Crown in the Stars

by Kacy Barnett-Gramckow

  Shoshannah stood with Demamah and bowed to Adoniyram and to the offended priests, frightened, not daring to look at them. As she fled with her cousin, she heard Rab-Mawg snarl to Adoniyram, “So he gets the gold, and we get dirty peas and barley!”

  My next few lessons are going to be horrible, Shoshannah thought, despairing. Rab-Mawg and the others will be furious for weeks.

  By the time she reached the tower courtyard, Ra-Anan was already mounted on the restless, perfectly groomed Khiysh—with Kaleb standing nearby, obviously pained, watching his cherished horse. Ra-Anan treated Khiysh with such flaunting arrogance and contempt that Shoshannah feared Kaleb would soon protest and be punished.

  Kaleb saw Shoshannah now. A flicker of hurt and helplessness crossed his face, and he deliberately turned away as if he couldn’t bear to watch her leave.

  Shoshannah wept quietly as they rode away from the tower and over the bridge above the sparkling canal.

  “Why are you upset?” Demamah begged in a whisper. “Was it that awful Rab-Mawg?”

  “I don’t want to face him anymore,” Shoshannah said, snatching at Rab-Mawg’s behavior as an excuse for her tears—he was partly to blame. She dabbed at her eyes, trying to compose herself before Ra-Anan or Perek noticed. “I don’t want to face anyone—I’m tired of it all! I just want my family.”

  She was aware of someone riding close behind them now, a dark horse, tossing its head, full of high spirits. Tiyrac was there, riding his brazen Nashak. Unable to help herself, she stole a look at him, trying to comfort herself with the sight of a familiar face. He studied her, big, worried, and dear. If Kaleb couldn’t be here, then at least she had a dependable ally in his brother.

  Shoshannah straightened, reassuring Demamah, “I’m fine; just homesick.”

  “I’m sorry. I wish I could know what it’s like to be homesick.”

  “You don’t wish to be me.”

  “I wouldn’t be as rude as you, but—”

  Before Shoshannah could take refuge in a heartening quarrel with her cousin, a woman’s voice called out, “Lady!”

  Shoshannah glanced to her right and saw a matron swathed in a flowing blue gown and red beads; she offered her infant to Shoshannah with a pleading smile. Remembering Ra-Anan’s lectures, Shoshannah halted her horse, flashed the eager mother a warm grin, and quickly turned to Tiyrac, saying, “Please, we need you to bring this child to Demamah—I’m not supposed to hold it myself.”

  Tiyrac obligingly asked another guardsman to hold Nashak, then dismounted and hurried over to the woman, bowing to her politely before carrying the infant to Demamah. Shoshannah had to nudge her cousin hard; Demamah seemed overcome. Whether it was from the thought of holding a baby or the prospect of facing Tiyrac, Shoshannah couldn’t decide. But it was clear that Demamah had never held a baby before; she was wringing her hands, seeming afraid to touch the infant.

  Having been raised in the rambunctious, child-fond Tribe of Ashkenaz, Tiyrac looked as surprised as Shoshannah felt. “One hand beneath its rump, the other beneath its head, Lady,” he instructed Demamah firmly, not releasing the infant until Demamah obeyed.

  “Oh!” Demamah breathed, clearly thrilled. “Are all babies so light?”

  Shoshannah laughed at her, and they admired the black-haired, adorably plump baby. But Tiyrac looked uncomfortable until he was allowed to return the infant safely to its mother.

  As Tiyrac turned toward Shoshannah again, she lowered her head. Using her unruly hair to shield her face from Demamah, she murmured, “Listen: I have less than a year to escape—it’s serious.”

  Tiyrac nodded politely, as if she had thanked him. Shoshannah wondered if he had truly heard.

  I should not continue to think of a city girl who doesn’t even know how to hold a baby, not to mention that she’s the daughter of Ra-Anan, Tiyrac decided, still recovering from his shock at Demamah’s ignorance. He was also aggravated at the way Ra-Anan was persistently goading the unhappy horse, Khiysh, with a flail. He hoped both Khiysh and his master would recover from this ordeal. Now, however, he had to warn Kal that Shoshannah needed to escape within the next year. Though his sister-in-law was often fond of pranks, Tiyrac believed her now.

  I am more than ready to leave this place; Kal is too.

