Heavens Before

by Kacy Barnett-Gramckow

  “You look sad this morning,” Ghinnah told Annah. “Are you thinking of your cruel brother and your family again?”

  “No.” Annah knelt behind Ghinnah to comb her hair—Ghinnah’s arms still hurt too much to reach behind her head. “I’m disappointed. My time of seclusion has begun, and I wish it hadn’t. I long for a child.”

  “You’ve been married only a short time,” Ghinnah reminded her.

  Annah sighed. “I suppose I’m too eager. I’m sure that in a few years, we’ll be tearing out our hair because our children will be running everywhere and questioning us about everything.”

  “Your children will do that,” Ghinnah answered, pretending hauteur. “My children will sit quietly like their father. They’ll be perfect.”

  “With you as their mother?” Annah teased. “I doubt it.”

  “Then I’ll send my children to play with your children, and you can tear your hair out over all of them and leave me alone.”

  “You can send them all to me,” Naomi announced from her place beside the hearth. She was kneading dough in a polished wooden bowl, her hands glistening with oil. “I’ll teach your children to behave, then I’ll send them back to you.”

  Annah smiled at her mother-in-law. “You say that now, but I think you’ll spoil them and send them back to us. As far as our children are concerned, we’ll be nothing in their eyes when compared to you, I’ma-Naomi.”

  “We will see,” Naomi said, smiling in return. “It will be good to hold a child again. Perhaps by this time next year, you will both have children.”

  “Perhaps,” Annah agreed. She eyed the dough in Naomi’s hands. “I’ma, after I’ve helped Ghinnah, I’ll be glad to make those cakes.”

  “I’d forgotten, I promised—” Naomi stopped and turned.

  Annah looked up, sensing Noakh’s presence even as he approached the back of the lodge.

  His arms and face were covered with dust and sweat from working the earth. He glanced at his wife, raising his grizzled eyebrows significantly, then he turned to Annah. “Daughter, I must warn you that your sister—the talkative Ayalah—is coming to visit, with Tsillah and her daughter, Taphaph.”

  Stifling a groan, Annah finished smoothing Ghinnah’s hair with the carved wooden comb. Ayalah, Tsillah, and Taphaph! Why should they come here except to cause trouble? She looked from Noakh to Naomi, dismayed. “Am I allowed to refuse them entry into the lodge?”

  “Let’s carry the mats and food outside,” Naomi suggested. “That way they won’t disturb our Ancient One. Also, we will offer them only cakes and water this time. I’ve had enough of those women. They won’t change.”

  “Can I meet them?” Ghinnah’s curiosity apparently overwhelmed her misery.

  Annah stood to pick up the mats. “Can you move that far?”

  “For the chance to meet one of your sisters, I will,” Ghinnah assured her.

  “They’ll be here soon,” Noakh warned.

  Hurriedly Annah carried several mats outside, placing them near the eastern wall of the lodge. Ghinnah followed her slowly, holding a clay pitcher of water. When Annah had arranged the mats properly and helped Ghinnah to sit down, Naomi joined them with a basket containing only plain grain cakes and six cups for water. Satisfied, Annah went out to the path to meet their guests.

  Ayalah was leading them, her sly, pretty face alight: She was enjoying herself. “We won’t stay, Annah!” she called out. “I mean, Ma’adannah.”

  Annah put her hands out to greet her sister properly, though not affectionately. Then she looked at Tsillah and Taphaph, who had stopped more than an arm’s length away. Tsillah looked proud as ever, but Taphaph seemed older, tired and hard-eyed, her lustrous hair swept back severely into a sparkling, gold-talismaned hair binding. In her arms, Taphaph held a small parcel of leather.

  “There,” Tsillah sniffed, nudging her daughter. “Didn’t I tell you? That Annah-creature is more beautiful than Parah and Haburah, now that she has a mind.”

  Thank you, Tsillah, Annah thought without rancor. She nodded to them politely. “Will you sit with us and have something to eat and drink?”

  “No,” Taphaph said abruptly. “We won’t stay. My husband is waiting for us to return to the settlement.” She hesitated.

  Life with Yerakh has not pleased you as much as you’d hoped, Annah thought to Taphaph, seeing the strain in her eyes.

