Crown in the Stars

by Kacy Barnett-Gramckow

  Worse, Keren had obviously recognized Qaydawr’s beautiful features in Adoniyram’s face. Beloved Qaydawr. Sharah had adored him more than any other man. How terrible it was that he had needed to die. Now, years later, she could see Ra-Anan’s wisdom in having him killed. On occasion, she was sure that Adoniyram—and perhaps Kuwsh and others—suspected that the supposedly great Nimr-Rada was not Adoniyram’s father. Fortunately her people still trusted and loved her more than they had ever loved Nimr-Rada, though they exalted him to the heavens. She didn’t regret his death at all.

  Nor will I regret your deaths, Sharah thought of Keren and the others. How can you ragged idiot farmers be my own family? They were an embarrassment.

  She poured herself another drink. And another.

  “Come in, come in! Quickly!” Meherah, the diminutive wife of the potter Yabal, pulled Annah and Shem into her modest clay-brick home, her dark eyes shining with delight. She embraced Annah and kissed her cheek. “Are you truly the First Mother Ma’adannah? And Father Shem? Oh, but you are just as the Lady Keren described you; we’re honored! Have you come to take our Shoshannah-child from Ra-Anan’s household? May the Most High bless you!”

  Annah loved Meherah instantly. And Meherah’s thin, work-toughened husband, Yabal, was also kind, though more reserved, as were their three unmarried children—a son and two daughters. Their family seemed prosperous though unpretentious, wearing simple woolen tunics and sturdy sandals.

  “Sit and rest,” Yabal urged. “Let us bring you a bit of food.”

  He hustled off, waving to his son and daughters for help. They followed him eagerly, almost dancing with excitement at having unexpected company.

  Meherah, chattering happily, presented Annah and Shem with water and coarse cloths to scrub their faces, hands, and feet. “We’d invite you to sit on the roof where it’s cooler, but a passerby might wonder who our guests are. People gossip so much in this Great City. And our home would be suspected as the first place you might take refuge in—we’ll hide you elsewhere tonight with those who love you as we do. We’ve prayed you would come here if you had to come. Our son will guard you as you sleep. Oh, but first you must rest and eat.”

  Satisfied that they were comfortable, Meherah took away the used water and cloths, then presented them with tart, refreshing fruit juice, sweet sticky dates, and bread softened with oil.

  Annah could smell meat searing, mingling with garlic and spices. Soon she realized that a bit of food to Yabal was apparently everything in their storeroom: rich olives, more dates, fresh white curds, beans, and choice, tender pieces of lamb.

  As they ate, Annah and Shem told their story. Hearing that Keren and their adopted son, Zekaryah, had been captured by Sharah, Meherah burst into tears, praying softly, “Most High, save them!”

  Yabal nodded, consoling his wife, trying to reason through the situation aloud. “Surely they aren’t in immediate danger… Our friends will listen for talk tomorrow in the marketplace. If there’s a way to save them, we will find it.”

  There was no need for Shem and Annah to ask for information about Shoshannah. Yabal, Meherah, and their children told them everything they knew of her troubles. From the beating Shoshannah received on the day of her arrival, and her tragically disrupted escape attempt, to the danger she had been in on the night of the women’s festival, and her enforced visits to the Temple of Shemesh atop the tower.

  Yabal’s lean bearded face hardened when he spoke of that. He loathed the temple.

  Meherah shivered dramatically. “How we’ve been praying for our Shoshannah-child! As has the wife of our Lord Kuwsh, his Achlai, who loves the Most High. She protected Shoshannah’s clothes and sewed weapons into the child’s garments after her arrival, hoping Shoshannah could use them to escape. But you know how sadly that ended. Oh, but we mourned for her.”

  Full of good food and lulled by the sultry night, Annah felt her tired limbs relaxing. She tried to stay alert, but Meherah noticed her fatigue. Patting Yabal’s hand to get his attention, she nodded toward Annah and Shem. “Beloved, they are so tired; we’d be rude to keep them awake. Let our son take them away to rest.”

  “Ezriy.” Yabal beckoned his son, fond but firm. “Guard our guests with your life, more than if they were your parents.”

  The young man nodded solemnly, looking at Annah and Shem with big brown eyes. His parents kissed him, and he gathered his weapons: a knife and a leather sling with a small bag of stones.