  He wondered if he should tell Shoshannah that she and Kaleb were married. Tiyrac recoiled inwardly, afraid of shocking or offending her; best to leave that to Kaleb.

  “Kaleb.”

  Kal turned, watching as Adoniyram left the tower steps, his boots crunching across the gritty, unswept paving bricks in the tower’s courtyard. I’m in no mood to deal with you, Little Lord, Kaleb thought, almost growling. He was too upset over being separated from Shoshannah and Khiysh. But he managed to bow and wait for orders.

  To Kal’s surprise, Adoniyram removed a corded gold pendant from beneath his tunic. “Here. Please take this up to those priests for me. Be courteous and tell them that I’m offering it as a gift. It’s all I can think of to appease them for now—but don’t tell them I said that.”

  Kaleb bowed and hurried up the tower steps. He hadn’t known that Adoniyram possessed any gold at all—he didn’t live as richly as Sharah, Kuwsh, and Ra-Anan. Did the Young Lord have more gold hidden somewhere else? Not that I covet it, Kal thought emphatically. I only want what’s mine—my wife and my horse. Then I’ll leave this place and never return.

  Halfway up the endless stairs, he realized he was about to speak to those disgusting priests. He would rather beat them for frightening Shoshannah. But he had to control himself, for Shoshannah’s sake.

  He strode briskly into the temple, bowed to the startled priests in polite greeting, then handed Adoniyram’s gold pendant to the leopard-skin-and linen-draped head priest. “Forgive me for intruding, but my master, Adoniyram, offers this as a gift.”

  The thin bald priest stared at him intently. “You’re that new guardsman.”

  “Yes.” Kaleb bowed and made himself smile. He had no intention of talking to these strange, scrawny men—they’d learn that he despised their false Shemesh, and that would be dangerous. “Again, forgive me; my master is waiting.”

  He couldn’t leave the temple fast enough. The place was cold, lifeless, and eerie; he hated it. And they had Shoshannah visiting here constantly. He had to get her away.

  Twenty-Four

  KEREN TRUDGED ALONG beside her husband, exhausted, hungry, aching, and nauseated. She wished she could sit down, or at least ride her horse, but Becay and the others had decided that she and Zekaryah were less of a threat if they traveled on foot. Shem and Annah were also walking, but ahead of them for now.

  Like Zekaryah’s, Shem’s arms were bound for most of their days and for all of their nights. Only the men’s leather wrist guards prevented their bonds from chafing bloody sores into their skin.

  Keren hated to see them subjugated this way. Blaming herself, she swiped tears from her cheeks.

  Abruptly, Zekaryah said, “Look at me.”

  She looked up at him miserably, knowing he would guess what else was upsetting her. She’d been trying to count the days… the weeks…

  “You’re with child.” “I hope not.”

  “You have those shadows beneath your eyes.”

  She couldn’t speak. Particularly not to argue. If she had those unusually dark shadows beneath her eyes, which had marked all her pregnancies, along with her other achingly familiar and usually welcomed symptoms, then he was probably right.

  “Let us live to see this one.” His prayer was almost inaudible.

  Keren echoed her husband silently, grieving for this infant, which could be lost. She longed desperately to see this child, to embrace it—to hold all her cherished babies… Shoshannah, Adah, Qetuwrah, Ahyit, Sithry, Rinnah. She forced herself to continue walking.

  Overcome with a severe bout of sickness, Keren knelt shakily in the damp grass. She had to rest. I was never this sick with the others. Is fear making me weak?

  She was afraid�
��death seemed so near. She would be killed when she reached the Great City. And if she died, then this child would die with her. She hadn’t told anyone else of her pregnancy yet. She and Zekaryah had been quietly agonizing over the prospect for days, wondering if it would be wise to tell their captors or not. But I’ma-Annah would certainly guess soon, if she hadn’t already. Keren tried to calm herself and to will the nausea away.

  Still bound, Zekaryah knelt beside her, his deep brown eyes worried; he looked as if he longed to hold her. Keren clasped his shoulder weakly, praying the nausea would pass.

  But Erek rushed over to them, furious, prodding them with the butt of a spear. “Get up! What do you think you’re doing?”

  Clinging to her husband for support, while trying to defend him, Keren protested, “I’m sick.” The effort of speaking was too much. She heaved in front of the startled guardsman, barely missing his boots.

