Tiyrac stared at his brother in Ra-Anan’s evening-shadowed courtyard, wondering why Kaleb thought he had any information on that Lady Sharah’s missing guardsmen. “No, I haven’t heard anything.”
Almost inaudibly, Kal muttered, “Why would she send her guardsmen away so mysteriously? Her son claims that she loves to be surrounded by them; they make her feel powerful. What else could be so important… unless they’ve found out that I’ma-Keren and Zekaryah and the others are in the Tribe of Metiyl?”
The thought made Tiyrac catch his breath sharply. “Do you think they have?”
“We’ll know when those guardsmen return. Until then, we pray.” Still quiet, Kaleb asked, “How is she?”
It took Tiyrac an instant to shift his thoughts. “Shoshannah? She’s well.” He had almost mistakenly said the name of the young lady Demamah. He had to forget her, particularly if their enemies had found Zekaryah, I’ma-Keren, Father Shem, and I’ma-Annah. Considering what might happen if I’ma-Keren and Zekaryah were caught—if they were all caught—Tiyrac felt his stomach churn. Truly, he had to forget Demamah; it was useless to think of her anyway. Her father would never approve of his only daughter marrying such a plain man as himself.
Perek entered the darkening courtyard just then and gave the brothers a suspicious look. Kaleb straightened and stared at Perek coolly. Tiyrac detested the rude man and silently echoed his brother’s attitude. Perek sneered at them but turned away.
Coward, Tiyrac thought, pleased.
After stretching and studying the dawn, Annah carried a limp heap of water skins down a green hillside to a tree-sheltered, noisily rushing stream. She would fill these skins while Shem and Zekaryah were tending their horses, and while Keren finished binding the tents for their journey today. By tonight they would be well into the mountains again, farther away from the Great City.
Are we doing Your will? she asked the Most High as she lifted the first plump and dripping water skin from the cold rushing stream. Should my Shem and I be avoiding the Great City and our rebellious children to the south? Or should we ride down there and confront them all? She had been asking herself and the Most High this question for months with no definite answer. They could be in the Great City within weeks. But they didn’t want to risk Keren’s and Zekaryah’s lives. What should we do?
A muffled clatter on the other side of the stream alerted her to the presence of another human; no animal made such a noise—like sticks rattled together. Who are you?
Fleece-cloaked, leather-clad, and watchful, a man stepped from behind a coarse green bush on the other side of the stream. His bow and arrow were readied, but not aimed directly at her. A quiverful of arrows clattered against a knife handle at his side. He warbled a bird call, bringing two other men from their own hiding places, their weapons also readied. Two additional horsemen came riding down the opposite hillside, leading three horses. Annah stood, alarmed.
They’ve found us—they’ve come for Keren.
Twenty-Three
SCARED AND INFURIATED, Annah watched the three guardsmen splash across the icy stream. Look at their horrible faces. How can they be children of my own children? But all of them were probably descended from her in some way. She wished they were small enough to spank. Oh, you would be punished!
She almost screamed to warn Keren and the others but realized that if Shem and Zekaryah thought she was in danger, they would fight these men. And the two of them would probably be defeated, wounded, or even killed. These guardsmen would also catch her if she ran, which could provoke the violence she feared. Exhaling a silent prayer, Annah tied the filled water skin, her hands shaking.
The first guardsman to reach her was apparently the leader, an arrogant, brawny, nut-brown man. Shifting his weapons, he grabbed her arm.
She raised her eyebrows at him severely. “Son, whichever one of mine you are, behave.”
His black eyes flickered, and his grip loosened for the slightest breath of time, then he held her more firmly. “You are Ma’adannah then. I thought so—you were described to us perfectly. Forgive me, but you must obey us. We have no quarrel with you.”
“Oh, but you do have a quarrel with me, child!” Annah glared at him, furious now. “You are…”
The guardsman actually gave her a silencing shake as the other two drew near; Annah gritted her teeth and calmed herself somewhat. But she flashed the first guardsman a warning look.
