Crown in the Stars

by Kacy Barnett-Gramckow

  He hoped Rab-Mawg and Kuwsh were fighting in the temple, and that Ra-Anan would join them; they could struggle for supremacy among themselves until they killed one another.

  “You’ve ruined yourself,” Kuwsh told Rab-Mawg coldly, pleased by the sight of the body and by the young magician-priest’s disgrace. A breeze wafted through the temple, and Kuwsh inhaled it, feeling refreshed. Victorious. Now he had only to be rid of that useless, scheming Adoniyram. Not to mention Ra-Anan.

  My own sons will help me deal with them, Kuwsh decided. We will take control of this kingdom, as we should have done after Nimr-Rada’s death. And I will deal with the Lady Keren. As soon as I find her.

  He would have to search for Keren himself, since Sharah was no longer able to reveal her sister’s whereabouts. He would order his guardsmen to tear apart Sharah’s residence as soon as he dealt with this fool Rab-Mawg.

  The magician-priest glared at him, looking like a trapped wild animal. And he growled out words—deformed, hacked bits of noise that made no sense.

  Kuwsh laughed at the thin, shaven priest contemptuously. “You’ve lost your mind, haven’t you? And no wonder—after all the brewed herbs and poisons you’ve experimented with. Did you think I wouldn’t hear of your doings? You are a fool.” Glancing at his guards, Kuwsh said, “Kill him.”

  His guards blinked and stared. Impatient, Kuwsh repeated, “Kill him!”

  One of his guards spoke now, his tone and manner respectful, his words guttural and strange. Two of Ra-Anan’s servants gabbled at Kuwsh, agitated, shaking their heads.

  They’ve all gone mad, Kuwsh thought, stunned.

  Ra-Anan charged into the temple now, looking around, arrogant as ever. He eyed Kuwsh and snapped out words that sounded like rattling, whispering nonsense.

  Kuwsh frowned at him. “What is wrong with you?”

  Instantly, Ra-Anan’s dark eyebrows went up quizzically. One of his servants muttered something, Rab-Mawg growled out more gibberish, then everyone began to jabber and yell, gesturing broadly. Ra-Anan stared at them all and fled from the tower as if chased by wild beasts.

  Cold fear chilled and raised the hairs on Kuwsh’s head and down his neck. What have You done to us? he wondered to the heavens—to the Most High, whom he had not deigned to address in years. Horrified, he scurried after Ra-Anan. I have to get home.

  The priest Rab-Mawg stood within his glittering, golden temple, triumphant, watching his enemies flee like the cowards they were. Shemesh had saved him by confounding Kuwsh, Ra-Anan, and their servants. I will live; I’ve escaped punishment.

  But now he had to get rid of this woman’s corpse; it was defiling his temple. Calmer, his heart settling into a more normal rhythm—though his head still ached and pounded thickly—Rab-Mawg looked around for his attendant-priests. Ebed, Ghez-ar, and Awkawn were clustered together uncertainly in the side doorway, watching him.

  Irritated, Rab-Mawg motioned for them to help him remove the body. As they wrapped their defeated Queen of the Heavens in linen and carried her outside to bury her amid the plants, Rab-Mawg said, “She will be more useful to us now that she is dead; she will rule unseen, and we will speak for her!”

  When he realized that his fellow priests were staring at him as if he were insane, or a babbling toddler, Rab-Mawg knew he had not escaped punishment after all. Who could accept his commands if they didn’t understand him? How could he possibly rule this kingdom? This cannot be true. I am ruined. I am mad …

  Trailed by Perek and the weeping Ormah, Ra-Anan rode with Kuwsh through the streets, feeling more vulnerable than he had after that would-be assassin, Dayag, had slashed at him in the darkness.

  The citizens were yowling at each other or weeping and tearing their hair. Others were hastily packing up their belongings to flee. Many screamed at Ra-Anan and Kuwsh, as if condemning them for this chaos.

  A man spat toward him, and a woman gestured expansively, her voice rising in hysterical accusation. Refusing to take the blame for this horror, Ra-Anan lifted his hands toward the sky, pointing emphatically. There. Blame the heavens! Blame Him!

  He found the motion effective and profound enough to stop many people where they stood, reducing them to hopeless misery and tears. But numerous rough laborers and merchants were not so easily subdued; they glared threateningly and joined others who were running south, toward his and Kuwsh’s residences.

