A man’s echoing call of greeting stopped I’ma-Annah’s plans. Wondering, Keren looked down the slopes, toward the woods. Eliyshama, Neshar, and Bachan were climbing the slope, leading two well-laden horses. Eliyshama looked grim, Neshar stoic, and Bachan amused.
Seeing them, Keren’s heart thudded uncomfortably. Obviously, her horseman brothers had been visiting their family again, after an absence of three years. “Mattan didn’t come this time,” Keren thought aloud. “Perhaps they’ve quarreled again. I hope our I’ma isn’t upset.”
“I suppose we’ll go to our own lodge in the morning,” Sharah muttered, one pale eyebrow lifted in poorly concealed disgust. She only wanted to stay in the lodge of the Ancient Ones, Keren knew, because I’ma-Annah was working the gold for her wedding.
“We’ll finish your gold this evening,” I’ma-Annah told her. “Unless you want it to be very elaborate.”
“I want it to be beautiful, Ma’adannah. I will wait the three weeks if need be.”
Eliyshama bent to greet Noakh, then turned to kiss I’ma-Annah.
After binding his horse’s reins to an aged, battered stump, Neshar also formally greeted Noakh and I’ma-Annah, bowing his head slightly as he spoke. “Ancient One. Ma’adannah. It’s good to see you both.”
“Welcome,” I’ma-Annah murmured, her beautiful eyes shining. “If you will excuse me, I’ll go tell your I’ma-Naomi that you’re here. Karan, Sharah, be sure no one jostles the gold while it’s cooling.” I’ma-Annah hurried into the lodge, her steps swift and eager as a young girl’s.
“My sisters,” Bachan greeted Keren and Sharah, forgetting to acknowledge the ancient Noakh first, “I expect you to cry when I tell you that we cannot stay. Neshar and I have been commanded to return to the Great City before summer.”
“I weep,” said Sharah, clearly unmoved.
“I’m sorry we missed your visit,” Keren told her brothers, meaning every word. “How is our I’ma?”
“Probably still crying,” Eliyshama answered quietly, as Neshar nodded in mute agreement and Bachan rolled his eyes. “Tsereth and the children are with her.”
“They’ll cheer her up; they always do.” Keren smiled, thinking of her energetic, bright-eyed young nephews, Meysha and Darak, and their toddler-sister, Yelalah.
“At least stay until my son Shem returns with our herd,” Noakh urged. “What’s one more evening?”
“Ancient One, we’re bound by our pledge to return,” said Neshar, glancing at Noakh, fond, but not wholly regretful. “Perhaps we’ll meet the Father of my Fathers on our way down through the hills.”
Eliyshama cleared his throat and smiled at Noakh. “I, however, will stay for the night, Ancient One, if you aren’t bored with me.”
“Who can be bored with you, son of my sons? You must tell us about your children—and give us your word that you will bring them to visit next time.” Noakh heaved himself to his feet and gestured toward Neshar and Bachan to follow him into the lodge.
Keren started after them, then changed her mind and returned to sit with Sharah, who was waiting for the gold to cool.
“Do you like it?” Keren asked, peeking down at the gleaming rivulet of gold.
“It will be the first of many gold ornaments.” Sharah sat back on her heels and studied Keren. “In spite of all our quarrels, my sister, it will be strange to not see you for years at a time.”
“You’ll miss me?” Keren blinked, surprised.
“Somewhat.” Sharah stared at the gold once more. “It’s just that you’ve always been so near to me—lurking like an irritating shadow.”
“Thank you,” Keren said, refusing to be stung.
Bachan was coming out of the lodge again, his dark eyes glittering, one corner of his mouth turning sardonically. “I’ve heard you’re to marry that Bezeq of the northern tribes, my sister.”
“Are you angry?” Sharah’s disdain was unmistakable.
Bachan stared at her, then smiled. “I pity Bezeq. Even so …” With amazing swiftness, he caught a long curling strand of Sharah’s hair, whipped it around his brown fingers, and lopped it off just below her jawline, wielding the sharp blade of his obsidian knife so unexpectedly that Keren gasped.
Sharah screeched. “Bachan! Why did you do that?”
“A token, my sister,” Bachan said, returning to the horses. “Proof that the unnatural exists.”