He put his oily, bewhiskered face down to hers, saying, “We are commanded to bring the Lady Keren and her companions to the Great City. I’m sorry you disapprove, Ma’adannah, but you are one of those companions. I will follow my orders.” Turning, he snapped to the nearest guardsman, “Erek, as soon as the others get here, we haul her into their camp and claim their weapons. And you, Abdiy, keep your aim toward that Zehker. And watch their Father Shem.”
“Don’t trust the Lady Keren; she will also have weapons,” Erek said. He was such a sly-looking man that Annah mistrusted him at once.
“By the way, Ma’adannah,” the chief guardsman said, “I am of the sons of Khawm; you are not my First Mother.”
Annah eyed him critically. “Perhaps not. But you look and act too much like my dead brother Yerakh for the resemblance to be a coincidence. I’m sure you didn’t listen to your elders enough. One of my own daughters probably married into your family.”
His eyes flickered again, and she could almost hear him silently recounting his lineage to himself, considering possibilities. He looked away. “Even so, Ma’adannah, you will go quietly with us to your encampment.”
“Are you carrying any weapons?” the sly-faced Erek demanded.
“Will you search me, child?” Annah asked him gently, aware of her knife and tools secured beneath her robes.
His face turned crimson brown, and he hushed.
The other two horsemen joined them now, their five horses immediately lowering their heads to graze. Abdiy, the hitherto silent guardsman, warned the two horsemen, “This is the First Mother Ma’adannah.”
Annah was gratified to see the two latecomers falter, embarrassed. Now she spoke to the guardsman who had her by the arm. “Child, what is your name?”
He looked offended. “You will call me Becay.”
“Thank you, Becay-child.”
They all shuffled around now, obviously uncertain how to manage her.
Let them be ashamed of themselves, Annah decided as they guiltily nudged her up the slope. They should be ashamed.
“How did you find us?” she asked, walking slowly up the grassy hill, wanting information. “We haven’t been using cooking fires for days, so you had to know where to begin looking for tracks. Did someone tell you where we were?”
“We were told that you’d be somewhere along the river between the Tribe of Metiyl and the mountains,” the guardsman Abdiy said, barely polite.
Becay scowled at him. “Tend your weapons and don’t let her distract you; they might already know we’re here.”
“You should walk her into the camp first, Becay,” Erek suggested, his dark eyes suddenly scheming. “If you use her as a shield, they won’t shoot you. In fact, I’m sure the Lady Keren would give up her weapons immediately.”
Becay sneered, “You’d know that, wouldn’t you? Actually, Erek, if I didn’t think you’d run like a whining coward, I’d have you do it.” He shoved Annah slightly. “Let’s hurry, Ma’adannah.”
“Don’t hurt anyone,” Annah commanded, feeling panicked now.
“That depends on how everyone else behaves.”
The violent terrors of Annah’s childhood arose, no longer memories but real again, full of cruel, bloody possibilities. I beg You, she cried to the Most High without words, don’t let anyone die. I don’t want to see it!
Keren glanced toward the tree and shrub-swathed hillside that led down to the stream. Where is I’ma-Annah? She called to Zekaryah, “I’ll be right back; I’ma-Annah may need help with the water.”
Shem lifted a genial hand
, shaking his head. “Stay with your husband, Keren-child. I’ll go find her.”
You’ll snatch any excuse to pursue your wife, Keren thought, smiling. She went to lift the last bundle of tent leather.
Zekaryah hurried to help her and to kiss her, snatching time alone with her as eagerly as Shem did with I’ma-Annah. “I’ve missed our children,” he said, smiling. “But it’s been good to have time to ourselves.”
Pleased as always by the sight of his dimples, she hugged him. “I agree. If only we’d hear Shoshannah is safe…”
Zekaryah held her and kissed her hair, silent as always whenever she spoke of Shoshannah. He feared that his daughter and Kaleb and Tiyrac were dead, for there had been no messages from the two young men since they departed all those months ago.
Burying her face in his shoulder, Keren tried to convince herself that everything would be well. They must be alive …
Without warning, Zekaryah roughly yanked Keren behind him as he faced the direction Shem had gone. Keren caught her breath and peered around him, bewildered. Her confusion became terror.
Soldier-guardsmen. Five of them, all brandishing arrows or spears. One man was leading I’ma-Annah, who looked small and defenseless beside him. Two other guardsmen were confronting Shem.