  Meherah wept as she hugged Annah. “Be safe, be well! Let us see you again.”

  Annah hugged her hostess and thanked her fervently, realizing that Meherah and her husband had sacrificed much for them tonight. Now they were offering their cherished youngest son, endangering his life as well as their own.

  As they walked through a night-shadowed field, their feet rustling through the coarse straw, the young Ezriy confessed worriedly, “Every day I regret my panic in the marketplace when Shoshannah was taken. But I was so sure she was the Lady Keren—their resemblance is so close I was shocked. I beg your forgiveness, and hers.”

  “You have no need,” Shem answered, his quiet voice reassuring in the darkness. “Shoshannah does look like her mother.”

  Sounding more at ease now, Ezriy confided, “I will always remember the Lady Keren bringing my brother Lawkham’s body to us the day he died. She was as overwhelmed with grief as any of my sisters. My parents never once blamed her for his death; they turned to the Most High instead. They hate what my brother’s death has become to the people of this city.”

  His young voice rising in exasperation, he continued, “Those women who place offerings in the river, then feast and dance in the streets, they don’t remember our Lawkham as he was in life. I grow angry thinking about it. My parents tell me to forgive those who have forgotten Lawkham. The Most High knows the truth.”

  “Your parents are wise, Ezriy-child,” Annah said gently, trying to keep up her pace.

  “They are wise,” Ezriy agreed, wonderfully matter-of-fact. Calmer now, he said, “I’m taking you to the merchant Tso’bebaw’s home. He and his wife, Peletah, will be glad to see you. And perhaps they can plan a way to save our Zekaryah and Keren.”

  Annah followed Shem and the young man to a walled clay-brick house with a high roof. A lamp glowed from inside through a leather-shaded window.

  “They’re still awake,” Ezriy said, pleased. Marching through the gate, he rapped on the door, calling, “Father Tso’bebaw? I’ma-Peletah… are you there?”

  “Ezriy?” A man answered the door, blinking, his shoulders set in a deep slouch. “Is something wrong? What are you doing out so late, my son? You’ll be tired and good for nothing tomorrow.”

  “I’ll work as always tomorrow,” the young man promised readily. “But look, I’ve brought guests to you. This is the First Father Shem and his Ma’adannah.”

  Annah feared the merchant would choke with shock. After sputtering and stammering incoherently, he motioned Shem, Annah, and Ezriy inside. There, on a low table, an oil lamp flickered beside a collection of carving tools and a flat disk of ivory. Nearby, a sturdy woman bounded to her feet, dropping a tunic she was mending—her mouth sagging open. “Is it true?”

  “I’ma-Peletah,” Ezriy begged, before Peletah released the shriek Annah was sure would emerge from her lips, “this must be secret. Our guests are in danger. I’ll tell you everything. But my parents humbly ask a place for them to sleep tonight. Your roof is higher than ours, and I’ll guard them.”

  “Yes, yes, certainly! Show them up the ladder at once!” Peletah rushed here and there, thrusting mats and fleeces into her husband’s arms so he could carry them up to the roof. “I’ll bring you some water and food and drinks—you must be exhausted after your journey. It shouldn’t rain tonight, and our roof is high enough that you won’t be seen easily.”

  Despite herself Annah drooped throughout the obligatory visit that followed—she was still full from her meal with Yabal and Meherah. But she ate aga
in: bread, fruit, cold spiced meat, honey cakes, barley water, and fish charred over a brazier set on the roof. The young man, Ezriy, knew the merchant and his wife so well that he was soon able to maneuver them down the ladder again without offense, cheerfully begging them—as they loved the Most High—to guard the door below. As the merchant Tso’bebaw prepared to descend the ladder, he reassured Shem and Annah firmly. “Tomorrow we will try to find some way to help your loved ones. You can hide yourselves in my booth, if you wish.”

  “Thank you,” Annah sighed. The stooped merchant beamed at her, then descended into his house again. Ezriy settled down in the farthest corner of the roof to keep watch, and Annah and Shem crawled onto the soft, freshly made pallets to rest. Annah barely had time to look up at the stars and thank the Most High for providing this place of refuge. One breath later, she was asleep.

