edge of the crimson-and-cream fabric. But resentment burned at her until she finally said, “It’s amazing the people haven’t killed me because of my mother.”

  “I’m sure most of them don’t blame you or wish you harm. And we know the truth, you and I.”

  “Yes, but it’s terrible when no one else wants to believe it.” Shoshannah yanked fiercely at a knot of woolen fringe, uncomforted.

  Finished with her evening meal, Shoshannah stared into nothingness, tracing and retracing the rim of a copper platter with her fingertips, frowning.

  By now, surely, the women of the Great City were gathering, drinking and stirring themselves into an emotional state, mourning over a warped recital of Lawkham’s death. The truth wouldn’t matter to them; they would cling to their own story, further embellishing it beyond recognition. It wasn’t fair.

  Across from Shoshannah, Zeva’ah sighed, sounding exasperated. “Quit sulking, Shoshannah. You’ve ruined our whole meal with your bad mood.”

  Shoshannah looked up, startled. “Forgive me, Aunt. I was being thoughtless.”

  “On the contrary,” Ra-Anan said smoothly, “you were thinking too much about something. What is it?”

  Shoshannah hesitated. Her aunt and uncle stared. Lowering her head, she confessed, “I was thinking about this festival and… regretting its origin.”

  “Its origin is regrettable, but the whole thing is merely an excuse for crowds of foolish girls to play in the streets after dark,” Ra-Anan told her. “Forget them. And forget that old story—as they’ve forgotten it.”

  “It’s not just the girls who are foolish; Tabbakhaw is going too,” Zeva’ah announced, disapproving. “You’d think she has no sense at all.”

  “You didn’t forbid her?” Ra-Anan asked, turning to his wife, revealing the still-vivid, welted scar running down the left side of his face toward his throat.

  Zeva’ah sniffed. “I thought of forbidding her, but she would have been in a temper for weeks, and our meals would have been tainted. However, I did tell her not to return with Ormah if they were sick from their drinking.”

  “You should have forbidden them to attend such absurd, childish revels; they represent our household,” Ra-Anan said, his deep-set eyes narrowing, his mouth tight.

  Zeva’ah tensed, visibly defensive, and Demamah plaited her fingers tightly together in her lap. Recognizing the signs of an impending quarrel, Shoshannah considered saying or doing something rude so she would be dismissed from the room.

  A loud, insistent tapping on the main door interrupted both her thoughts and the looming spat.

  Perek called out a rough greeting, then entered and bowed, his dark forehead furrowed with displeasure. “Master, forgive me. There’s a crowd of marketplace women at the gate, demanding that she join them.” The guard’s leather-strung collection of animals’ teeth and claws clattered alarmingly from his right bicep as he gestured to Shoshannah.

  Aghast, Shoshannah squeaked, “Me?”

  “Yes, you!” Perek snorted. “They’re threatening to create trouble for our household unless you offer tribute to that young man who died for your mother’s sake.”

  No. I can’t. She glanced at her uncle, hoping that he would refuse, but Ra-Anan lifted an eyebrow, actually considering the idea.

  “Please, Uncle, no,” Shoshannah begged, trying to keep calm.

  Beside her, Demamah leaned forward, distressed enough to actually speak. “Father, wouldn’t they kill her?”

  Ra-Anan leaned back, coldly reasoning aloud. “She’d be guarded. And those women from the marketplace command half the city’s trade; they can’t be ignored.”

  “They could make our lives miserable if they refuse to serve our household,” Zeva’ah told Shoshannah, obviously glad to smooth over her quarrel with her husband by taking his part. “I’m sure you’d live, child.”

  I’m afraid I won’t.

  “Be sure they don’t harm her, but don’t upset their ritual,” Ra-Anan told Perek, his decision apparently final. Shoshannah listened, appalled. They’re handing me over so easily. She knew that arguing would only make matters worse.