This is Your answer, Shem thought, raising his arms as a thin, devious-looking guardsman searched him and took his knife and a small copper axe from his belt. Now, because we have no weapons of our own, O Most High, I ask You to be our weapon.
Accepting captivity for now, Shem looked at his beloved Annah. Her dark, beautiful eyes were huge, anguished, begging him without words to be careful. He winked at her in reassurance. And he smiled at the thin guardsman who was stashing Shem’s weapons in his own belt, then backing away as if he feared Shem would attack him.
“Don’t worry,” Shem promised, “we’ll go with you peaceably; there’s no need to threaten us further.”
“We’ll threaten you as much as you deserve,” the sly guardsman taunted, apparently feeling courageous now that Shem was unarmed. “Kneel and put your hands behind your back. And call to those others to kneel and wait. Do it!”
Shem’s voice echoed to Keren and Zekaryah. “Kneel and wait; they won’t harm you.”
“We should obey,” Keren told Zekaryah softly, hugging his waist, feeling his tension, his readiness to fight for her. “Perhaps later we’ll have a chance to escape. Until then, we can hear about Shoshannah.”
Zekaryah’s voice lowered dangerously as they knelt together in the chill damp grass. “I knew we shouldn’t have allowed Echuwd to speak to his relatives during their last visit.”
It was the most logical explanation, Keren realized. When his relatives made their last visit to the Tribe of Metiyl, Yelahlah’s husband, Echuwd, must have persuaded them to betray Keren and Zekaryah. Yelahlah, she groaned silently to her niece, what made you love such a man as Echuwd?
Obviously blaming himself, Zekaryah said, “We should have left immediately after they did.”
We would have been in the mountains by now. Farther away from Shoshannah. Thinking of her firstborn, Keren tried to be hopeful. “Perhaps now that they have us, Shoshannah will be freed.”
Zekaryah remained stonily silent, watching the guardsman bind Shem’s hands. All at once, Keren heard her husband growl. “Ferret!”
Ferret Erek? Surprised, she scanned the guardsmen who were now approaching, leading their horses and Father Shem and I’ma-Annah with them. One of the guardsmen was indeed the ferretlike Erek, who had spied on her household during her years in the Great City. She also recognized two others: the arrogant Becay and Abdiy, who had always detested Zekaryah.
She held her husband fervently and kissed his neck, whispering, “I love you! Don’t let them provoke you to fight—we need you alive.”
“Move away from him!” Becay snarled at Keren, still gripping I’ma-Annah’s arm. To Zekaryah, he said, “Lift your hands and don’t move; it’s nothing to us if you die.”
Protected by the threatening Abdiy, Erek gleefully searched Zekaryah and tossed his weapons a safe distance away, then bound Zekaryah’s hands behind his back. Keren noticed that Erek didn’t dare to speak to Zekaryah directly.
After all these years, you’re still a sneaking little scoundrel, Erek, she thought, repulsed.
He noticed her and said, “The ‘death order’ no longer applies to you, Lady, so don’t you threaten me now.”
Everything and everyone threatens you, she reminded him in her thoughts. You were never a true guardsman but always a
spy.
Swaggering up to her, he sneered. “Do you have any weapons?”
Keren swiftly unlaced the knife pouch from her belt and tossed it at his feet. “I have that, but nothing else. My bow and arrows are on my horse.”
“As you say. Put your hands behind your back.” Erek tied Keren’s wrists together with cordage, then made her sit as he unlaced her boots and checked them. Keren submitted to his search quietly, aware of Zekaryah, who was smoldering, watching Erek’s every move, no doubt longing to kill him.
“Will you tie my hands too, children?” I’ma-Annah demanded, frowning at the way Erek was treating Keren.
Becay shook his head. “As I said, Ma’adannah, we have no quarrel with you.”
“And as I said, Becay-child, you do have a quarrel with me.”
“Still, you are to be treated as our honored guest, unless you give us some reason to change our minds.”
“Beloved,” Shem urged I’ma-Annah tenderly, “don’t give them a reason, please. I’m sure I speak for everyone when I say that we’d rather not see you bound.”