“I could beat him!” Sharah breathed to Keren, wrathful, as she clawed at her mutilated lock of hair. “How can I possibly hide this?”
Keren shrugged. “Why hide it if you can’t? Braid it and flaunt it as if you meant to wear it that way. The other young girls will imitate you.”
Sharah gaped at Keren, then laughed. “You’re right. That’s what I’ll do. My dear shadow-sister, I believe I will almost miss you after all.”
“Ra-Anan commands your presence,” the huge guardsman told Bachan, his silhouette dark against the moonlight, his stance fierce, compelling Bachan to obey.
“Why should the great Ra-Anan care to see me?” Bachan demanded, irritated at being roused from a sound sleep in the middle of the night. “Since when does he trouble himself with one of his unworthy brothers?”
“Come at once or I’ll bind you,” the guardsman answered, tensing.
Unnerved now, and wide-awake, Bachan left the cramped, clay-bricked soldiers’ quarters and followed his hostile escort through the midsummer night’s quiet of the slumbering Great City. Feeling the hardened clay of the main road beneath his feet, Bachan wished he had not been too intimidated to lace on his sandals. It galled him that he would appear before Ra-Anan disheveled and barefoot, like a mere farmer.
Ra-Anan’s residence was at the edge of the Great City, a low, sprawling, nondescript brick home, surrounded by a scrupulously tended, wall-enclosed courtyard garden. Despite his growing power, Ra-Anan was careful to cultivate the appearance of simplicity. Too great a display of influence and wealth would annoy He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies and jeopardize Ra-Anan’s position amid the growing hierarchy of the kingdom.
Thoroughly respectful of his brother’s abilities, Bachan felt his stomach tighten as he was led through a narrow gate that opened into the torchlit garden.
“There,” the guard muttered, pointing toward a pair of mats arranged near a glowing clay brazier. “Sit.”
Knowing his place, Bachan chose the less elaborate, thinly cushioned mat, and sat cross-legged upon it, contriving to appear at ease. A serving boy appeared, dressed in a simple leather tunic with a cord of leather at his throat bearing an amulet of pure white stone, marking him as one of the household of Ra-Anan. Furtively, the boy cast a dishful of spices and fragrant wood into the brazier, then slipped away before Bachan could question him.
Sweet, sharp smoke arose from the brazier, a deterrent to the mosquitoes that flitted through the darkness seeking flesh. And blood, like Ra-Anan, Bachan thought, swiping a mosquito from his forearm.
At that instant, Ra-Anan emerged from his house, tall, reed thin, and clean shaven, though he was married. Even Ra-Anan’s head was shorn and oiled—giving him an odd, vulturelike appearance, which Bachan secretly despised. Because it was the middle of the night, Ra-Anan wore only a simple wrap of untrimmed white fleece. As Ra-Anan approached him, Bachan stood and folded his hands properly, bowing his head with only the exact measure of respect required, nothing more.
His narrow upper lip curling faintly, Ra-Anan sat down, then nodded to Bachan, indicating that he should sit as well. Silently Ra-Anan reached into his white fleece wrap and pulled out a gleaming, braided coil, which he showed to Bachan in the torchlight.
The instant he recognized the braided coil, Bachan gulped for air. It was the lock of hair he had cut from Sharah’s head four months past. How did you get hold of that? Bachan wondered to Ra-Anan, shocked.
“This was found in your gear,” Ra-Anan informed him coldly, enunciating every word. “Did you think you could hide her existence from me forever?”
Bachan stif
fened defensively. “Neshar demanded my word that I say nothing.”
“Who else has said ‘nothing’ to me after all these years?”
Bachan was about to argue when he saw Mattan emerge from the shadows of Ra-Anan’s house. Traitor-brother, Bachan thought, sneering at Mattan. Thief. I should never have shown you that lock of hair. Grudgingly, knowing that Ra-Anan already knew everything, Bachan said, “Lawkham and Zehker, guardsmen of the Great King. They’ve seen her. But they deserve no punishment, Ra-Anan. They merely honored Neshar’s command, because he was their leader at that time. You know it’s true. Even so, it’s too late for you to do anything; our no-color sister is now married.”
“What about the younger one with the pale eyes?” Ra-Anan queried softly, narrowing his own eyes until they were hooded and full of menace. “Is she married?”