  Moving stiffly, Taphaph held out the leather parcel. Acting as their go-between, Ayalah took the parcel and gave it to Annah.

  Feeling its weight, Annah realized at once that the parcel contained a solid bar of gold.

  Taphaph cleared her throat. “Yerakh wants peace in his family. He knows you have your father’s tools, and he says that you should keep them. He won’t come after you again. But he wants you to lift this curse you’ve placed upon him.”

  Annah looked at the parcel in her hands. Yerakh must be terrified to offer her so much gold and the ownership of their father’s tools. Very gently she said, “Tell your husband that I feel compassion for you both. But the curse was already upon him as soon as he killed our father. The earth was never meant to receive such an act of violence.”

  Taphaph looked desperate, her eyes filling with tears. “Please! My husband has not been the same since you spoke to him! He is distant … full of despair. And …”

  When Taphaph could not continue, Annah said, “He has beaten you.”

  The other woman nodded mutely.

  Annah sighed. “There is nothing I can do. Yerakh is the one who—”

  “You mean you won’t do anything.” Taphaph burst out. “You’re the one who spoke the curse!”

  “Yerakh brought his own curse upon himself. All I did was give it words.”

  “Then what can he do to escape this curse?” Taphaph begged. “I want my husband to be as he was before!”

  “Yerakh must be willing to submit to justice for the death of his father, and for causing the deaths of Gammad and the others.”

  “You mean he should seek his own death?” Taphaph said, not believing what she heard.

  “He should acknowledge his wrongs and give himself over to justice.”

  “You know he can’t do that.”

  “I know he won’t,” Annah agreed. She held the gold out to Taphaph. “This has not served Yerakh as he wished. Take it back to him.”

  Alarmed, Taphaph retreated. “No, I can’t return it to him. He will be angry enough when I tell him what you have said.”

  “Tell him before many witnesses,” Annah urged. “Then stay away from him until he’s calm.”

  “No! I don’t want any more of your advice—you’ve caused enough trouble!” Covering her ears, Taphaph ran toward the river.

  Glaring, Tsillah spat at Annah’s feet. “You cursed my daughter as barren!”

  As Tsillah strode off, Annah remained silent. She could not tell them what they wanted to hear; it would be a lie.

  Ayalah loitered, smirking. “Your advice about telling Yerakh in front of witnesses was good, Ma’adannah, but I doubt Taphaph will listen.”

  “Make her listen,” Annah urged her sister. “Or you will share the blame if she’s killed.”

  Ayalah widened her eyes at this, indignant. “Why should I be blamed? I can’t control Yerakh when he’s angry. Enjoy the gold, Ma’adannah. Yerakh must have felt like he was tearing out his guts to give it to you. Perhaps you’ll see me again, dear sister, and perhaps you won’t. Until then!” Waving a careless farewell, Ayalah followed Tsillah and Taphaph down the narrow path through the trees to the river.

  Annah felt a sinking pain in her stomach. Why did I think I could be rid of Yerakh and the others so easily? What a fool I am! O Most High, what will happen now? She watched her sister and Tsillah and Taphaph until they vanished into the trees. Then she returned to the lodge of Noakh.

  Eighteen

  SEATED ON a grass mat in the sunlight behind the lodge, Annah listened to Ghinnah’s humming as they sorted a small hill of t
iny, smooth-skinned, violet-blue berries. Ghinnah looked better today; she moved more freely, and she hadn’t complained of her neck or back hurting even once this morning. But it was her obvious happiness that pleased Annah the most. Pretending to complain, Annah said, “Why are you making so much noise? You’re supposed to be miserable, marrying a nonspeaking man.”

  Startled, Ghinnah looked up from stemming the berries. Then she smiled. “You’re teasing me! But Annah, please, don’t ever tell Yepheth I called him a nonspeaking man; he’d feel hurt. Besides, he doesn’t need words, the way he watches me.”

  “Then you are happy you stayed?”

  “I think I am,” Ghinnah agreed, the lovely color deepening in her cheeks.

  She’s thinking of Yepheth, Annah decided. Clearing her throat, she said, “When we’ve finished here, we should go bathe. Then I’ll help I’ma with the food for tonight while you do nothing, because you’re the bride this time. I thought Yepheth would never finish building your dwelling place.”

