Crown in the Stars

by Kacy Barnett-Gramckow

  While Ra-Anan was speaking, he saw Shoshannah adjust her own bow, then whisper to Demamah, who nodded tearfully, evidently understanding what Shoshannah had said. Focusing on his daughter now, Ra-Anan asked, “Do you understand me at all, Demamah? Have I lost you too?”

  “What do you mean?” Zeva’ah demanded, the color ebbing from her face. “She’s our daughter!”

  Ra-Anan looked down at his wife. He had to compose himself, to give his bitter realization words. “I think she’s lost to us. By the will of their Most High.”

  “No.” Zeva’ah shook her head vehemently. “You’re wrong!”

  “Speak to your daughter, beloved,” Ra-Anan said, knowing it was hopeless. “If she understands you, then she is still yours. If she understands them… she is theirs.”

  “You’re wrong,” Zeva’ah insisted. Turning, she called out, “Demamah, come here! Leave that girl and her family; you don’t belong with them. Demamah!”

  Keren fought down her nausea, unable to believe what was happening. And while the others were trying once again to speak to each other, the horses were stirring, agitated by the delay and by Zeva’ah’s rising hysteria.

  Zeva’ah was grabbing Demamah now, pulling her away from Shoshannah, denying what was happening.

  Reluctantly, Keren called out, “Demamah-child!”

  When Demamah looked over at her with those somber, long-lashed eyes Keren remembered and loved so well, Keren said, “Don’t be afraid, little one. Kiss your mother and give her a hug; she will understand you then. Kiss your father too, child—this is not your fault. They must know it’s true.”

  Demamah nodded miserably. “Thank you, I’ma-Keren.”

  The young woman’s gentle verbal agreement with Keren caused Zeva’ah to waver, then to shriek in anguish.

  Following Shem, Annah hugged and kissed her firstborn son and her youngest, grieving, uncertain if she would ever see them again. Elam and Aram looked ashamed and mournful, though Annah wondered if they were truly repentant—or if they fully understood what was happening. But she would not allow them to remember her as angry or unforgiving.

  Their wives, daughters of Yepheth and Ghinnah, and Khawm and Tirtsah, wouldn’t look Annah in the eyes. Determined, she put her hands on their proud, lovely faces and made them look at her. “Be wise. Be careful,” she told each one, realizing that they couldn’t understand. With difficulty, she restrained her tears. “I love you.”

  Turn again to the Most High …

  Seated on Ma’khole now, Shoshannah watched as Ra-Anan helped Demamah onto her horse and sternly coerced the weeping Zeva’ah to give their daughter a farewell kiss. But then Ra-Anan glared at Keren once more, seeming to blame her for his predicament. Behind him, his residence was billowing with smoke, flaring and crackling with flames. Shoshannah felt almost sorry for him, and for Zeva’ah, yet she was ready and eager to leave.

  By now Tiyrac had retrieved his gear and was astride his horse, Nashak, who was hungrily nosing through the pile of abandoned hay.

  Kaleb, meanwhile, was soothing the nervous Khiysh, while trying to communicate with two guardsmen who had approached him. After failing to understand each other despite repeated shrugs and hand motions, the two guardsmen nodded at Kal and hurried into the stables.

  “Ghid’ohn and Ye’uwsh. They’re good men,” Kal told Shoshannah, regretful. “They brought me here.”

  “I’m grateful to them,” Shoshannah murmured tenderly. She looked ahead at her father.

  Zekaryah was watching Father Shem and I’ma-Annah, who were settling onto their own horses again. They motioned their last, sad farewells to Elam and Aram, then nodded at Zekaryah, who swiftly urged his horse onward.

  As Zekaryah led them around the back of Ra-Anan’s walled residence, then south—apparently to avoid the chaotic main streets—Shoshannah prayed this escape would succeed where her own had failed. How ironic that they were taking the same route. But this time, she didn’t want to cross paths with Perek or Adoniyram.

  Particularly not with Adoniyram.

  I’ma, she thought, distressed, watching her mother ride ahead, her weapons ready, how will I tell you that your only sister is dead, and that Adoniyram allowed her to die?

  A glob of mud spattered over Kuwsh’s shoulder as he walked away from his smoking, ransacked home. Kuwsh seethed but didn’t dare to look back at the offender. He would never find the guilty one among the crowd who had forced him and his family onto the streets with almost nothing but the clothes they wore. Everything he had owned was now stolen or burned, including his gold and his favorite leopard-skin mantle.