Thinking of the sensitive, daydreaming Keren, then glancing at Mattan, Bachan rasped out the truth, hating himself. “No. She’s not married, or betrothed.”
Ra-Anan’s dark, hooded eyes gleamed. Silent once more, he waved both Bachan and Mattan away. As soon as they were outside the gate, and a safe distance from the guard, Bachan struck Mattan’s jaw with one clenched fist. Mattan accepted Bachan’s blow, staggering but not falling.
“Traitor!” Bachan hissed. “You’re no brother to me! Why did you tell Ra-Anan about Keren? She’s done you no harm, but he will destroy her with all his schemes!”
“Better her than us,” Mattan muttered stiffly, holding his jaw. “And you told Ra-Anan she wasn’t betrothed, I didn’t. You’re just as guilty.”
Chilled by his own sweat, Bachan asked, “What’s Ra-Anan going to do?”
Mattan looked away. “He’s going to tell He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies. They’ll punish Neshar for hiding this. Beyond that, I don’t know. They may punish us too, though I think he might excuse Zehker and Lawkham.”
Looking at Bachan, he said, “I’m sorry. I heard a rumor here, in these very streets, that one of the northern tribal leaders had married a beautiful woman with no-color skin and hair. I knew it was Sharah, and I knew Ra-Anan would hear of it before too long. And when Ra-Anan is angry …”
“I know.” Bachan shuddered, wishing he could warn Neshar. And Keren.
Six
KEREN BREATHED IN the last hints of scent drifting down from the sacrificial altar tended by Noakh, Shem, and Meshek. Pressing her hands to her face, she prayed, Guard us, O Most High. I ask Your protection for my family, for Sharah, for myself, for us all. Though I’m not afraid, she thought at last, looking up into the autumn-blue heavens. It would be an adventure to visit the tribe of Bezeq, and to stay with Sharah while she awaited the birth of her child. Why do I have such difficulty thinking of Sharah as a mother?
“You don’t have to go,” Chaciydah whispered, plucking at Keren’s sleeve. “Actually, I wish you wouldn’t. Tsereth’s also expecting another child; she needs you here. I need you here.”
Smiling, Keren kissed her mother’s thin cheek, then hugged her tight, willing her to be strong. “Yesterday, my I’ma, you wanted me to go to Sharah because you remembered what it was like to bear children in a strange place, surrounded by people you didn’t know. Today you say that you and Tsereth need me. What should I do?”
“I know I’m being selfish. But you’ve always been such a comfort to me and such a joy to your father; I can’t bear to see you go,” said Chaciydah, in a flow of emotion that brought tears to her eyes. “Not that I love you more than I love Sharah, but since she’s been gone, life is so peaceful. I detest the thought of changing anything.”
“Our Karan will return to us,” said I’ma-Annah, comfortingly tranquil as she smoothed Keren’s shawl of blue-gray edged with crimson, tucking its ends around Keren’s throat.
“Certainly, she will return to us,” I’ma-Naomi agreed, hugging Keren fiercely. “But Khuldah and her beloved are waiting, as is that Yithran and his mother. It would be rude to delay any longer. Give me a kiss, Karan, then go kiss your father and his fathers.”
Obediently Keren leaned down and kissed I’ma-Annah and I’ma-Naomi, closer to tears now than she had been when she kissed her mother. Meshek was coming down the hillside from the altar, followed by Shem and Noakh. Somber faced, he hugged Keren and kissed her forehead lightly. For a brief instant, Keren saw his dark brown eyes flicker. He doesn’t want me to go, she realized, saddened.
Taking her hands, Meshek said, “Give me your word, daughter, that if you meet some young man who wishes to marry you, and you are certain that you desire to marry him, then you’ll send him to me before pledging yourselves to each other.”
“I give you my word, Father. I’d never marry without your permission,” Keren promised—though marriage seemed so unlikely that she couldn’t take the possibility to heart. “Truly, if I meet such a man, I’ll send him to you at once.”
“May the Most High bless you,” Shem told Keren, his dark eyes fathomless. “Remember Him, child.”
“Always,” Keren promised, marveling at his intensity. One glance from Shem could overpower a torrent of words from any other man. It was difficult to look away from him.
“Our prayers are with you, little one,” Noakh said, smiling fondly. “Keep that Sharah safe from her own impulses.”