  Kuwsh frantically prodded his horse ahead, toward his home.

  Unnerved, Ra-Anan followed Kuwsh’s example.

  Shoshannah frowned, doubtful, as Kaleb opened a door and urged her inside, murmuring, “Whatever you do, beloved, keep quiet. Give these to the others.” He handed her a sheathed knife and a spear. “I’ll get more weapons; then we’ll reclaim our horses.”

  Others? Was Kaleb teasing her? Shoshannah stepped into the dim storeroom and hesitated, whispering as loudly as she dared, “Who’s in here?”

  A woman’s voice answered softly. “Shoshannah?”

  Shoshannah thought her heart would fail from shock. “I’ma!”

  They found each other in the darkness. Shoshannah hastily set aside the spear and held her mother with all her might, crying—particularly when she heard Keren’s stifled sobs and felt her tremble. A hand passed over Shoshannah’s hair, and her father’s voice, profoundly grateful, whispered, “Thank You.”

  Overwhelmed, Shoshannah hugged him and her mother, rejoicing until her father said, “Shhh. What’s Kaleb doing? When he returns, we’ll find the others and leave.”

  Averting their faces, Shem and Annah listened and watched amid the chaos outside the walled gate. “Shoshannah must be inside,” Annah murmured to her husband. “That young man, Adoniyram, rode away from this gate.”

  “And Zekaryah and Keren are probably inside Sharah’s home,” Shem agreed. “I pray we can rejoin them soon.” Around them, people were calling to each other, packing gear, departing… scattering just as their ancient patriarch, Noakh, had predicted.

  As You planned, Annah thought to the Most High, amazed. This is Your will. “Shem, the stranger, the traveler we saw by the river… When we met him, did you feel the Presence of the Most High?”

  “You sensed Him there too?”

  Kuwsh dismounted in his courtyard, stunned. His household was teeming with people he didn’t recognize. Everything was in turmoil. His four youngest sons, their wives, and Achlai were standing in the courtyard. Achlai hugged herself fearfully as their sons and daughters-in-law jabbered to each other, trying to communicate. Sabtekaw, his usually glib youngest son, spied Kuwsh first and rushed toward him, talking frenziedly. His three brothers joined him, anxious, letting citizens and servants loot his household while they tried to argue.

  Achlai approached now, her face grave as always, her dark eyes tear dampened, grieving. “My husband, we have nothing left here now. Perhaps our eldest son will understand what we say…”

  She wept and began to embrace her children as if bidding them farewell.

  Sebaw, Kuwsh thought, dismayed. His second-born son—now the eldest—had always politely detested Nimr-Rada and avoided the Great City, and Kuwsh. How can I possibly turn to Sebaw?

  Ra-Anan heard his wife screaming before he entered the house. Zeva’ah was in the main room, pummeling Demamah, who cowered and wept in a corner, heedless of their dumbfounded guests: Father Elam, Father Aram, and their elegantly robed, raven-braided wives and all the servants. And heedless of the intruders pouring into his house.

  Desperate to bring his wife to reason, Ra-Anan grabbed Zeva’ah, shaking her. “Stop! Our household is being overrun by thieves! What’s wrong with you?”

  “Tell your father what’s wrong!” Zeva’ah screamed, pushing the ashen, sobbing Demamah toward Ra-Anan. “Talk to him.”

  To Ra-Anan’s horror, Demamah fell to her knees, pleading with him in low, tortuously fractured syllables. Ra-Anan shook his head at her, stupefied, “I don’t know what you’re saying. I don’t know…” He had awakened at dawn, full of c
onfidence in his life and his power. Now, at midmorning, he realized he had nothing at all.

  Twenty-Seven

  “HERE!” KALEB LEANED into the small storeroom and handed Keren, Zekaryah, and Shoshannah bows, quivers of arrows, and knives. “Hurry, before we’re caught.”

  Elated at being with her parents and Kaleb again, Shoshannah slung the quiver over her back and tested her bow. It was her own bow, confiscated by Adoniyram; Kaleb had reclaimed it for her. She longed to hug him for his thoughtfulness. Quickly, she snatched an arrow and held it against her bow, ready to use.

  “Go,” her father urged quietly, pulling open the door.

  Shoshannah darted from the storeroom, following Kaleb. Let us be successful, she prayed. Not like last time.