  Shoshannah stepped out into the courtyard, dreading this dawn. She prayed Rab-Mawg wouldn’t insist that she learn prayers to recite to their nonexistent god Shemesh. I can’t “pretend” to forget them as Demamah suggested; Rab-Mawg won’t believe me.

  He would probably throw her down the temple steps.

  Uneasily she watched her Uncle Ra-Anan, wondering if she dared to plead with him to end these lessons. Ra-Anan was belligerent, speaking to some overseers who worked in the fields around the tower.

  “You will clear all the canals surrounding the city. If you have to use your own bare hands, then do it! After our celebrations of Shemesh, I will inspect every canal. And I assure you that I know who is in charge of each one. When the rains return next year, we must be prepared.” Eyeing the sullen men grimly, Ra-Anan said, “You know full well that if we have any trouble with flooding in our city, it will be because of your negligence!”

  Some of the overseers lowered their eyes, but most of the men looked as if they wanted to argue. Ra-Anan sent them off with a wave of his hand, disturbingly reminiscent of their Queen-of-the-Heavens Sharah.

  I won’t ask for mercy today, Shoshannah decided. There will be none. Most High, please be with me. And with Kaleb and Tiyrac.

  She didn’t see Tiyrac anywhere in the courtyard, but his absence wasn’t surprising; Demamah was staying home today to help Tabbakhaw cook for their guests. Therefore, Tiyrac was probably shoveling manure this morning. She envied him.

  Followed by Kaleb, Adoniyram entered his mother’s residence, looking around. Perhaps she was still asleep; it was early yet. “Wander around,” he muttered to Kaleb. “If you see any rooms closed up and guarded, come tell me at once. I’m going to speak with my mother.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Kaleb bowed obediently. But he gave Adoniyram a curious, searching look.

  Adoniyram thought about telling his guardsman exactly what he was spying for but decided to not waste words. Kal would know the truth soon enough. Bracing himself for a tirade, Adoniyram strode down the dim corridor to his mother’s private rooms and rapped on the wooden door.

  “Come in,” his mother’s voice beckoned, stiff, preoccupied.

  “It’s only me.” He stepped inside and bowed, surprised to find her awake. Her private rooms were even more overdone and cluttered than the feather-and linen-decked main room. He detested the stifling fussiness of it all. “I thought I should spare you the trouble of sending for me.”

  “Yes, you were right,” his mother agreed coolly. She was seated, fully robed, adorned, and painted, with a maidservant combing her hair. But her eyes were tired, and she grimaced as if her head ached. “The next time I give you a command, Adoniyram, don’t decide that you know better than I do. You were not welcome last night.”

  Although her command last night hadn’t actually forbidden him to visit her, which meant that he hadn’t acted inappropriately, Adoniyram knelt, pretending the utter misery she usually expected. “Please forgive me, but—”

  “Don’t question me about anything you saw last night; do you understand?”

  “I won’t,” he agreed, infuriated.

  “What are you doing today?” she asked—not as an interested mother, Adoniyram realized, but as one who would change his plans for him.

  He shrugged. “I’ll probably go hunting with my Master-Uncle, when he’s finished receiving gifts at the tower—and when she is finished with her lessons.”

  “Lessons,” Sharah scoffed. “Surely those priests know they’ve failed to teach her manners by now.”

  Pretending surprise, Adoniyram said, “But they aren’t teaching her manners. They are teaching her to take her mother’s place; she will receive gifts from the people for Shemesh.”

  High pink color flooded Sharah’s face. “I forbade them to give her any power!”

  “Rab-Mawg insists that she is bound by her mother’s oaths,” Adoniyram said, using his most apologetic tone. As he expected, it didn’t help.

  His mother stood, furious, shoving her maidservant out of the way. “Where are my sandals? Send for my horse! I am going to deal with this now!”

  “Mother, it may be too—”

  “Get my horse! Now, before I disown you!”

  He bowed and left, sweating. Kaleb was waiting for him in the doorway of the main room, looking as serious as Adoniyram had ever seen him. The tall guardsman bowed and whispered, “You were right, my lord. There is a doorway, closed and guarded, near the kitchen.”

  “Did the guardsmen notice you?”

  “No, my lord, they were both leaning against the wall, dozing as if they’ve been standing there all night.”

