Her daydream was interrupted by a shove from Sharah. “Hurry with your work! I want to go outside.”
“It’s cold outside; you hate the cold,” Keren said, whipping row upon row of the fine, light thread onto the long wooden shuttle. “You just want to see if Eliyshama has finished polishing that piece of red stone he’s been carving. He never said he would give it to you. For all you know, it’s for his beloved.”
Sharah tossed her pale curls confidently. “Eliyshama has already given Tsereth a stone carving—and it was a much larger stone. She won’t want this one.”
“But what if he plans to give it to our I’ma? Or to I’ma-Annah, or I’ma-Naomi?”
Sharah answered Keren with a threatening, tight-lipped glare. Keren ducked her head submissively and focused on the long wooden shuttle. Finished at last, she tucked her shuttle, and Sharah’s, into a lidded basket beside their mother’s floor loom.
Slapping the basket lid shut, Sharah said, “You’re too slow! Come on.” She seized Keren’s arm and dragged her outside the lodge.
Their mother was stirring an acrid-smelling mixture of dye in a large, blackened clay pot at the hearth. Chaciydah straightened wearily and pushed a brown curl away from her forehead. Lifting one finely arched, skeptical eyebrow, she asked, “Have you finished winding the shuttles?”
“Yes, I’ma,” Keren answered, as Sharah pulled her toward their brother.
Bundled in a thick gray open-fronted leather robe and a warm brown-furred tunic, Eliyshama was sitting cross-legged on a woven grass mat near the smoking hearth. He was knotting a dark leather cord between his long brown fingers and didn’t look up as they approached.
Keren smiled secretly. You know we’re coming, she thought to her brother. But you’re ignoring us because you know Sharah wants your stone carving.
Sharah pulled Keren to a stop in front of Eliyshama. “Are you finished? Let me see it.”
“See what?” Eliyshama pretended surprise. He lifted the leather cord and displayed his carving, a smooth, polished circle of bright red stone, pierced through the center. “It’s just a cord with a shiny rock that I’m using as a balance for my spear.”
“Liar,” Sharah accused, making Keren cringe.
Eliyshama gave Sharah a long, even look. “Watch,” he commanded. Quickly, he knotted the leather cord with the bright red stone to the middle of his long ashwood spear. Then he stood, balancing the spear, preparing to throw it into the field beyond the lodge. Keren glanced at Sharah. Hot pink tinged Sharah’s face, though her lips were pressed tight, furious and pale.
Eliyshama ignored them both, concentrating as if his aim were critical. He took several running steps and, raising his left arm for balance, gave a mighty throw. “There,” he said, watching his spear slice through the cool autumn air and then land, quivering, in the short-grazed field. “It works. But then again, I might give that shiny red stone to the first person who reaches my spear.”
Impulsively, Keren ran for the weapon. She loved to run. It was the one way she could win against Sharah, who hated running. This time, however, Sharah actually kept pace with her as they charged across the cold, damp field. With a frantic burst of energy, Keren flung herself ahead. Seizing the spear with both hands, she wrested it from the moist earth, only to have Sharah knock her to the ground. Still gripping the spear, Keren huddled above it protectively, laughing as Sharah struggled to push her away from the coveted red stone.
“Let me have it!” Sharah screamed.
I can’t, Keren thought, still laughing, hysterical, unable to explain. You’re leaning on me, I’m kneeling on the spear, and my fingers are stuck beneath it. At last, gasping, she yelled, “Get up; I’ll give it to you!”
“Your word!”
“My word, truly.” Keren’s shins and fingers were hurting, pressed hard against the spear. “Ow! Just get off me, Sharah.”
All at once, Sharah’s weight lifted from Keren’s back. Sighing in relief, Keren sat up. “I was going to give it to you anyway, since you want it so much.”
“But you won the race,” Eliyshama said, startling her. She hadn’t realized that he was behind them. He sounded cold, harsh—unusual for Eliyshama. “You won the carving, Keren.”
Keren looked over her shoulder at her brother. Eliyshama seemed irritated. Sharah sat on the ground beside him, sulking. Obviously Eliyshama had yanked Sharah aside to free Keren.
He meant for me to win this thing, Keren thought, surprised. But if I take it, Sharah will be angry.