  Defiantly Kuwsh shook out the linen mantle he had snatched this morning and swathed it over his head. He had been certain this would be one of the best, most triumphant days of his life. Now, before midday, he was utterly vanquished.

  Beside him, Achlai walked in silence, accepting this disaster as quietly as she accepted everything else in her life, both good and evil. He resented her composure. “See what your Most High has brought upon us?”

  “Because of our rebellion,” she agreed gently, as they turned south and west, toward Sebaw’s tribe.

  Kuwsh repressed a superstitious chill and glared at the trampled dirt road. Puffs of dust lifted into the air, roused by the footsteps of those traveling ahead of them. His four youngest sons and their wives followed him, bewildered, occasionally speaking aloud in their garbled fashion, as if hoping this chaos would pass like a bad dream.

  As they joined others who were fleeing the pandemonium within the Great City, Kuwsh glanced at eight riders passing them. He envied the riders their horses and their possessions, until he recognized them: the traitor-guardsman, Zehker; the Lady Keren, Shoshannah; Demamah; those two stinking horseman-brothers, Kaleb and Tiyrac; and I’ma-Annah. And, worst of all, Nimr-Rada’s executioner, Shem.

  Kuwsh raved inwardly. I was so close to avenging my son! Now he was powerless against their weapons. They didn’t notice him amid the crowd, for they were riding toward the river, talking among themselves. Communicating.

  Furious, Kuwsh looked away, hating them. But Achlai sighed, her head turning as she watched them depart. He saw longing in her expression. And grief. “Forget them!” he snapped, scowling at her.

  “I cannot forget those I have loved, my lord,” Achlai said, her gaze and her words including him.

  She put him to shame.

  Shoshannah watched anxiously as her father dismounted in front of a modest clay-brick home. An ample earthen oven smoldered in front, but no one was visible until her father gave a sharp whistle.

  A thin, sun-darkened man peered around the side of the dwelling. When he saw Zekaryah and the others, he threw his muddied hands up high, laughing. Alerted by his laughter, I’ma-Meherah, the ivory merchant Tso’bebaw, I’ma-Peletah, and the young man Shoshannah remembered from her first day in the Great City all came running around to the front of the house. Exultant, I’ma-Meherah hugged Zekaryah. He kissed her cheek and picked her up briefly as if she were a child.

  Meherah scolded Zekaryah tenderly. Hearing her voice, Shoshannah sagged in despair. I’ma-Meherah and her family and friends had been separated from them by the awful confusion of speech that had swept through the Great City. Silently Zekaryah hugged his adoptive mother again, then embraced his adoptive father, Yabal. When Shoshannah next saw her father’s face, she realized there were tears in his eyes.

  Father, I’m so sorry! Following her mother’s lead, and Father Shem and I’ma-Annah’s, she slowly dismounted to hug I’ma-Meherah and the others good-bye.

  Meherah fought down tears, realizing she didn’t have time to indulge her own emotions. Obviously Tso’bebaw and Peletah had been telling the truth: The Most High had separated the tribes and was scattering them. Mercifully, it was only their speech that He had chosen to impair. She couldn’t tell her dear Zekaryah and his Keren how much she loved them, how much she would miss them.

  But at least she could hug them before they made their esc
ape. And she could smile at the cherished Ancient Ones and the lovely, wild-haired girl who had been in her prayers for so long. Shoshannah managed to smile in return. Moved, Meherah embraced the young woman and kissed her dimpled cheek. “You’re a good, brave girl! Like one of my own—how glad I am that we met!”

  To her distress, Shoshannah cried. They parted in sorrow.

  Adoniyram rode along the market street, yelling, “Who hears me and understands? Who remains?” A number of people called out to him gladly. Some of Ra-Anan’s own guardsmen, Ghid’ohn, Ye’uwsh, and the usually irritable Dibriy were riding with him now, protecting him because they could no longer understand Master Ra-Anan. Adoniyram was grateful for their presence. Not that he needed their protection—his people still loved him—but the guardsmen gave Adoniyram the appearance of normality and authority, which were necessary to calm his people.