  Her parents followed her, their arrows clattering softly against their bow staves, their boots scuffling as they rushed through another brick-and-bitumen room, obviously a kitchen. A matron-cook in a smudged tunic and two fleece-cloaked guardsmen were chattering at each other, flustered amid piles of vegetables, bread dough, and baskets of eggs and fruit. The cook gaped at Shoshannah and Keren and retreated, fearfully. The guardsmen eyed Kaleb, Zekaryah, and all their weapons, then backed into a wall trying to avoid them.

  Encouraged, her pulse racing, Shoshannah dashed outside after Kaleb, her mother and father at her heels. Warm straw-horse-manure scents greeted them from a sprawling, wide-doored set of buildings, the stables shared by Adoniyram and Sharah’s households.

  “Let’s find our horses and gear,” Zekaryah muttered, looking around inside. To Keren and Shoshannah, he said, “We’re lacking one horse; you’ll have to share.”

  “I’m taking Khiysh when we go after Tiyrac,” Kal said, resolute.

  As Kaleb guarded them, they swiftly readied the horses and gathered what they could find of their travel packs and tents. Then Zekaryah helped Keren onto a light brown horse, handing her the reins and her weapons.

  “Tiyrac will be in the stables behind Ra-Anan’s home; he could bring our other horses,” Shoshannah informed her father as he boosted her onto the horse behind Keren. With a pang of distress, she added, “I wish I could see Demamah before we leave.”

  “My little Demamah…” Shoshannah felt her mother sigh. “Kal told us that you’ve lived with her in Ra-Anan’s household. But we have to find Tiyrac.”

  “Someone’s coming!” Kal backed inside the shadowed doorway. “One of Sharah’s guardsmen. He’s got a horse we can borrow—then we’ll have two for Father Shem and I’ma-Annah.”

  Zekaryah crept up behind Kal and waited. Keren kept the horse still, and Shoshannah lifted her bow, cautious. The instant the guardsman rode into the stable, Kal grabbed the unsuspecting rider’s arm and tunic belt and threw him to the stable floor while Zekaryah caught the horse. As Kal dragged the squawking guardsman to his feet, Shoshannah begged, “Don’t hurt him, Kal.”

  “I won’t.” Kaleb released the scrawny, terrified man.

  Keren stiffened, recognizing him. “Erek.”

  Zekaryah growled. To Shoshannah’s shock, he walloped the frightened guardsman in the stomach, then shoved him face-first into a manure heap and kicked him ferociously in the rump. “You’re blessed I don’t kill you!” Still glowering, Zekaryah leaped onto Erek’s horse as Kaleb mounted another and snatched the spare animal’s bridle.

  The guardsman Erek was retching in the straw as they rode out of the stables.

  “What did that Erek do to make Father so angry?” Shoshannah begged in a whisper.

  “He was a coward and a spy—always,” her mother explained, clearly convinced that Zekaryah was justified in attacking him. As they guided their horses into the crowded, disordered streets, Keren said, “Watch for I’ma-Annah and Father Shem.”

  “I knew I’d heard I’ma-Annah calling me this morning!”

  Even as she spoke, Shoshannah heard Shem yell, “Zekaryah, wait! Here we are.”

  Shoshannah desperately wanted to jump down from the horse and hug I’ma-Annah and Father Shem, but she didn’t dare. People were gathering now, gawking at Keren, yelling gibberish as Shem and I’ma-Annah mounted their own horses. Thankfully, the people seemed unable to talk among themselves coherently enough to plan an attack.

  “What’s happened to them?” Keren wondered aloud, incredulous.

  “This is how Adoniyram sounded to me this morning,” Shoshannah murmured, her earlier distress returning. “I couldn’t understand anything he said—it’s the same with everyone here.” She felt ill, scared.

  “Shoshannah-child,” I’ma-Annah called to her above the din, “are you well?”

  “Yes, but let’s leave, please!” Shoshannah begged, her courage failing.

  “As soon as we find Tiyrac,” her mother promised.

  They rode to Ra-Anan’s residence, with Zekaryah and Keren brandishing their weapons at anyone who blocked their path. As they turned toward the stables, Zekaryah called out, “Keep your weapons ready and stay together. Tiyrac! Where are you? Tiyrac, answer us!”

  They all began to shout themselves hoarse.