Clearly frustrated, Annah gave her husband a reluctant nod. To Becay, she said, “Please, it’s obvious my Keren-child has no more weapons. May I help tie her boots?”
Becay released Annah, seeming satisfied now that Keren, Zekaryah, and Shem were all bound.
Annah gave Erek a vicious look and shoved the filled water skin into his hands. “Now, you, back away and don’t touch her again.” He obeyed.
Keren almost laughed at Annah’s boldness. “I’ma-Annah, now I see where my Shoshannah gets her willful nature—I’ve always blamed myself.”
“I’ll gladly take the blame for her. And for you.” Annah relaced Keren’s boots. “Come, child. Let me help you to your feet. This is going to be a dreadful journey.” Still fierce, she whispered to Keren, “I have my knife and my sewing blades; don’t give up hope yet!”
“You amaze me.”
That night, Shem stared at Annah, incredulous. “What? You still have your knife?”
“And my sewing blades,” Annah murmured into his ear. She rubbed his neck, back, and bound arms, which were aching. “Those overgrown children were afraid to search me. Do I dare cut you free?”
“Let’s wait and watch for a few days. We have to be sure we can also free Zekaryah and Keren; they are in more danger than we are.”
They looked across the searing, hissing flames of the hearth toward Zekaryah, who was also bound, and Keren, who was temporarily freed. Keren was coaxing her husband to drink some water; Zekaryah was grim, staring hard into the fire.
Shem continued, whispering, “Let’s consider the plans of the Most High.”
Less than a month before their High Day of Shemesh, Shoshannah thought, sickened. Kneeling beside Demamah, she watched as Ra-Anan, Lord Kuwsh, and the priests sat nearby in the sunlight on the tower’s terrace, discussing their final plans for the celebrations. Adoniyram sat with them, unattended by Kaleb—to Shoshannah’s regret. She would have loved to see Kaleb instead of just listening as these proud men discussed water supplies, foods, the new cylindrical merchant seals, and the buildings and open spaces that were being cleared for the city’s expected guests.
“My four youngest sons have agreed to visit,” Lord Kuwsh was saying, as if he had granted a favor to the Great City. “As will the sons of my brothers.”
“All of the tribes will be repres
ented,” Ra-Anan said pointedly. “Sons of Khawm, sons of Yepheth, and sons of Shem.”
All the rebellious ones who want to honor the death of that mighty hunter Nimr-Rada, Shoshannah thought.
“Which sons of Shem?” Lord Kuwsh demanded, looking as if he smelled something rotten.
“Elam and Aram. Perhaps Lud and even Arpakshad.”
Kuwsh sneered. “Yes, let them come and bow to the memory of my son, who was butchered by their father!”
“Not all of them agreed with their Father Shem’s decision,” Ra-Anan said. “They will bring gifts.”
“Gifts for the temple will be appreciated,” the priest Rab-Mawg interposed smoothly, smiling. Shoshannah couldn’t remember the last time he had looked so clear-eyed and well rested this early in the morning. But his Master Ra-Anan and Lord Kuwsh didn’t seem to notice or appreciate the difference. They stared at him, offended.
But Adoniyram stared at Shoshannah, his gaze so concentrated, so compelling that she longed to hide.
Lord Kuwsh stood without acknowledging Rab-Mawg. “Now that we’ve discussed everything of importance, Ra-Anan, I must go; I’ll speak with you later.”
He inclined his head proudly to Ra-Anan. And he gave Shoshannah such a mistrustful glance that she bowed her head politely and didn’t look up again until he had departed with his servants.
The instant Kuwsh was gone, Ra-Anan berated Rab-Mawg. “Your foolishness and lack of discretion is becoming indefensible! One more such lapse, Rab-Mawg, and I will strip you of that leopard-skin mantle and give your place to someone else! Be content with the ordinary offerings of the people.”
Rab-Mawg lowered his head and didn’t reply, but he was tensed, livid.
Turning sharply, Ra-Anan snapped, “Demamah! Shoshannah! We’re leaving. Rab-Mawg—and all of you—remember what I’ve said.” His pristine linen robes flaring, his fine sandals slapping hard on the bricks, Ra-Anan stomped toward the tower steps, followed by his guardsmen.
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