Crown in the Stars

by Kacy Barnett-Gramckow

  “His own mother.” I’ma-Annah was horrified.

  Keren shook her head in disbelief and whispered, “Sharah always did as she pleased; nothing ever made her happy. I shouldn’t be shocked… but I am.”

  They sat together, all of them grieving and miserable, staring into the popping, hissing fire they had built from dry twigs, grass, and small branches off the trees lining the river. The men finished tending the horses and came to sit with them.

  Kal boldly pulled Shoshannah into his arms and held her, kissing her hair, then whispering in her ear, tickling her delightfully. “I’ll be so sad when you can’t wear your hair loose anymore.”

  “That won’t be for months yet, beloved.” Married or not, it didn’t matter how she wore her hair; they had only two tents for this journey, one for the men and one for the women. Besides, she wouldn’t feel truly married until their Ancient One, Noakh, could bless their union. Until then Kaleb, and hair braids, had to wait.

  “You’re so cruel.” Kal didn’t sound terribly hurt. Grinning, he whispered, “Look at Tiyrac watching Demamah. Do you think they’ll marry?”

  “That’s for them to decide.” Shoshannah hugged her husband, tired and grateful, kissing his warm, whiskered neck, loving him. “Thank you for coming to find me. I’ve been so afraid for you. The risk you took…”

  He nuzzled her, scraping her cheek, whispering fervently, “The sight of you in those scandalous clothes was worth any risk!”

  Chafing under the burden of an old, barely salvaged traveling pack, Ra-Anan trudged eastward across the plains. Zeva’ah walked beside him in resentful silence. Behind them, their fellow travelers were grumbling, quarreling, whining. Ra-Anan cast a dark look at them, embittered.

  Of all the people who could have understood him and joined with him to create a new realm, he’d inherited too many malcontents. One was Awkawn, the former priest, and his sarcastic family who had coerced Awkawn to marry a tall, austere reed of a woman named Romaw. Another was the irritable Tabbakhaw, not to mention her short, thickset, always-pessimistic husband, Chuwriy, who was a linen worker.

  Equally troublesome was the guardsman Erek, who was desperately courting Tabbakhaw’s reluctant mirror-image daughter, Salkah, because the only other unwed girl who understood him now was the maidservant Ormah—and she wanted nothing to do with him. However, Ormah also wanted nothing to do with the sullen guardsman Perek, though he was the only other unmarried man in their new tribe.

  The best of the lot, for now, was Nekhosheth, a metalworker—who was so closemouthed that Zeva’ah remarked he had no language to change. At least he and his family don’t complain, Ra-Anan thought, eyeing Nekhosheth’s timid wife, Shavsha, and their five sons and three young daughters, who were taking turns riding a pair of small dirt-brown horses.

  “When will we get to where we are going?” Ormah demanded in a very unmaidservantly tone. She was walking at Ra-Anan’s heels. “I’m sick of these people!”

  “These people are all you have, until we find others who understand us,” Ra-Anan snapped. He devoutly hoped they could live with his eldest son’s tribe, just beyond the eastern river. “Until then, keep ten paces behind me; if you step on my sandals and break them, I’ll beat you and leave you where you drop.”

  Zeva’ah walked beside Ra-Anan, carrying the few garments and ornaments she’d been able to keep from the looters. She began to lag now, looking exhausted, making a complaining sound in her throat. Ra-Anan narrowed his eyes at her. “Don’t you dare begin to sound like these others!”

  They trudged on in angry silence.

  “Eriy!” Ra-Anan strode through the midday heat toward his eldest son’s home in a modestly prosperous settlement of tidy, round, clay-bricked houses, edged with canals, orchards, and fields. Here and there, people looked out of doorways and small windows, frowning, chattering softly, shaking their dark heads at each other. A growing dread ate at Ra-Anan’s hopes. “Eriy!”

  “Why is he not answering?” Zeva’ah demanded in a furious whisper. “That boy!”

  “Eriy!” Ra-Anan pounded on the hewn-wood door, his unease mounting.

  The door creaked open, and Eriy stepped outside, his hard-angled face and fine black eyes mistrustful. He stared at his father. And he spoke politely, in an unintelligible jargon.

  The people of Eriy’s settlement were gathering now, chattering at Eriy, shaking their heads, motioning to all of Ra-Anan’s companions. Zeva’ah put a hand to her mouth, stifling a sob. Ra-Anan wearily rubbed one hand over his face, not wanting to comprehend the obvious: They could not stay here among Eriy’s tribe. Three and a half days of miserable walking with these malcontents, listening to their gripes, and giving Zeva’ah’s ornaments to boatmen to take them across the eastern river… for nothing.