  Now, Ghid’ohn—a sensible, steady man—urged Adoniyram, “My lord, consider searching the temple; people are gathering there, trying to appeal to the priests and Shemesh to remove this disaster from us.”

  Adoniyram reluctantly agreed and rode toward the tower. He hoped that someone had discreetly removed his mother’s body—and that Rab-Mawg had been effectively silenced. Otherwise, Rab-Mawg could accuse him of not intervening to save his mother.

  Maintaining his poise, Adoniyram nodded pleasantly to those people who didn’t understand his greetings. And he encouraged those who did understand him, “Stay! Don’t flee.” About one or two of every ten people comprehended his words and followed him. My kingdom will be badly diminished. He dismounted in the tower’s courtyard and forced himself to march up the steps to the temple.

  The air was permeated with sharp-sweet clouds of smoking incense. And someone had rearranged the remaining linen curtains to hide the priests’ unfinished living area. Rab-Mawg was still there, but silent, huddled in a corner, his head in his hands, rocking back and forth. Ebed stood quietly before the altar, garbed in linen robes and a leopard-skin mantle that declared his status, comforting worshipers.

  Summoning his courage, Adoniyram approached the priest. The worshipers around them backed away. Hushed, the young man asked, “Where’s my mother?”

  Ebed seemed to wilt. “Haven’t you heard, my lord?”

  “I have heard—I saw the attack,” Adoniyram agreed sadly, allowing the priest to see his regrets, which were few. “Has Rab-Mawg explained what happened?”

  “No one can understand him, my lord. I fear he’s gone mad; he’s been sitting there for quite some time. Show him compassion, I beg you.”

  “I will. He’s not entirely to blame; my mother provoked him.” Adoniyram sighed loudly now and drooped from relief, not sorrow, though the priest didn’t have to know that. “Where are the others? Ghez-ar and Awkawn?”

  “I think they’ve fled to their families—I couldn’t understand them.”

  “Will you flee also?” Adoniyram asked softly, hoping that this priest—the most easily manipulated one—would stay to serve him.

  “I feel I’m needed here, my lord.”

  “Thank you, Ebed. I hope you’ll stay.” And I hope you’ll be satisfied with the temple as it is we won’t be able to finish it. “Where is… my mother’s body?”

  Barely audible, the priest whispered, “We buried her among the plants and trees on the terrace. Later we can build a small tomb…”

  Adoniyram nodded and left Ebed to comfort those who had rushed to the temple for solace. The Young Lord understood his people’s desire for heavenly reassurance.

  However, those who cannot understand and obey me, as their king, will have to leave. Except Shoshannah, of course. She would be safer now; one of her enemies was half mad, and two others were the objects of devastating retribution. Adoniyram had seen smoke rising from Kuwsh’s and Ra’Anan’s homes, and he knew their servants and guards had abandoned them. As for Shoshannah’s fourth enemy…

  The Young Lord searched the gardens until he discovered a newly disturbed mound of earth: his mother’s burial place. Ebed was right; they should make a small tomb for her, but discreet and unmarked. The circumstances of her death would be kept secret if possible.

  You will be exalted, Adoniyram told his mother, deciding to make restitution to her in the most practical yet glorious way he could imagine. You will be finer than you ever were in life… adored and revered as Nimr-Rada is now. Perhaps more.

  When all this chaos was settled, his priest, Ebed, would declare that Sharah had rejoined her “husband” Nimr-Rada. And Ebed would proclaim a sign in the stars for her… a crown for their Queen of the Heavens. Then, if she had a spirit, it might be satisfied.

  At dusk Adoniyram returned to his house, exhausted. Their footsteps echoing, Ghid’ohn walked with him throughout his residence, checking for looters. But his house seemed untouched; no one else was here. No servants to tend him, no guards to protect him, no Lady Keren and her companions to tell him of his past… and no Shoshannah to take as his wife.

  Unable to believe the truth, Adoniyram tore through his home, calling, “Kaleb? Kaleb! Where did you hide them?”

  Ghid’ohn said, “Kaleb is gone, my lord. With the young lady and her family. I saw them ride away together—they understood each other.”

  They took her. He took her. And I can’t leave my people, my kingdom, to go after them. Adoniyram stumbled into his sleeping room and dropped onto his bed, shocked. I am alone.

  For the first time in years, he wept.