“If anyone can, O Ancient One,” Keren agreed.
Khuldah was coming to fetch her, clearly under orders from the others in her group. By her marriage, less than two years past, Khuldah was a member of the tribe of Bezeq. Shortly after her marriage, Khuldah had convinced her husband and his people to join her family at the encampments, thus unwittingly introducing Bezeq to Sharah. Khuldah had also decided that the restless Sharah needed Keren’s calming presence.
“Pale Eyes!” Khuldah approached Keren. “My husband and the others are eager to leave. Are you coming?”
“I’m ready.” Keren retrieved the heavy leather traveling pack she had borrowed from Tsereth. I wish I could say good-bye to you again, Keren thought to Tsereth and Eliyshama, who had stayed behind with their children. I’m going to miss you all.
Controlling her pang of regret, Keren struggled with the traveling pack, distributing its weight across her shoulders. Khuldah pulled Keren’s hair away from the straps to prevent it from snagging, then grabbed Keren’s arm. She cast one last smile of farewell toward her family and hurried down the slope, away from the lodge of the Ancient Ones, to join the others.
“I’m so glad you’ve agreed to come with us,” Khuldah whispered. “I’ve missed talking with you. But look: Yithran’s staring at you again, never mind that his mother is displeased.”
Keren flushed. The dusky, tousle-haired Yithran—as physically attractive and impressive as his brother Bezeq—was indeed staring at her. But his mother, the dignified matriarch Nihyah, had averted her narrow, decorous face, her finely curved mouth suddenly a tight line.
You don’t like Sharah, Keren realized, hastily looking away from the disapproving Nihyah. And it irritates you that your second son is now watching me. I wish I could tell you not to worry. If you dislike my sister so much, then I wouldn’t dare encourage your son.
Determined to avoid Nihyah and Yithran, Keren walked behind Khuldah and her husband, Merowm, who was nut-brown, vigorous, and easily amused—a perfect match for Khuldah. As the day progressed, however, Keren noticed that Yithran was gradually closing the distance between them.
As they were sitting down for their midday meal, Yithran stopped directly in front of Keren, stared into her eyes, and smiled. His admiration was so unmistakable and so disturbingly pleasant that Keren looked down at her leather-clad feet, blushing hotly. This is going to be a difficult journey, she thought. Unless I act now.
Snatching her leather traveling pack, she hurried to sit beside the startled Nihyah. Yithran wouldn’t dare to flirt with her in front of his own mother. To make certain that Nihyah understood her completely, Keren appealed to her, “Mother of Bezeq, please, let me keep company with you.”
Nihya
h’s shocked expression eased into a grudging smile. “Stay with me for as long as you like, child. I’m glad you asked.”
“Nothing I do pleases her,” Sharah hissed to Keren, flinging a bitter glance toward Nihyah’s proud back. “How I wish her husband hadn’t gone to pay tribute to the Great King! She never has enough work to keep her from antagonizing me.”
“The mother of your husband has a good heart,” Keren murmured. She dropped her traveling pack, then edged into the shadows of Bezeq’s stone-and-timber lodge, drawing Sharah along with her, praying Nihyah couldn’t hear her. “But Nihyah is as strong willed as you are, my sister, and you must talk to each other and work together if you are to live in peace. Even more important: You must permit yourself to lose an occasional contest.”
“To her?” Sharah puckered her lips in distaste.
“Yes, lose to her once in a while. Use those manners you pretend to have.”
“You sound like your I’ma-Annah.”
“Thank you. That’s the kindest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“I didn’t mean it kindly, and you know it,” Sharah said.
Nihyah was listening, Keren was sure, so she changed the subject. “You look beautiful! I’ll be so glad to see your child.”
“I’m huge,” Sharah complained, sliding her hands over her rounded abdomen.
“You carry a child better than any woman I’ve ever seen,” Nihyah told her, approaching with a thick, puffy bale of furs.
Noticing Sharah’s stunned expression, Keren suspected that this was the first compliment Nihyah had ever given her daughter-in-law. To encourage the pleasantries, Keren asked, “What do you think, O mother of Bezeq: Does my sister carry a son or a daughter?”
“A son,” Nihyah answered, lifting her chin proudly. “See how high she carries him? And she felt him moving quite early.”
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