  Elated, Adoniyram looked around furtively before hissing, “Listen! Go to those guards and tell them you’re there to take their places. Big as you are, they’ll believe you. Tell them to eat and get some sleep immediately. As soon as my mother and I are gone—but not before—you bind any prisoners in that guarded room and take them to my residence. Bar them in one of my storerooms. If anyone stops you, resist them. Say that you were commanded to do this. Don’t lose them for me! Hurry.”

  As Kaleb marched off to do his bidding, Adoniyram darted outside to call for someone to bring mother’s horse. He had to get her out of here quickly.

  Exhausted after his journey but determined to profit by his knowledge, the guardsman-spy Erek bowed to Lord Kuwsh within the quiet main room of Kuwsh’s huge brick-and-timber home. Kneeling beside Kuwsh, the Lady Achlai watched Erek steadily; the guardsman felt her mistrust.

  Lord Kuwsh had just finished his early meal and impatiently motioned for Erek to speak. The guardsman knew better than to waste words.

  “We captured the First Father Shem and his Ma’adannah, as well as the Lady Keren and her husband. The First Father Shem and his wife are somewhere in the Great City—the Lady Sharah sent them away with nothing last night. But the Lady Keren and her husband are being guarded inside our Queen of the Heaven’s own residence.”

  Kuwsh stood, snatching up a linen mantle, his dark eyes bright and hard as he waved off his wife’s anguished protests. “We will find that Shem. And I’ll go to the Lady Sharah and demand her traitor-sister’s life! You’ve earned a new horse for this, Erek.”

  Erek bowed, pleased. It was more than he had dared to hope for.

  When Kaleb knew that Adoniyram and the Lady Sharah were gone, thankfully with half of her household in attendance, Kaleb tapped lightly on the door, lifted the bar, and called inside, “Come this way; stand where I can see you.”

  There was a shifting, rustling sound inside the dark room, then a slow, careful rasping sound, like a heavy clay jar being lifted from a stone. A shadowy human form moved into the thin ray of light shed by the open door. From behind the person, a second form whispered, “Kal!”

  I’ma-Keren! And Zekaryah! Kaleb wanted to shout and hug them and whoop like a boy freed from chores. He restrained himself. But he couldn’t help grinning like an idiot. “Forgive me; I have to tie you both—I’ll be sure you’re safe.” He noticed Zekaryah setting down a large clay jar. “What were you doing with that?”

  “I was planning to knock you
senseless,” Zekaryah muttered, turning around and putting his wrists behind his back. “Keep the knots loose.”

  Kaleb obeyed swiftly, eager to get them away from this place. He would take them through the back gates of both residences, which led to the stables, away from the streets. There would be few, if any, people there. Most of the guards would be gone with Adoniyram and the Lady Sharah. Those who remained were either eating or not fully awake yet, for it was still early in the morning—a blessing. Guard us, Most High!

  In the secluded room behind the temple, Shoshannah shuddered, looking down at the gold ceremonial ornaments. Kneeling beside Shoshannah, Ormah whispered, “Just behave and put them on! It won’t kill you!”

  It just might. Slowly Shoshannah donned the two symbol-incised gold rings, the matching gold cuffs, flat gold throat collar, and the narrow gold band for her head.

  Studying Shoshannah, Rab-Mawg frowned as if she were an unacceptable decoration. He was in a foul mood this morning—rough shaven, his dark eyes fiery, glittering. The other three priests moved forward now, staring.

  “She looks like her mother,” Ebed said quietly, as Ghez-ar nodded.

  “But without the weapons,” Awkawn sniffed.

  Rab-Mawg whirled around, facing them. “You have other duties. Go get water, all of you. Be sure our robes are clean and start scrubbing the temple for the ceremonies. Awkawn, be sure the wine is set where it will remain cool. Ghez-ar, check the plants on the terrace; run some water from the cisterns down to the trees and shrubs before the day becomes too hot.”

  The attendant-priests scattered like wrongdoers who’d been caught. Rab-Mawg frowned at Shoshannah again. “You will wear these ornaments whenever you come to the temple. We’ll have sandals made for you later, depending upon our Master Ra-Anan’s generosity.” He sounded bitter while speaking of Ra-Anan.