  Erek jumped back, revolted. The others laughed at him, while shaking their heads at her. I’ma-Annah hurried over to Keren, though Becay grabbed Shem.

  “You’re delaying us!” Becay cried to Keren. “We were ordered to return quickly.”

  You can blame me when we get there, Keren thought, too overcome and too embarrassed to talk. My sister and the others will believe anything dreadful you might say about me.

  “Keren-child.” I’ma-Annah was untying a water skin, pouring some of the warm liquid into a scrap of fleece, then mopping Keren’s face as if she were a child. She peered at Keren, a delicate crease in her forehead. “Do you think you’ll recover soon, or will this… be a while?”

  Keren drooped, relieved. I’ma-Annah also seemed reluctant to share this information with their captor-guardsmen. “This will be a while.” I hope I have a while.

  They looked at each other for a long instant. I’ma-Annah nodded and held Keren comfortingly.

  The unsociable guardsman Abdiy approached, staring down at them. “She has to get up; we don’t have time for this.”

  “Abdiy-child,” I’ma-Annah said gently, disapproving, “she’s ill. If you are commanded to bring her alive to your Great City, then shouldn’t you allow her to rest along the way?”

  Abdiy stalked off to consult with the others. After a long, muted debate, full of irritated hand waving and head shaking, they reluctantly allowed Keren to rest. She dropped into the grass beside her husband and shut her eyes gratefully, exhausted.

  Whoever wanted her brought to the Great City, be it Sharah, Kuwsh, or Ra-Anan, they evidently wanted her alive. But they would have to wait.

  Shoshannah swiftly raked a flint blade across the gleaming sides of a fish, sending shimmering, light-catching scales flying into a heap at her knees in Demamah’s courtyard. She sliced the fish’s belly lengthwise, scraped the slippery innards onto a swatch of leather, rinsed the fish in a tub of cold water, and tossed it into a nearby basket. Then she quickly snatched up another.

  Plucking birds nearby, Demamah sighed, shaking her head at the mess. “Look at all the cleaning we’ll have to do. At least we’re not trapped inside with Tabbakhaw.”

  “Are you finished with those yet?” Ormah scurried into the courtyard, flushed and harassed. “Tabbakhaw wants the birds first, then the fish as soon as possible. We’ve got the lamb roasting and the wine cooling in the jars. Why did those people arrive so early? As if we don’t have enough to do.”

  Those people. Shoshannah frowned to herself, scraping the fish hard with her blade. Shem’s eldest son, Father Elam, was here a week earlier than they’d expected. And he had brought his wife and his youngest brother, Father Aram, who was Shoshannah’s own great-grandfather. A boisterous, food-loving man, Aram had ignored everyone, talking instead with Ra-Anan of trade in the Great City.

  I’ma-Annah didn’t teach you to be so rude, Father Aram, Shoshannah thought. You’ve become that way yourself. You’ve also betrayed the Ancient Ones and the Most High by attending this ceremony honoring that Nimr-Rada and his Shemesh. Your dear parents would be so hurt to see you …

  “Here.” Demamah offered Ormah a basket of plucked birds. “That ought to be enough for the evening meal. Does Tabbakhaw really want more?”

  “Will you argue with her?” the maidservant demanded huffily. “I won’t. When you’ve finished the rest of those birds and the fish, you’ll have to bring them to the kitchen. Hurry.” Even as she spoke, Ormah rushed back into the house.

  Demamah stared after her, perturbed. “She’s being very bossy. If Mother hears her talking in such a way…”

  “I agree—though I’m not one who should talk about manners.” Shoshannah sighed, gutting and rinsing another fish. “At least I don’t have lessons today; soon Rab-Mawg will try to teach me prayers to honor their Shemesh; then he’ll try to kill me.”

  “Please, don’t talk that way.” Demamah shoved a fistful of dark feathers into a nearby basket. “Just obey him, Shoshannah, I beg you.”

  Shoshannah tossed the cleaned fish into her basket and reached for the next one. “How do I pray to a heartless object, Demamah? I can’t. Also, he expects me to wear ‘ceremonial’ apparel and ornaments from some of the tradesmen.”

  “Just wear the garments and gold,” Demamah advised. “And act forgetful. That should gain you some time.”

  “He probably won’t believe me if I pretend to forget.

  What could I do then?”

