Heavens Before

by Kacy Barnett-Gramckow

  Annah sat beside Shem near the open hearth, enjoying the early evening fire and the first violet-red hints of dusk. Smiling, Shem kissed her hair, her forehead, her lips. “You’re more beautiful than that sky. I’d rather look at you.”

  “Greedy man.” Annah nuzzled his bearded face. “You’ve had me to yourself all day long. Aren’t you tired of me yet?”

  Shem laughed. “Never.”

  A sharp whistle cut into their conversation. They turned and saw Khawm, Yepheth, and Ghinnah hurrying toward them in the ruddy evening light. Khawm looked desperate; his eyes were enormous.

  He snatched at Shem, saying, “Tirtsah has been angry all day. We quarreled, then she ran off into the trees, and now I’ve lost her. Please, help me find her.”

  Annah felt a chill of sweat prickle over her face, her neck, her arms, her back. If Tirtsah had abandoned Khawm, where else would she go but to the settlement? Without explanation, Annah ran into the woods and toward the bridge.

  Twenty-One

  BREATHING HEAVILY, Annah scurried off the bridge, followed by Shem and Khawm. Yepheth and Ghinnah stayed on their side of the river, hoping that Tirtsah had not abandoned them altogether. Are you worth all this? Annah wondered to Tirtsah in a growing, gnawing attack of fear. Are you worth my very life? If anyone from the settlement finds me on this side of the river, I will be killed.

  Annah pushed her fears aside as she hurried up the riverbank and into the trees. Surely if the Most High had chosen to save her from the settlement, He would not change His mind now.

  “Annah!” Shem called out, just loudly enough to catch her attention. “Slow down. We can’t go running into the settlement. Let’s search the trees; if we don’t find Tirtsah here, then we’ll make some sort of plan.”

  “If she has gone into the settlement, then we’ve lost her,” Annah whispered. She paused in the shadowed undergrowth, clutching her hands to her stomach. “If we follow her there, we’ll be killed.”

  “If Tirtsah has gone into the settlement, then I’ll go after her myself,” Khawm told them. “And if I don’t come back, then tell our father and I’ma not to come looking for me.” Eyeing Shem and Annah, Khawm said, “That includes you as well. Whatever happens, don’t come after me. Why should we all be in danger?”

  “We’ll talk about that later,” Shem replied, peering ahead, carefully stepping between the bare tangled roots of a honey-flower tree. “It’s getting dark; let’s pray we find Tirtsah soon.”

  I don’t sense her, Annah thought, anxiety making her heart race and flutter. She tried to console herself. Perhaps Tirtsah hadn’t crossed the bridge to go to the settlement after all. Even now, she might be pacing around the hearth before her dwelling place, waiting for Khawm. I pray that’s where she is, Annah thought, because she’s not here in the trees.

  They searched all along the river between the bridge and the settlement. By the time they reached the fields, the sun had set and the light was fading rapidly. Now, crouching beside Shem and Khawm in the shadows of the trees, Annah looked over at the clusters of lodges, all of them marked by the rising smoke of their evening fires. I don’t miss any of you, she thought.

  “She must be there,” Khawm said, speaking slowly.

  Equally reluctant, Annah looked away from the settlement, studying the huge field before them. The only thing breaking the outlines of the darkening field was the magnificent, flowing shape of the ancient Tree of Havah—the one place, she suddenly realized, that Tirtsah might be hiding if she were afraid.

  Excited, Annah patted Shem’s arm to get his attention. “Tirtsah could be in the Tree of Havah! I used to sit there in the mornings. Let me go look; if she’s still angry, she’d be more likely to talk to me than to either of you.”

  “It’s almost dark enough that you won’t be seen,” Khawm agreed eagerly.

  Shem touched Annah’s face, his voice filled with concern. “If she’s not in the tree, please, come back here at once. Don’t go into the settlement.”

  “I won’t ever go into that place again,” Annah assured him, meaning every word. “If she’s not in the tree, I’ll come right back. But if she is there, you must give me time to talk to her.”