Smiling at him, willing him to understand, Keren said, “The stone is so pretty, Eliyshama, and you’ve cut and polished it so beautifully that Sharah is certain she can’t live without it. So she’d get it from me somehow. I only wanted to win the race against her. Here, Sharah.” Keren unwound the leather corded stone from Eliyshama’s spear and looped it over Sharah’s gleaming head. “Are you happy?”
“Eliyshama,” Chaciydah called from behind them. They turned toward her; Chaciydah was furious, her thin brown cheeks were flushed, her eyes narrowed. “Why have you set your sisters against each other? You knew Sharah was expecting the stone carving. Why didn’t you just give it to her?”
“Too much is given to her, I’ma,” Eliyshama argued. “I found the stone, I cut it, I polished it, and I corded it. But Sharah insists it must be hers, and you and Keren simply agree to let her take it—as if it was never mine to give as I please. I wish I’d saved it for Tsereth. But if Sharah is pleased, then never mind.”
Snatching up his spear, he said, “I’m finished resting. I’ll go help Father with the herd.” He started to walk away. But then he looked back at them, his eyes actually fierce. “Quit giving in to Sharah, both of you!”
I’ve never seen him so angry, Keren thought, watching her brother. He’s never been rude to I’ma. Anxious, Keren cast a sidelong glance at her mother.
Chaciydah watched Eliyshama, stricken, blinking hard, obviously forcing back tears. At last she silently lowered her head and went back to work at the hearth.
Seeing her mother’s distress, Keren felt her stomach tighten miserably.
Still sitting on the ground beside her, Sharah gave Keren a swift kick to her fleece-booted ankle. “If you intended for me to have the stone carving, then you shouldn’t have challenged me by running for the spear. Now you’ve made Eliyshama and our I’ma very unhappy. You should go apologize to I’ma.”
“I will. But you should go with me.”
Sharah looked away, fingering the red stone, unmoving.
Keren eyed her father nervously. As tired as he was, she could tell he was furious. He led her and Sharah outside to the cool, starry darkness. Stopping at the glowing-embered hearth, he said, “Sit.”
Almost as one, Keren and Sharah sat on the hard ground. Keren shivered, staring at her toes as her father paced. She knew he was choosing his words carefully because I’ma was listening from just inside the doorway of the lodge.
At last he said, “Look at me.”
Keren lifted her head and looked up at her father. But Meshek was staring at Sharah; she had ignored him. Meshek slammed the butt of his herding staff into the earth directly in front of Sharah, making her jump as he snarled, “Look at me!”
Sharah looked.
Meshek leaned down toward Sharah, seeming barely able to control himself, though he spoke just above a whisper. “Every day, there are new problems! New foolishness! Fights, tantrums, rebellion, and doing as little as you can to help your mother! As if she doesn’t have enough to bear.” Taking a quick breath, Meshek eyed Keren now, as well as Sharah.
“Have either of you noticed that your mother is not strong? She doesn’t need further distress from you—nor do I. Life is hard enough here without all these scenes from my daughters. Listen to me—and don’t roll your eyes, Sharah! After we’ve celebrated Eliyshama’s marriage, you’ll spend the winter with the Ancient Ones, and the Father of my Father, and his Ma’adannah. You will work for them. And if I hear of any shirkin
g or rebellion from either of you, I’ll beat you with my herding stick—never mind what your mother says! Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Father,” Keren whispered. Beside her, Sharah nodded, her lips a thin, colorless line. Meshek stared hard at her. At last, Sharah lowered her eyes and fidgeted with the edge of her blue overtunic.
Sighing, Meshek straightened wearily. “Stay here beside the hearth until I call you. Don’t move and don’t fight, do you understand?”
This time, Sharah answered with Keren, their voices in unison. “Yes, Father.”
Keren thought, An entire winter with I’ma-Annah, the Father of my Fathers, and the Ancient Ones, Noakh and I’ma-Naomi! She smiled, delighted. Sharah gave her a furtive shove. Keren ignored her, focusing her attention instead on the high, glittering stars. In her heart, she wanted to dance.
There are no newcomers, Keren realized happily, as she followed Meshek, Shem, Eliyshama, and I’ma-Annah through the temporary encampment. She recognized everyone. Most were from her mother’s tribe, among them Chaciydah’s brother, the rough-voiced, full-bearded Ashkenaz, and his son Azaz, Tsereth’s father. But Meshek’s stocky cousin Metiyl was also waiting to greet them. He winked at Keren, making her want to laugh. Two of Metiyl’s adolescent sons, Yeiysh and Khawrawsh, were studying Sharah, who was walking beside Keren.