  “He was being very careful; it had to be perfect,” Ghinnah said, mildly defensive.

  “I’m sure it will be.” Annah stopped, sensing the approach of another. Shem, she thought, standing eagerly. He waited at the corner of the lodge, exhausted and wild haired because he had just returned from his watch over the herds.

  Shem grinned at Annah, admiring her even as his eyes appealed to her silently: I need to talk to you.

  “Wait for me, I’ll return,” Annah said to Ghinnah.

  “If my husband ever gives me such a look, I won’t return,” Ghinnah replied airily. “Just to let you know.”

  “I’ll remember that.” Annah hurried to her husband, who quickly led her around to the west wall, out of Ghinnah’s sight.

  “I’m tired, I’m dirty, and I’m hungry, but I have to ask you two things,” Shem whispered, staring at her as if she were lovely and infinitely desirable. “My first question is, will you be staying here again tonight?”

  Pleased by her husband’s tenderness, Annah wrapped her arms around his neck. “No, I’ll leave with you as soon as we’ve sent your brother and Ghinnah away after the celebration. My time of seclusion is ended—for this month, at least.”

  Shem’s expression softened. “Don’t worry, beloved; the children will come soon enough. Until then, we can keep each other company.” He bent, kissing her cheek, then her throat.

  Annah sighed. “Tell me, before we both forget, what was your second question?”

  Reluctantly Shem paused, trying to remember. “Yepheth wanted to ask if Ghinnah needed him to carry anything in particular out to their shelter. Utensils, lamps, storage boxes? He’s worried he might forget something.”

  Annah planted a quick kiss on her husband’s lips. “Wait here; I’ll go ask her.”

  Still sorting berries, Ghinnah laughed at the question. “Tell your husband to tell my husband not to worry. I’ll gather a few things later. We aren’t traveling far.”

  Annah relayed the message, then asked, “Are you going to sleep for a while?”

  “And bathe and eat,” he agreed. “Give me another kiss, then I’ll go. Yepheth is expecting my help. We won’t be here for the midday meal, but I’ll see you tonight.”

  When he was gone, Annah returned to sort berries with Ghinnah. After a brief silence, Ghinnah said, “I’ve been thinking … Qeb-al and Etsah took my mother’s gold hair bindings to pay off a debt. Could you make some new ones for me? I’d be willing to pay you for your time…” Her words trailed off, nervous and unsure.

  “You said your mother knew how to weave,” Annah mused aloud. “I’ll be glad to make your hair bindings as a gift. But later, will you teach me how to weave? None of the women in the settlement had such a skill. It was more practical for us to wear plain leather.”

  Ghinnah beamed. “Gladly! I’ll teach you everything about weaving.”

  “I know how to make threads from the stalks of certain plants—” Annah stopped, tensing as the earth quivered beneath them.

  “Oh no!” Ghinnah gasped, terrified. A rumbling, echoing groan seemed to lift from the earth to the sky; they both looked up, following the reverberation of the sound.

  It sounds like the cry before a death tremor, Annah thought, horrified. Oddly, the memory of her mother’s fatal convulsions welled up in her mind. As the shaking of the earth intensified, Ghinnah screamed, huddling against Annah. Clasping her protectively, as if Ghinnah were a child, Annah watched as everything around them shuddered and trembled sickeningly. Then, as suddenly as it began, the shaking stopped.

  Gulping, Ghinnah cried, “I’ll never be used to the earth shaking! I hate it!”

  “But it’s over now,” Annah soothed. “We’re safe.”

  “How can you be so calm?” Ghinnah demanded, straightening, almost furious with her. “How can you sit there and pretend it’s nothing?”

  “I don’t pretend it’s nothing; the shaking of the earth is to warn the others of the destruction to come. This is only the beginning, Ghinnah. I used to be as frightened as you are. But now I know why the earth shakes, and it no longer scares me.”

  “Your Most High again,” Ghinnah choked out, wiping her eyes with her hands. “I know! Don’t tell me—I don’t want to hear it.”

  Annah shrugged, trying to remain unaffected by Ghinnah’s anger. “You asked me, and I answered you. Next time, Yepheth will be glad to comfort you.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “You didn’t. At least not much.” Annah frowned, picking up the berries that had bounced out of the bowl and rolled everywhere. As Ghinnah helped her, Naomi came out of the lodge, looking satisfied.