  No, Ra-Anan told himself. Not for nothing. Sternly, he motioned to his worried eldest son, as if eating and drinking. He would at least get some food. As much food as Eriy’s people could spare. They would also rest for a day or so.

  Then they would move on. They had no choice.

  Slowly, reluctantly, Kuwsh rapped on the gate of his eldest son’s wall-enclosed home. “Sebaw? Sebaw!”

  A thin, coppery-dark boy wearing a simple fleece wrap opened the gate, blinked at Kuwsh, then darted toward the house without a word.

  Discomfited at the boy’s reaction, Kuwsh stepped inside, followed by his wife and their four sons and daughters-in-law, who were dragging wearily. What will we do if Sebaw doesn’t understand us? Kuwsh wondered. The thought was too appalling to consider.

  Sebaw appeared now, tall and dark with a wide-boned face eerily similar to Nimr-Rada’s, but without Nimr-Rada’s fire or charisma. He gave his father a formal embrace of greeting, then kissed Achlai affectionately. “I’ma, it’s good to see you again.” He nodded to Kuwsh and his brothers and sisters-in-law quietly. “Father, come sit in the shade and rest; my wife is preparing food.”

  Kuwsh followed Sebaw, amazed that he could understand him. Sebaw offered his father the place of honor, then said, “Forgive me, Father, but after all these years of silence, why have you come to visit me?”

  Unable to even think where to begin, or how to explain, Kuwsh stared at his son. After an uncomfortable pause, Achlai leaned forward and said gently, “We’ve come to ask your help, my son. To begin again. By your love for the Most High, we ask you to help us begin again.”

  Kuwsh covered his face, humiliated beyond words. To begin again. And everything he might gain from this time onward would come from whatever he was given by this son, who loved the Most High.

  Shoshannah and the others rode into the Tribe of Metiyl. They were greeted with an enthusiastic, unintelligible outpouring of joy—though Shoshannah’s cousin Yelahlah and her husband, Echuwd, fearfully retreated into their circular mud-brick home.

  Shoshannah watched them hide, and she listened sadly as the others talked. Half of what the boisterous Metiyl and his Tebuwnaw said was garbled, but many of their words made strangely intoned sense. Communication was possible. Barely.

  Though Metiyl, Tebuwnaw, their son Khawrawsh, and his beloved Tsinnah were all grieved by this complication, they didn’t seem entirely surprised. They finally settled inside Metiyl’s restfully cool mud-brick home—with a host of Metiyl’s cousins, children, and grandchildren—for an afternoon feast.

  As they visited, Shoshannah enjoyed Tsinnah’s dimpled, busy toddler, Tavah, and half listened as Metiyl repeated the words “Akhood” and “Yawlulaw” over and over. Echuwd and Yelahlah. Surprised, Shoshannah turned, listening hard.

  With emphatic hand motions, and much nodding and shaking of heads, Metiyl, Tebuwnaw, and the others described Echuwd and Yelahlah’s loss of plain, understandable speech. “Upsat… tarrible… bad,” Metiyl explained, motioning that Echuwd had seemed about to lose his mind in despair.

  Shoshannah understood completely; Echuwd’s trading skills would be severely hindered without his gift of speech. Echuwd was probably devastated.

 
; Nodding his wild-curled head at Shoshannah, obviously pleased to see her safely returned to her family, Metiyl grinned at Kaleb. “Akhood… Yawlulaw… fray, ah?”

  He had to repeat himself before Kaleb understood, laughing, nodding. “Yes. Echuwd and Yelahlah are freed.”

  But when they went to see Echuwd and Yelahlah, the pair babbled frantically, pleadingly, waking their young son, Rakal, howling from his nap. At last, Shoshannah handed Yelahlah one of her gold rings—given to her by that murderous Rab-Mawg in the temple. Yelahlah wept and hugged Shoshannah, accepting her peace offering. That same day, Echuwd and Yelahlah packed their belongings and departed, obviously knowing they were safe from pursuit and retribution.

  “How like the two of you to create such a commotion,” Noakh teased Shoshannah and Kaleb as they walked ahead, leading his horse and I’ma-Naomi’s into their home settlement, the Tribe of Ashkenaz. Kaleb grinned. “The commotion is for you and our I’ma-Naomi, O Ancient One. They love you! If it were just Shoshannah and me, they’d chase us away with spears.”