  Demamah stood with her family and their guests in the main courtyard, weeping as gangs of furious men invaded her father’s house, destroying whatever they didn’t claim for themselves. If only they could be reasoned with… if only they could be placated. But Father has no way to speak to them, and neither do I.

  The confusion of everyone’s speech was the worst thing of all. Tabbakhaw had chased her from the kitchen, shrieking horribly; then their guests had backed away from her as if she was some bizarre, terrifying creature, and her mother had struck her face, her back, her arms.

  Until her father had returned… angry and babbling as senselessly as everyone else.

  And he had returned without Shoshannah.

  Demamah feared the priests had killed Shoshannah after all. She tried to ask about her cousin, but no one could speak properly and tell her. She didn’t know how she would survive without Shoshannah’s companionship, her humor.

  Have I deserved this? she cried silently, glaring up at the heavens through her tears. Just kill me.

  “Tiyrac!” A man’s voice resounded harshly beyond the walls. “Where are you? Tiyrac, answer us!”

  Other voices joined the man’s, causing Demamah to turn. Shoshannah. She heard Shoshannah’s voice, calling Tiyrac, of all people. And she had understood Shoshannah’s words.

  Demamah bolted from the courtyard, passing her distressed relatives and her angry parents, determined to find her cousin.

  Tiyrac appeared from behind the stables, carrying a bale of hay, looking baffled, then flabbergasted to see them all waiting for him. Shoshannah would have laughed at his expression if the situation weren’t so serious.

  Zekaryah rode forward, calling out, “Are you alone there? Hurry! Get your horse.”

  “And mine!” Kal bellowed as Tiyrac flung down the hay and raced into the stables.

  And mine, Shoshannah thought. Ma’khole. “I’ma, please, I have to get Ma’khole.”

  “We may not have time,” her mother began quietly.

  “Shoshannah!” Demamah’s voice echoed from the corner of the wall nearest the street. Shoshannah turned, surprised. Demamah halted, staring at her, at Keren, at all of them, her gentle face crumpling in despair like a lost child silently begging for help.

  Shifting her bow and arrow in her hands, Shoshannah dismounted hastily, barely hearing her parents’ cries of warning. I have to… The words lingered unfinished, the realization that she had to leave Demamah was too painful to crush into a simple thought. She ran to her cousin and hugged her.

  Demamah clutched her and sobbed, “You’re going? You can’t!”

  “If only…” Shoshannah faltered as Ra-Anan dashed around the corner of the wall, with Zeva’ah, Father Elam, Father Aram, and their two wives following him tentatively. They all stopped, gaping at Shoshannah, Keren, Father Shem, I’ma-Annah, and the others.

  While Ra-Anan smoldered, Zeva’ah cried out hi
ssing, rustling words that were unmistakably accusations. But Father Elam, Father Aram, and their dignified black-haired wives all retreated, watching Father Shem and I’ma-Annah dismount.

  “Why do I find you in this evil city?” Shem asked his sons and their wives, sounding deeply wounded, stung almost to rage.

  “My firstborn… and my youngest,” I’ma-Annah murmured achingly, her big dark eyes betrayed, pleading. “Tell me you haven’t forgotten our Most High.”

  Father Elam protested in a mangled babble. And Father Aram gave his parents an imploring look—his eyes wide and dark as I’ma-Annah’s, while liquid, indecipherable noises poured from his lips.

  “I don’t understand my mother or our guests,” Demamah whispered to Shoshannah. “Do you understand them?”

  “Not at all. I think we’ve lost our minds.”

  Father Shem and I’ma-Annah were equally upset. They were trying, again, to talk to their sons, who couldn’t communicate with them or with each other.

  Shem turned to Annah, despairing. “Beloved, we are being separated from our children… scattered as my father has said.”

  “Separated?” Demamah asked, her voice rising shakily. “What do you mean? I’ll never understand my father and mother again?”

  As she began to sob, Ra-Anan spoke dry, whispery syllables, raging at Keren.

  “You’ve won, haven’t you, my sister!” Ra-Anan cried, clenching his hands into fists to keep from lunging at Keren and yanking her off her horse. He was unarmed, while she, her husband, Shoshannah, and that false guardsman, Kaleb, were all holding their bows and arrows ready. “You and your Ancient Ones and the Most High! You’ve brought this disaster upon us—you’ve stolen everything from me!”