  Lowering her head, Annah scurried through the field. I wish this tree were on my side of the river, she thought, admiring the flowing, restful contours of the shadowed branches. There’s no other tree half so wonderful in all the world. She was glad to reach the Tree of Havah, delighted to touch it again. And she was even more pleased to sense the presence of another person sheltered within its branches.

  Annah reached for the lowest branch and pulled herself up easily. She knew every bend of each branch; she didn’t have to concentrate on climbing. She focused on Tirtsah instead. Tirtsah was seated high in the crook of a branch, turned toward the settlement. She didn’t look at Annah, though she undoubtedly knew Annah was near. Stepping onto an adjacent branch, Annah sat down, sighing with relief.

  For a brief time, they were silent, then Tirtsah spoke, almost rudely. “Why did you come to find me?”

  Annah ignored the question. Instead she looked over at the settlement and said, “The last time I sat in this tree was the night of the deaths. I listened as everyone in the settlement hunted for my brother’s wife, Iltani. They were so ready to kill someone that it wouldn’t have mattered whose blood was spilled. I stayed here all night in the branch above you.”

  Silent, Tirtsah looked up at the branch.

  More somberly, Annah said, “That was the night my mother died. Iltani, too. When the searchers from the settlement caught her, they slit her throat because she had killed my second brother, Chathath.”

  Swallowing, Annah continued. “I was the one who should have died, not Chathath. When I saw his body the next morning, I was on the very edge of true madness. I had no thoughts, no words. I wandered down to the river like a mindless nothing-creature. Shem was so sure I would kill myself that he begged I’ma-Naomi to offer a brideprice to my brother.”

  When Tirtsah remained silent, Annah went on. “Yerakh was always so greedy. He gave me to Shem without question the next day. But if he had perceived my thoughts, he would have killed me instantly. If anyone from the settlement finds me here, they’ll kill me and claim a reward from him.”

  Tirtsah looked at Annah, shocked. “Then why are you here? Why should you risk your life for me?”

  Annah sighed, speaking carefully. “Your husband loves you, Tirtsah. He has made you my sister by marriage. And I am here now, sister, because this is how a family behaves to survive. Each member considers the others, and each member truly cares about the others—to the point of sacrifice, if need be. I’ll tell you now, Khawm is ready to go into the settlement after you, knowing he’s not welcomed there.”

  “They’d kill him for trying to find me?”

  “Yes. Then they’d throw his body away and laugh. Khawm would be forgotten almost immediately. It would be worse for you—they would allow you to live.” Annah prayed Tirtsah would listen. “If you go into the settlement, the men of the settlement will follow you and use you according to their desires because you have no one to protect you. The women will hate you because of your beauty. Later, the men will grow tired of you, and you’ll have to find some way to survive. No one will help you, because you have nothing of value but your beauty. If you should disappear or die, they’d never look for you. And,” she added, “your death would most likely be the result of violence from someone in the settlement.”

  “That’s what I’ve been thinking,” Tirtsah admitted. Straightening, she sucked in a sharp, angry breath. “I’m trapped then! I have no choice but to go back to the family of that madman, Noakh!”

  “You will have a choice,” Annah retorted, offended for Noakh’s sake. “And you’ll have that choice because the father of your husband is not a madman. He’s kind and loving. He will have compassion on you now, even though you hate him. Just as the Most High has compassion on you now, Tirtsah, though you hate Him.” Seei
ng Tirtsah stiffen defiantly, Annah gritted her teeth, struggling with her own impatience.

  When she could trust herself to speak, Annah said, “Tirtsah, listen to me. Stay with your husband for the next seven days. On the eighth day, if nothing has happened, then you can laugh in our faces and demand to go back to your family, wherever they are. Your husband and his father and his brothers will honor your request. I know this because Yepheth offered a similar choice to Ghinnah the day he married her. Also, if nothing happens and you choose to leave us, I’ll give you the last of my gold.”

  “But you don’t think there will be an eighth day,” Tirtsah said, not quite arguing.

  Annah shrugged in the twilight. “As I told you this morning, someone will be right. Now, be honest; if there is no eighth day, wouldn’t you rather be with us? Please, Tirtsah, come down from this tree before Khawm goes looking for you in the settlement.”

  Suspicious, Tirtsah leaned toward Annah. “You will insist that my husband and his family help me if I don’t want to stay?”