  Shoshannah swatted him, and he laughed.

  The entire Tribe of Ashkenaz had been forewarned that Father Shem, I’ma-Annah, and the Ancient Ones would be visiting to celebrate Kal and Shoshannah’s wedding. Now everyone in the tribe rushed from their homes, fields, and stables, whooping, laughing, clapping, and uttering raucous, tongue-rattling cries of welcome.

  “Huh!” Naomi feigned irritation. “Such a fuss! Didn’t I teach these children to behave? You are too noisy, son of my sons,” she scolded Ashkenaz, who had come to lift Naomi off her horse.

  Ashkenaz beamed at her, undeceived, his eyes crinkling warmly above his long, rough, dark beard. “If you’d come to visit us more often, I’ma-Naomi, we wouldn’t carry on this way! Father of my Fathers”—he bowed his head to Noakh fondly—“we have all your favorite foods prepared, and you’ll have my lodge for tonight! Come and rest!”

  “See,” Kaleb pretended to grumble to Shoshannah, “we don’t matter at all.”

  But even as he complained, their families charged at them—Shoshannah’s siblings, Adah, Qetuwrah, Ahyit, Sithriy, Rinnah—all shrieking and laughing, joined by their grandparents, Meshek and Chaciydah, who had been summoned for the celebrations. And Kaleb’s parents, Regem and Pakhdaw, also came to hug them, jubilant.

  Just behind them were Kal’s eldest brother, Ozniy, and Mithqah, who was radiant, holding a baby in her arms—a solemn, husky miniature of Ozniy, with Mithqah’s lovely, bristly dark eyelashes.

  “I want one like this,” Kaleb told Shoshannah. “Actually quite a few more than one.” To his brother Ozniy, he said, “A boy? Well, he can’t be yours—he’s too good-looking!”

  “He is, isn’t he?” Ozniy agreed, admiring his small son.

  Shoshannah hugged her dear friend, then glided a fingertip over the baby’s tender nose, making him blink and stare. “Mithqah, he’s beautiful! And you look wonderful! I’m so glad for you—didn’t I say you’d marry Ozniy?”

  Mithqah seemed about to laugh and cry. “You’re really here! I’ve been praying for you since the day you were taken, and we’ve been tending your lodge—though we’ve built our own… We hoped you’d return months ago.” She looked over Shoshannah’s shoulder at Demamah, who approached shyly. “Now, who’s this?”

  “Mithqah, this is Demamah, another cousin. She’s much too serious, but you’ll love her anyway. Demamah, come meet my dear friend Mithqah, and her little one.” As she spoke, Shoshannah lifted the hefty baby from Mithqah’s arms, jostling him playfully until he smiled a toothless grin.

  “Kaleb! Shoshannah!” Father Ashkenaz yelled at them. “Get over here. Let’s have the marriage blessing, so we can feed our guests!” Loudly he asked the ancient Noakh, “Do you think it’ll improve those two wild ones at all—blessing them?”

  “They aren’t completely hopeless,” Noakh answered warmly. “Come here, my children. Let us pray the Most High continues to protect you from your recklessness.”

  “Such a marriage blessing!” Kal protested to Shoshannah beneath his breath.

  She laughed and hushed him softly, taking his hand.

  “Wait,” I’ma-Annah said. “She’s had no time to make wedding apparel. Child, if you wish, you may borrow this.” She offered Shoshannah her ancient, carefully protected veil.

  Shoshannah felt her throat constrict with unshed tears as I’ma-Annah draped her lightly with the soft, fragile mesh, then hugged her in silent affection. A marriage blessing… more than she could have ever desired. And for once, her beloved rascal Kaleb had nothing to add. Together, surrounded by their grateful families, they stood before the ancient Noakh. We are truly blessed… Thank You, Most High.

  After an evening of feasting and stories, the entire Tribe of Ashkenaz danced to the thunderous rhythm of drums and flutes, laughing, singing, shouting in celebration before the Most High. Stars glistened in the darkness above a massive, almost frightfully huge bonfire that sparked and crackled loudly, seeming to exude a life of its own.

  Jubilant, Shoshannah danced with her sisters and Demamah and Mithqah, following each other’s steps in tempo. And for the first time in months—since they’d departed from the Great City—Shoshannah heard Demamah laughing.

  She’s enjoying herself, Shoshannah thought, pleased, turning to look over her shoulder. But before she could glimpse her cousin and sisters, someone snatched her, scaring her. Kaleb.