  “Our Ancient One was awake this time, Ma’adannah. He didn’t believe us the last two times when we told him that the earth shook, but he believes us now. Ghinnah-child, leave the berries; I’ll take them. You two go bathe. Then,” she added, smiling at Annah, “I’ll let you make the cakes. The hearthstones are heating, so don’t be too long.”

  “Let’s go to the river,” Ghinnah urged Annah, her mood brightening.

  Annah hesitated, reluctant. “If that’s what you want. But I meet too many unwelcome people at the river.”

  Naomi laughed. “Your husband should hear you! Listen: Go north, past the place where we gather sheaths from the reeds. No one from the settlement ever wanders up there. Hurry, or I’ll make the cakes without you.”

  Yerakh moved through the darkness, watching shadows and studying the flickering lights of the fireflies that swarmed beyond his reach. Some members of the settlement netted the glowing flies, trapping them in containers of oiled membrane, then using the resultant lights to see in the darkness.

  I don’t need help from mere flies, Yerakh told himself smugly. I can see well enough. But he slowed his pace as he approached the lodge of the Nachash. Doubtless she was inside, aware of his presence and gloating, feasting on his fear. I wish I could break her neck, Yerakh thought. Disgusting creature. And her whispering companions are no better. But I need to find some way to defend myself against that Annah-who-is-not-Annah.

  Yerakh seethed, thinking of that heavy, gleaming gold in Annah’s traitorous hands. I should have killed you the day I killed our father. I underestimated you—a mistake I won’t repeat. Reluctantly, Yerakh trudged into the clearing surrounding the lodge of the Nachash. He saw the disc of bronze suspended between the posts, and the slender, polished club hanging beside it, and he scowled. If that old woman and her stinking companions have the powers they claim, they’ll know I’m here even if I don’t warn them. Ignoring all formalities, he strode into the lodge and sat down before the glowing, crackling hearth.

  The whisperers scratched at their filthy leather tunics, glaring at Yerakh as they took their places near the hearth. The Nachash was silent, swaying faintly within the confines of her painted leather cloak. She was thinner than he remembered, and her scent was strong and harsh, evoking thoughts of death-rot.

  It’s enough to persuad
e a carrion-eater to come looking for her, Yerakh thought, grimacing.

  The Nachash stirred and sighed. Without opening her eyes, she spoke hoarsely. “You … bloody, bloody man. We remember you. Why have you come to our fire?”

  With an effort Yerakh spoke politely. “Tell me, Nachash, who is your enemy?”

  The whisperers shivered and bared their ancient yellow teeth. “He asks …” the oldest whisperer croaked, swaying in her place to the left of the Nachash. “Without paying a price … he asks us to name the Enemy.”

  “Bloody man,” the Nachash growled. “Rude! Can we say the name of the One who is against us? Can you resist Him? No!” She exhaled loudly, contemptuously, over the fire. “We feel your fear. The Presence of the Enemy is against you. But you were warned. Blood calls him from the earth, bloody, bloody man! You!”

  The eldest whisperer groaned as if in pain, her eyes shut tight. “The Presence was here the night of the child. It is against us, as it is against you, cutting you off from life.”

  “How did you know?” Yerakh demanded, aghast, wondering if Taphaph or any of the other women of his family had spoken with the Nachash. “Who told you this?”

  “Your fear tells us,” the oldest whisperer muttered. “That, and the Enemy’s anger.”

  “And how do you resist this Enemy?” Yerakh asked. “Tell me.”

  The Nachash opened her thin brown eyelids, revealing the whites of her eyes. Her face twisted with rage. She screamed at him, her voice rasping. “Resist? Fool! Leave us! You, with your hands empty. Even with a price, to resist the Enemy …” A tremor seized her body, making it shake as the earth had shaken that very morning. Suddenly desolate, she said, “We do not resist. Only hate. Out. Leave us with our fire.”

  Outside, Yerakh passed a hand over his face. He was drenched in sweat. We do not resist. Only hate. He shivered at the words of the Nachash, fearing the weakness they implied. If the Nachash and her whisperers can’t even say the name of their enemy, then how can I free myself from this curse? I feel it hovering, waiting to take my life.