  “I’ll insist,” Annah agreed. “If you don’t believe me, then you can take your chances in the settlement.”

  “No, I’ll go with you,” Tirtsah said sullenly.

  They climbed down out of the tree, then scurried across the field. The last traces of sunlight were gone, but if anyone from the settlement should come out into the western fields, they would sense Annah and Tirtsah at once. Annah was trembling with relief when they reached the safety of the trees.

  Shem grabbed her immediately, hugging her. “We were getting ready to come after you.”

  Smiling, Annah turned toward Khawm and Tirtsah. They were silent in the darkness.

  Tirtsah spoke, clearly uneasy, but attempting to sound proud, even a little scornful. “I’ll stay with you for eight days. After that, if I’m still unhappy, I want you to take me back to my father’s house.”

  Khawm exhaled, holding out a hand for Tirtsah to accept. “I agree. Eight days.”

  Slowly, Tirtsah accepted Khawm’s hand, while Annah leaned against Shem gratefully.

  Tightening his arms around Annah, Shem said, “Let’s leave this place. I’m sure Yepheth and Ghinnah are wondering where we are.”

  In agreement, they made their way down to the river and hurried toward the bridge, their way lit by the shimmering moon and stars.

  Annah settled a clean fleece coverlet over the bed, then stood back to inspect the room she would share with her husband. The grass mats were comfortable beneath her feet, and the air was scented with the new straw she had used to stuff the bed. She had also stuffed the soft leather pillows with sweet-smelling dried herbs and long, glossy fibers from a hair-seed tree. Earlier, Shem had helped her move their storage chest against the far wall. Inside the chest were their garments, Shem’s carving supplies, their work tools, Annah’s gold, her veil, and the woven-grass bag. Now, Annah finished her last task: She wiped out the oil lamps, discarded the grass wicks, and packed the lamps into the storage chest. This was Noakh’s command; they could not risk an oil fire.

  “Ma–adanna–a–a–h,” Ghinnah’s singsong voice echoed toward her through the pen. “I’m finished with my chores. Will you go outside with me again?”

  “I’m coming, Ghinnah.” Annah smiled to herself as she walked into the window-lit main living area. Ghinnah wanted companionship whenever she entered or left the pen, like a child needing reassurance. Tirtsah also seemed unsure of herself. Annah had found her wandering through the pen this morning, staring at everything, obviously forlorn—and disdainful—until Annah had coaxed her outside into the sunlight.

  Now Annah went out into the daylight with Ghinnah, staring at the confusion below. The area behind the lodge was crowded with tools, cured hides, rolled grass mats, storage chests, and multitudes of baskets filled with the provisions from Naomi’s storage room. Tirtsah had apparently gone into the lodge to help Naomi, but Noakh was standing in the middle of all the provisions, arguing with his wild-haired cousin Akar.

  “You’re welcome to go or stay, as you please,” Noakh was telling Akar. “But obviously you don’t care to listen to me, so it no longer matters what you do.”

  “It no longer matters?” Indignant, Akar said, “I’ve served you all these years—and you say it no longer matters? No, you won’t be rid of me so easily!”

  “Stay, then.” As he spoke, Noakh picked up some of his tools and eyed the broad grinding stone and its mortar. “Stay in our lodge if you like. Whatever you choose, Akar. Soon we won’t need the lodge anyway.”

  Akar snorted, rolling his eyes. “Save me from another story of the Most High.”

  “I won’t bore you again.” Noakh beckoned to Khawm and Yepheth, who were coming out of the lodge, laden with the last baskets of grain from the storage room. “Don’t forget, my sons, we have to carry your mother’s grinding stone and mortar into the pen as soon as possible.”

  “Then that’s all you have to say to me?” Akar demanded, tapping Noakh’s back with hard, impatient fingers.

  “Why should I talk if you won’t listen to me?” Noakh answered, clearly exasperated. “I’ll tell you again; if you don’t want to leave us, then stay in the lodge tonight. Now, my cousin, take care of yourself, and let me finish my work.”

  As Noakh rebuked his cousin, Annah saw a pair of brilliantly colored birds, all lustrous green and gold with curving black beaks, alight on Noakh’s arm and shoulder.