  “I don’t know.” Demamah didn’t look at her. “Is your

  Most High worth all this, Shoshannah? Is He worth your life?”

  “Without Him I wouldn’t be alive anyway,” Shoshannah said, trying to draw comfort from this thought. “None of us would, Demamah.” She sent rainbow flecks of scales flying off the fish with her blade. “I wish you could feel the presence of the Most High as I sense Him sometimes. He’s there, waiting…”

  Demamah shuddered, straightening as if she’d been dashed with cold water. “Oh, I wish you weren’t so stubborn! And complicated.”

  Shoshannah shook her head, slicing open the fish. “I’m not complicated. It’s all become very simple for me here in your Great City: Do I love the Most High, yes or no? And my answer has to be yes. I can’t live with no.”

  “You won’t live with yes either!” Demamah argued, flashing her an angry look. Then her expression softened into a plea. “Can’t you just do what they want and keep your devotions to yourself?”

  Cleaning and rinsing the fish, Shoshannah pondered her answer. “That would be like someone telling my mother, or any other loving wife, ‘Be unfaithful to your beloved husband and keep your love for him a secret.’ She couldn’t do such a thing, and I wouldn’t either. Could you?”

  Demamah thrust another fistful of feathers into the basket, her sweet face troubled. They continued their work in silence.

  “We cannot escape unless we abandon our Keren,” Shem murmured to Annah as they settled down together for the night—beneath an open sky so the guardsmen could watch them. “And they’re guarding us too closely; even if Keren weren’t ill, we could easily be caught.”

  Annah listened, knowing her husband was correct. She tucked a woolen coverlet around Shem carefully—he was tied again for the night. Then she settled beside him, kissing his lips, whispering, “You’re right. But we should still watch for some way to hide. Surely someone will shelter us—unless we are completely without friends in that Great City.”

  “Perhaps.” Shem sounded doubtful. “The Most High alone knows what will happen. I pray His plans include mercy for our rebellious children.”

  Looking up at the far-flung, glistening stars, Annah half pretended a defiance of her own. “You pray for those rebellious ones! I’m praying for Zekaryah and Keren and their new infant. And for Shoshannah, Kaleb, and Tiyrac.”

  Shem chuckled, his breath warm in her hair. “You do that, beloved, as I will. I think I’m praying for you too—you’re becoming so fierce. You sound like my mother—and that’s not terrible; you just sound like her.”

  “I miss her.” Wistful
ly, Annah added, “I miss your father too. I wonder what he would think, if he were here.”

  “He would be praying.”

  Annah hushed now, completely exhausted, staring up at the skies, praying and pondering the intentions of the Most High.

  Shivering in the morning light, Keren emerged from the river. Her leather tunic dripped heavily, and bits of grass clung to her feet as she followed I’ma-Annah up the riverbank toward the small leather tent where they would change their garments.

  Shem and Zekaryah sat nearby, both of them clean but bound, and watched their captor-guardsmen, who waited impatiently. Flinging I’ma-Annah a teasing look, Shem called, “Hurry, or we will leave without you.”

  “No doubt you would!” I’ma-Annah called back.

  Keren managed a smile, which faded swiftly. She didn’t feel like joking; they would be in the Great City tonight. Perhaps she would be dead before dawn. At least she would be relatively clean when she died. My baby, she thought to her unborn child, I wish I could see you and hold you first.

  On the mats inside the tent, Keren wiped her feet, then changed into clean undergarments and a fresh leather tunic. As she sat down to work a comb through her tangled hair, I’ma-Annah gave her an appraising glance.

  “Child, are you better or worse today?”

  “Somewhat better. Not that it matters.”

  “Don’t lose hope.” I’ma-Annah knelt beside her, combing her own hair. “Perhaps someone will speak for us or offer us a place to hide.”

  Not while we’re prisoners. But Keren remained silent, fighting a stubborn tangle.

  I’ma-Annah continued, “I’m grateful they’ve allowed us to bathe.”

  “Sharah or Ra-Anan would insist that we must be clean. Kuwsh wouldn’t; he’d prefer to kill me outright.”

  “And what of my Shem?” Annah asked quietly. “Would Kuwsh prefer to kill him ‘outright’ as you say?”

  “I pray not. But if he is seeking revenge for Nimr-Rada’s death and thinks of our Father Shem with such contempt, then yes… he might have him killed.”