Sharah’s expression was remote, as if she were completely unaware of Yeiysh and Khawrawsh, and all the other young men who were staring at her.
But you’ll keep me awake tonight, telling me exactly what you think about each of them, Keren thought, glancing at her sister. You’re laughing inside. You love all this attention. Even so, it’s not your wedding day; it’s Eliyshama’s, and you can’t take this joy from him.
Keren smiled at Eliyshama. He was splendid, clothed in new deerskin boots and a robe of deep red wool, beautifully seamed and belted with trimmings of brilliant blue. But Eliyshama’s fine new garments were nothing compared to his expression; he was beaming with happiness. I’ma, Keren thought to the absent Chaciydah, I wish you hadn’t been too ill to come to the wedding. I wish the Ancient Ones, Noakh and Naomi, were here too. How they’d enjoy seeing Eliyshama today.
The other young, unmarried men in the encampment were gathering around Eliyshama, exuberant, laughing, punching his arms, slapping him on the shoulders, and praising his composure. Eliyshama grinned, jostled his more boisterous relatives, and thanked the others for their compliments. Raising his voice, he called out, “How can I be married if I have no bride? Where have you hidden her?”
Still laughing and teasing, the young men led Eliyshama through the center of the encampment. Following Meshek, Shem, I’ma-Annah, and Sharah, Keren ducked behind I’ma-Annah’s arm, content to watch the festivities from the shadows. I’ma-Annah hugged her, smoothing her hair as they watched and waited for the bride. Keren peeked up at I’ma-Annah, pleased by her attention. I’ma-Annah looked perfect today, as graceful as ever, her sleek black hair clasped with gold talismans, her pale blue garments delicately edged with white wool, impressive gold cuffs on her wrists.
You’re so beautiful, Keren thought to her. I wish I could be like you.
Women’s voices echoed through the encampment now in a trilling, singsong melody, followed by squeals of laughter and the sounds of whistles, drums, bells, and clapping hands. Tsereth was coming, surrounded by her sisters, her mother, her aunts, and all her maiden cousins, who sang and danced around her as they led her through the maze of gray and tawny felted tents in the encampment. Keren clutched I’ma-Annah’s hand, forcing herself not to rush out and dance with Tsereth’s family.
“It’s hard for little feet to be still,” I’ma-Annah murmured, hugging Keren once more. “But look at your new sister, child. Isn’t she beautiful?”
Tall and imposing, her soft brown hair streaming down to her knees, Tsereth was radiant in a flowing, gracefully fashioned cream-and-red gown and brightly fringed boots. Eliyshama’s carved red stone rested at the base of her smooth brown throat, and her big, dark eyes sparkled as she met Eliyshama’s gaze. Eliyshama simply stared at her, obviously delighted and incapable of speech.
Keren laughed, enjoying the spectacle, until someone nudged her sharply in the ribs. She glanced over at the offender, Sharah, who rolled her eyes and pantomimed her boredom. You won’t spoil my happiness, Keren thought to her sister. If I have to, I’ll run over to Tsereth’s family and stay with them instead of you. Swiftly, Keren looked away from Sharah to Shem.
Father of my Fathers, Keren thought to Shem, one day you’ll bless my husband and me as you are blessing Eliyshama and Tsereth today. She watched Eliyshama clasp Tsereth’s hands as Shem praised the Most High and pronounced blessings and approval upon their marriage. As soon as Shem stepped back, Eliyshama kissed Tsereth, almost lifting her off her feet as he embraced her.
Tsereth’s family laughed and clapped, uttering tongue-rattling cries of jubilation. I’ma-Annah leaned down, whispering to Keren, “Go kiss your new sister!”
Keren didn’t need to be urged a second time. She ran to Tsereth, ducking around some of her cousins to reach her.
“There you are, my little bird,” Tsereth cried, bending to hug Keren. “I’m so glad to see you! I wish you could have come to visit me as soon as you arrived last night; we would have fed you sweet cakes and meat until you were so full you couldn’t move. Come, give me a kiss, then kiss your brother.”