  He grinned roguishly and swooped an arm beneath her knees, lifting her off the ground, making her laugh.

  “Kal!”

  “We see you, Kaleb!” Mithqah’s father, Uzziel, bellowed. “Don’t think we don’t!”

  “I’m taking my wife home,” Kaleb yelled in reply. “Perhaps you’ll see us again in a few days!”

  “You’re very bad,” Shoshannah scolded him beneath her breath as he carried her away from the bonfire, though she was delighted.

  He tossed her slightly, making her gasp and cling to him. Grinning, he argued, “Bad? I’ve waited for you longer than any other man has ever waited for his wife beneath these heavens; I’d say I’ve been amazingly patient. And, if I were truly misbehaving, your father would give me a thrashing—but I don’t see him following us. Do you?”

  “No.” Shoshannah peeked over his shoulder; the dancing had continued despite their departure.

  Kal shifted her now, nudging the door open with his foot, carrying her inside their small lodge. Mithqah and her sisters had cleaned everything and decorated the walls with garlands of leaves and vines. Ozniy, in gratitude for Kaleb’s loan of this place during the past year, had made them a storage chest, a low bed, and a weaponry rack, which was pegged into the wall by the door.

  Still holding Shoshannah, Kaleb pushed the door shut, saying, “There’s a leather loop hanging up there on the door frame; pull it down over the first plank in the door—there’s a slot to hold it.”

  Shoshannah obeyed, fastening the door by touch—she couldn’t see in the darkness. Finished, she said, “You can set me down now.”

  “I’ll set us both down now.” Kaleb edged his way through the darkness, colliding with the bed unexpectedly, dropping her into the fur coverlets. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

  She laughed at him. In return, he kissed her, apologizing, almost smothering her in an embrace that made her forget everything.

  Two months of hiking through the eastern mountains had honed Ra-Anan’s temper to an edge. They were now descending from forests into grasslands, and the quarreling amid his small tribe hadn’t stopped. Tabbakhaw’s attempts to control Ormah had failed. Ormah refused to be treated as a maidservant now, because they were all walking the same miserable paths, eating the same dull food, and carrying the same tiring loads. Her rebellion made Tabbakhaw furious.

  “Give me that look again and I’ll beat you, child! How dare you. I’ve treated you like my own daughter, and this is how you behave.” Fuming, she called to Ra-Anan, “See how she is? Do you see this? Kicking at my shoes
when she walks behind me, and deliberately slowing down when she walks ahead!”

  His patience gone, Ra-Anan hushed Tabbakhaw with a killing look and snatched the startled Ormah by the arm, dragging her away.

  Offended, Ormah argued, “Why do you always believe her? I wasn’t doing anything wrong! If she thinks I am—”

  Ra-Anan shoved the young woman at Perek and said, “Here. She’s your wife now; make her behave before I kill her.”

  Ormah’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly. When she could finally speak, she sputtered, “You c-can’t just give me to him—you’re not my father!”

  “Where is your father? Go complain to him!” Ra-Anan snapped.

  Ormah had been separated from her parents and siblings by the confusion in the Great City, a loss that hadn’t affected her too badly.

  “Go back through those mountains alone—you’ll starve to death if the animals don’t kill you first.” To Perek, Ra-Anan said, “She’s yours. You both need to marry anyway.”

  “But not to Perek!” Ormah wailed, her mouth so wide open that the youngest children of their new tribe—sons and daughters of the metalworker, Nekhosheth, whimpered in sympathy.

  Remorseless, Ra-Anan glared at Ormah. Perek smugly took her by the arm.

  Adoniyram awoke with the dawn, immediately plotting mental lists of tasks he needed to accomplish for the day: Finish inspecting the canals, encourage the workers, and check on the priest Ebed—who was proving to be as quiet, orderly, and wise as Rab-Mawg had been ambitious, unpredictable, and self-destructive.

  I’m glad you’re gone, Adoniyram thought to the now-departed Rab-Mawg, whose family had retrieved him from the tower three days after the chaos had descended from the skies. And I’m grateful you’re here, he thought, turning, hearing his young wife sigh and stretch herself awake.

  She was Ghid’ohn’s sister, a pretty girl with gentle dark eyes and an unresisting personality. They had been married for seven weeks, and she had yet to argue with him about anything. She had even let him rename her, Atarah, without a murmur. He hadn’t liked her name—Telathah—which unimaginatively designated her as the third child in her family after Ghid’ohn and another sister. Shoshannah, he knew, would have argued to keep her first name—if he had been able to understand her.