  Noakh blinked at the pair, then chuckled. “You’re early,” he said to them, shaking his head. “And you’ve caught me with my arms full.” Looking around, he saw Annah and Ghinnah. He smiled at them and tipped his head, indicating the pair of birds. “My daughters, please, come take these two up into the pen. I pray that the Most High doesn’t plan to have all the creatures land on me when they find me—it could become quite uncomfortable.”

  Pleased and amused, Annah went to her father-in-law and offered her shoulder to the pair of green and gold birds. They moved over to her, thoroughly trusting. The smaller one, the female, scrabbled toward Annah’s bound hair, apparently enticed by her glittering gold hair bindings. “You can’t have them,” Annah whispered as it picked at the gold. “You don’t need them anyway; you’re lovely just as the Most High created you, pretty bird. Come-come.”

  “Your son deserves such a wife,” Akar sneered, fixing his sharp black eyes on Annah. “She’s as ridiculous as you are. If she were my wife, I’d beat her for talking such foolishness to a bird.”

  “But she’s not your wife,” Noakh answered forbiddingly. “Now, cousin, go or stay as you please, and don’t harass us.”

  Fearful, Annah looked down at her feet, keeping her face expressionless as she went toward the ramp of the pen. Ghinnah followed her silently, carrying a basket of dishes and cooking pots. When they were inside the pen, away from Akar, Ghinnah said, “Just now, I think I saw the nothing-creature-Annah.”

  “An old habit,” Annah acknowledged. “I wanted to get away from that Akar. I was also thinking that except for the care of the Most High, I might have been given to such a man—one who would enjoy beating his wife.”

  “All men beat their wives,” Ghinnah said, as if this were an unchangeable fact.

  “Not the men of the lodge of Noakh.”

  Unable to argue, Ghinnah shrugged and followed Annah through the central level to the ramp leading up to the higher level. The birds were becoming restless, roving along Annah’s arm and shoulder. The female finally clawed her way up Annah’s hair to the top of her head, making Annah nervous as she carried the birds toward the vast netted enclosure. Ghinnah set down the basket of dishes and opened the curtains so Annah could place the birds on one of the branches hanging inside. Inside the netting, the birds fluttered wildly, shedding delicate tufts of green down as they beat their wings about Annah’s head. Annah stood still, shielding her eyes with her hands. If she moved suddenly, she might frighten them even more. Outside the netted enclosure, Ghinnah was agitated, wringing her hands.r />
  “Annah, what’s wrong with them? What should I do?”

  Steadying herself, Annah said, “Go find the father of our husbands.”

  Annah waited inside the netted enclosure, trying to remain calm. The birds were flying about now, as if trying to escape. Annah was amazed at their speed and their ability to veer and turn among the countless branches. Then, quite suddenly, they settled near each other in the branches, docile again, as if nothing had happened. An instant later, Annah felt Noakh’s presence as he came up the ramp. He was chuckling, followed by the anxious Ghinnah.

  “Now, daughter, I hope you haven’t changed your hair for feathers. Come out here, little bird!”

  “They were frightened,” Annah explained. “But the instant you returned to the pen; they became quiet. They sensed your presence before I did.”

  As Annah slipped out of the enclosure, Ghinnah picked a feather from Annah’s hair and laughed, her agitation fading. “Really, Annah, the feathers are quite pretty in your hair. We should show this new adornment to I’ma-Naomi and Tirtsah.”

  Noakh cleared his throat gently, as if he hated to interrupt. “Daughters, go tell your husbands that I cannot leave the pen. If these two creatures have already appeared, then others will follow. We have little time.”

  As they left the pen, Ghinnah sniffed doubtfully. “Two birds appear and he says ‘we have little time.’ It’ll take more than two birds to convince me.” Tossing her head, she moved ahead of Annah, out of the pen.

  “The herds have been restless all week,” Naham growled, his voice lifting to the grass roof of his lodge. Seated on a mat beside him, Yerakh grunted and stared into the evening fire. Frowning, Naham continued. “My wives say that they’ve watched countless creatures on the other side of the river, all moving northward. Although, women being such fools, I should ignore them.”

  Yerakh grunted again.