  Twenty-Eight

  THROUGHOUT THE LONG DAY, as they rode in fear for their lives, Demamah alternately wept, then composed herself sternly. By sunset she was exhausted, starving, and aching. She was unused to riding for such a long time—they had paused only twice today to rest their horses and themselves. And this was only the beginning of their journey.

  “We aren’t being chased,” the guardsman Kaleb announced, as he and Tiyrac rode up to join them; they had stayed behind the others all day, watching for pursuers.

  “I don’t see anyone,” Tiyrac agreed, looking from the river to their right and across the vast, rippling, grass-filled plain that separated them from the Great City.

  “Will we be safe to rest and camp for the night?” I’ma-Annah wondered aloud. She peered at I’ma-Keren worriedly.

  For the first time today, Demamah forgot her own troubles; I’ma-Keren looked ill and ready to fall off her horse. Zekaryah halted and rushed to help his wife down.

  “I’m just hungry and tired,” Keren protested, leaning against her husband, sighing comfortably, easing everyone’s concerns.

  Now Kaleb dismounted and—to Demamah’s horror—hauled Shoshannah off her horse possessively, hugging her, kissing her, and growling. “I have you now!”

  Even more appalling, Shoshannah wrapped her arms around the guardsman’s neck and kissed him, laughing, seeming… delighted.

  Kaleb noticed Demamah’s shock and grinned. “Don’t worry; we’re married.”

  “We are not,” Shoshannah argued.

  “We are. Ask Tiyrac. Ask your parents.” Kaleb set Shoshannah on her feet.

  Speechless, Shoshannah looked over at her parents. Zekaryah nodded, and Keren smiled in weary affirmation. Shoshannah eyed Tiyrac indignantly. “You knew this and didn’t tell me!”

  “It wasn’t my place to say so,” Tiyrac objected, looking flustered despite his gruffness. “You’re Kal’s problem.”

  “I’m sure I’ll manage,” Kal said, earning a mock-stern look from Shoshannah.

  They’ve known each other for years, Demamah realized. She felt like a fool. How could she have been so blind? As she sat there on her horse, limp, stupefied, Tiyrac came to assist her, as he’d done for months.

  “Don’t touch her!” Zekaryah warned. Apparently satisfied that I’ma-Keren was comfortable, Zekaryah approached Demamah. She remembered being frightened of him as a child, when he was I’ma-Keren’s guardsman. But he nodded to her now, his brown eyes keen and not unkind. “Child, come get some
food and water.” He helped Demamah from her horse protectively, as if she were one of his own daughters. And he frowned at Tiyrac as if he considered the young man to be overly bold.

  Demamah looked away, flushing, but grateful for Zekaryah’s fatherly protectiveness. She didn’t want to think of Tiyrac or of anything else; Zekaryah was welcome to take charge of the situation for now. Aching and unsteady, she went to sit with I’ma-Keren, who soothed her with a loving, tired hug.

  “Demamah-child… how I’ve missed you…”

  Though she returned Keren’s hug thankfully, Demamah thought, Why couldn’t my mother have been like you? It was a grief to her, a terrible wound.

  Zekaryah’s firm voice snapped her to reality. “Let’s set up the tents.”

  Shoshannah offered her mother some warm broth made from simmered herbs, salt, and dried meat. “I’ma, you look more than just tired. What’s wrong?”

  Her eyes shining despite her fatigue, Keren looked from Demamah to Shoshannah. “Nothing’s wrong. I am with child.”

  “Finally!” Exultant, Shoshannah hugged her mother and laughed. “Our Rinnah will be glad not to be the baby anymore. I can’t wait to see her and the others!”

  “Neither can I,” Keren sighed, as Demamah gave her a sweet-sad kiss. “But right now, I’m just glad to be alive. This has been such a terrible day for us all.”

  Sobering, Shoshannah knelt worriedly. “I’ma… can you endure some dreadful news… about your sister?” “Sharah? What about her?”

  Though she was still upset by what she’d seen, Shoshannah told her mother, I’ma-Annah, and Demamah of the violent confrontation between Rab-Mawg and Sharah in the temple this morning. Could it really have been just this morning? Too much had happened today. Scared again, Shoshannah finished softly, “I’m sure he killed her; she wasn’t moving when Adoniyram took me away. And there was so much blood.”

  “How could he?” Demamah asked in a thin little voice.