Obediently Keren hugged Tsereth and planted a happy kiss on her cheek, then turned to Eliyshama. He was smiling at her fondly, and he rumpled her curls before sweeping her up in a quick, tight hug. “Now,” he whispered, “you can visit my wife’s sisters and enjoy yourself.”
Before Keren could reply, Eliyshama put her down and turned to greet Tsereth’s father, Azaz, who was tapping him on the shoulder, demanding his attention. Suddenly unsure of herself, Keren hesitated amid the crowd. A firm pair of hands descended upon her shoulders. Her father smiled down at her. “Go play,” he urged, nudging Keren toward the unmarried girls at the edge of the crowd.
Shyly, slowly, Keren walked toward them. One of the tallest girls, Tsereth’s sister Khuldah, saw her and beckoned, her voice loud enough to make heads turn. “Pale Eyes! Why are you dragging your feet? Come here. We’re going to eat soon, and you have to sit with us. Where’s your no-color sister?”
“She’s coming, I’m sure,” Keren said, hurrying to meet Khuldah, so she wouldn’t yell again. Keren really didn’t mind being called “Pale Eyes.” It was Khuldah’s way of accepting her. But Khuldah’s loud, carrying voice made Keren want to run away to the shadows where she could hide from the frowns and lifted eyebrows of the adults, who were watching them.
“The food’s all prepared,” Khuldah said, licking her lips. She was a sturdy girl, confident and unconcerned, the leader of all the maiden cousins her age. Even Sharah couldn’t intimidate her. Now Khuldah lowered her voice to Keren, her brown eyes roguish, “When I saw your brother, I almost couldn’t breathe! I’d forgotten how handsome he is. No wonder Tsereth has been gabbing on about him. There’s your no-color sister. Is she going to talk to us, or is she going to be a nose-in-the-air again?”
“She didn’t like the way you ordered her around the last time we were here,” Keren confided, remembering their previous visit two years past. Sharah had been furious with Khuldah throughout their stay. “Sharah hates being told what to do.”
“Oh,” Khuldah said, clearly unconcerned. “Poor Sharah. Well, if she doesn’t like playing our games by our rules, then she can play with the little ones and tell them what to do.” She turned to Sharah. “Girl-of-No-Color! Are you going to sit and visit with us, or are you going to ignore us again? We’re sisters, after all.”
“As you say,” Sharah answered coolly. She frowned at Keren. “You were supposed to stay with me.”
“Father told me to stay with Tsereth’s sisters. Eliyshama said so too.”
“I heard no such thing,” Sharah snapped, looking away.
Keren heard Sharah mutter very softly behind them, “Cow!”
Shocked, Keren held her breath fearfully, but Khuldah had either not heard Sharah or graciously chose to ignore the slur.
They followed Khuldah to another open area of the encampment, where the earth had been plowed and trampled to allow for an enormous cooking hearth. The scent of roasting meat made Keren swallow hard. She hadn’t realized that she was so hungry. Sharah was apparently hungry too; she unrolled the long woven grass mats without argument. But she stayed away from Khuldah when they ate, seeming too engrossed in her food to talk to anyone. Khuldah, meanwhile, knelt beside Keren, who gladly listened to her easy, friendly chatter.
Encouraged by Khuldah, Keren ate until she felt she was bursting. Chunks of roasted mutton, crisp flat breads, dried cherries, savory vegetables with barley, hard-boiled eggs, and most delicious of all, a tender roasted quail. “I think I won’t eat for a few days,” Keren sighed, tossing the quail bones into the crackling fire.
“Wait until we’ve finished dancing; you’ll be ready to eat by then,” Khuldah assured her. They stood by the fire, warming their hands against the early evening chill. Khuldah gave a full-throated chuckle. “When I get married, we’re going to feast and dance for two weeks!”
“You’ll have to find a husband first,” Sharah said airily, as she came to toss the remains of her quail into the fire.
Khuldah scowled, but before she could answer, Metiyl’s sons, Yeiysh and Khawrawsh, came running into the encampment, their eyes wide and tense, their voices roughened by alarm. “Horsemen! Coming straight toward us from the west! Horsemen of Nimr-Rada!”
Instantly the adults leaped to their feet, the men calling to each other, the women gasping, snatching up the youngest children, then hastily retreating to the edges of the open area, with the older children following.
He Who Lifts the Skies Page 3