  Even Perek didn’t dare resist, though the brawny guardsman looked stupefied, as if he couldn’t believe that his master was commanding him to shepherd a flock of women.

  “You can go outside as you are.” Zeva’ah stood and motioned Shoshannah to her feet. “Just watch what you say and don’t insult anyone.”

  “I wish you’d come with me, Aunt,” Shoshannah said, challenging her cautiously. “I don’t want to bring any disgrace on your household.”

  Demamah stood and looked from her mother to her father. “Please, let me go with her; I’ll keep her out of trouble.”

  “Absolutely not!” Ra-Anan snapped. “You two will stay here, where you belong.”

  But obviously I don’t belong here. “Forgive me, Uncle. Aunt.” Shoshannah bowed to them formally, coldly. Almost shaking with rage and hurt, she stalked outside to the courtyard, which glowed crimson and violet in the sunset.

  Perek followed her. As soon as they were far enough away from the main residence, he began to vent his fury. “You’ve been nothing but a problem from that first day—I should have killed you when I had the chance! Now this! Guarding a bunch of silly females…”

  “Most men would be glad to change places with you,” Shoshannah interrupted angrily as the guards opened the gate. “It’s a good thing you’re not married. Your poor wife!”

  A wild chorus of feminine laughter greeted them, scaring Shoshannah. Hands gripped her wrists, her elbows, her gown, pulling her into the crowd of triumphant women.

  “His poor wife!” one young matron echoed, laughing at Perek.

  Shoshannah realized suddenly that she had said just the right thing; as awful and rude as it was, it pleased these riotous women. She also realized that she was now safer with them than with Perek. He looked as if he could spit fire.

  “Off we go, Daughter of Keren,” someone chanted singsong into Shoshannah’s ear. “To the river!”

  They’re going to throw me in … and Perek won’t rescue me.

  Herdlike, they rushed Shoshannah away from Ra-Anan’s household, laughing, exulting, forcing Perek to hurry after them toward the market street, whe
re they were joined by other eager celebrants. Here and there men leaned out from doorways or stood in small groups, watching the “silly females” parade past. Embarrassed, Shoshannah tried to ignore them. But at the end of the market street, a familiar figure on horseback made her almost stop in her tracks. Adoniyram. With two guardsmen.

  He acknowledged her with a barely noticeable nod, then gave his attention to the other unmarried girls in the crowd, smiling at them, admiring some of them openly, making them shriek and giggle.

  You didn’t warn me not to attend this gathering, Shoshannah thought to him, infuriated. He was apparently here to amuse himself. But perhaps he would intervene if she were threatened by these unruly women.

  Some of the matrons and younger girls carried slender bone flutes, and they began to play these now, the melancholy notes rising in the air, subduing the gaiety of the celebrants. As they approached the dusk-washed river, the women hushed. Sighs, whispers, and a mournful, overwrought narrative threaded through the crowd.

  “He loved her, forbidden, this young guardsman… but she scorned him… a mere guardsman… Still he remained devoted! For her he died… then she regretted what she had done…”

  Listening to their recitation, Shoshannah stifled her disgust. These women made her mother sound cold, hard-hearted. Like Sharah. The celebrants were nudging her toward the riverbank. A matron, sturdy and determined, thrust an object into her arms: a large, oblong wooden container filled with aromatic spices, dried flowers, and an alarmingly lit taper, which would soon set the dish aflame. It was a boat, Shoshannah realized. An offering. “Set it in the river, Daughter of Keren.”

  Still seething, but knowing she had to obey, Shoshannah went down to the water and waded in, gasping quietly at its coldness and at the thick silt oozing upward into her sandals. Zeva’ah would be furious if the sandals were ruined. Feeling the current pulling at her garments, Shoshannah lowered the now-kindled offering into the water, praying she wouldn’t set her hair afire. The craft flared spectacularly, its glow reflected in the dark current that was drawing it away downstream.