“But I will be conspicuous,” Keren protested miserably. “The Great King has sent me a formidable collection of ornaments to wear whenever I step outside my gates. It’s bad enough that I’ll frighten everyone I meet, but now I’ll blind them as well.”
Meherah laughed—Lawkham’s mischievous laugh—and her eyes glistened. “I think you are simply not used to such attention, child. Please, I would enjoy seeing all these ‘formidable’ ornaments.”
Instantly, Alatah and Revakhaw scrambled up from their mats and ran inside to gather the ornaments.
Keren reluctantly smiled at Meherah. “Mother of Lawkham, it’s good to be called child again. Sometimes I think there are no true elders in this Great City. If so, then they are too quiet.”
Meherah’s expression softened. “Lady, forgive me. I should not have called you that. But I know something of your situation, and I wish to help you in whatever way I can. Above all, if I could say anything to you, it would be that you should be at rest in your thoughts. From what I’ve heard, you are much admired in this Great City—though, if I may say so, your eyes do cause an impulse of fear. You amaze everyone.
“Now, here come your attendants with these ornaments. Please, later, I beg you to try them on for my sake. But first, let me give you these few tokens of regard from my family.”
Meherah went to the gate and retrieved a large, heavy basket, refusing assistance from anyone. “Use these as you wish, Lady,” she said, kneeling before Keren once more.
Her gift, carelessly presented, was a beautifully matched set of clay serving dishes. Keren lifted one of the pitchers reverently. It revealed an extraordinary mastery of clay—so thin, smooth, and strong that it produced a marvelous ringing tone in her hands. And it was adorned with meticulously incised lines and dots—a more subtle and restful pattern than the heavy, boldly painted black dishes most people used.
“Mother of Lawkham, these are wonderful—thank you! We must use them now, for our little feast.”
“No-no-no, why should you give me such an honor?” Meherah protested. But Keren could see that she was justifiably proud of her family’s craftsmanship.
Throughout their feast, Meherah talked easily, laughingly, her small work-hardened hands fluttering at the height of every story or joke. She praised the food, the spiced grains, the roasted venison, the vegetables—seasoned with herbs, olive oil, and garlic—accompanied by the usual flat grain cakes, and an immense platter of fresh and dried fruits, artfully arranged by Na’ah.
Meherah told of seeing He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies for the first time at a hunt where he killed his first leopard, and of how he had encouraged the other young men of various tribes to follow him and subdue all the wild creatures that were terrorizing the tribal settlements. Then she described two of the First Fathers—Yepheth and the famed Khawm, who was supposedly the most rebellious son of the patriarch Noakh, but so captivating that the stories of his defiance were difficult to believe. She also told Keren that she had met two of the First Mothers, the revered fabric maker, Ghinnah, and the exquisitely beautiful Tirzah. They both looked so young. How could anyone believe they had lived through the Great Destruction? It was almost too incredible to believe.
The afternoon passed quickly. In Meherah’s refreshing company, Keren felt better than she had at any time since her arrival in the Great City.
When she had finished her food, Meherah sighed contentedly. “That was a wonderful meal. Your mothers taught you well. Now, let’s persuade our Lady Keren to wear her dreadful ornaments.”
They all laughed and relaxed, passing the ornaments one by one to Meherah, who praised them and insisted that Keren must wear each piece. To humor her guest, Keren donned the heavy gold necklace garnished with bloodred stones, the wide symbol-engraved gold cuffs for her wrists, the matching gold cuffs for her ankles, the thick gold rings, and her headpiece—a slender rim of hammered gold, mounted with three small, beautifully fashioned, rippling points of gold. Ra-Anan insisted that these points of gold gave the effect of rays of sunlight— to honor Keren’s name. But Keren didn’t see this headpiece as an honor. It was a burden, as were all the other ornaments.
Meherah thought they were delightful. She gazed at Keren, enthralled as a child, clasping her hands beneath her chin. “Who could compare to you?” she asked. Without waiting for an answer, she said, “I know what’s needed! Listen; I think you should darken your eyes.”
“Darken my eyes?” Keren leaned forward, fascinated, wondering if she had heard Meherah clearly—it sounded like a dream. “How could I possibly darken my eyes?”
“Easily, Lady. You won’t believe the effect when you see it; your entire face will change.” Meherah dispatched Tsinnah and Alatah to retrieve clay and sandstone lamps from inside Keren’s house, pleading with them to also bring red ochre and purified oils.
“Now, I’ll tell you, Lady, to the south and west of this great city is the tribe of Mitzrayim, an uncle of He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies. The women of Mitzrayim’s tribe darken their eyes with lampblack to protect themselves against the glare of the sun. The effect is wonderful. I’ve seen it done, and I’ll show you. First, I must wash my hands and dip them in some oil to make the lampblack like an ointment.”
Chatting agreeably, Meherah dabbed purified oils on her clean hands, then ran her fingertips over the darkened interiors of the lamps until she had created an impromptu black paste. Then she knelt before Keren. “Look upward, Lady, without moving.” Meherah ran her fingertips along the innermost edges of Keren’s eyelids, a movement so efficient and quick that Keren was certain Meherah had practiced this before. “Now, some red ochre,” Meherah announced. After washing her hands again, she rubbed Tsinnah’s bit of red ochre on the flat, unglazed edge of a clay lamp. The rasping sound made Keren shiver. “Hold still once more, then you may look in your mirror, Lady.”
Keren submitted to Meherah’s ministrations uneasily now, for Meherah was dabbing a concoction of red ochre and pure, solidified oils on Keren’s lips. Gebuwrah, silent and watchful, handed Keren her small, heavy, rough-backed obsidian mirror. Shifting her position to catch the late afternoon sunlight, Keren gazed into the polished surface of the dark mirror. The rims of her eyelids were indeed very black, but this only heightened the startling effect of her pale eyes—not at all what she had anticipated or wanted. And the red ochre paste exaggerated her lips flagrantly, making her seem harder, older, and completely unlike herself.
“You don’t like it,” Meherah said, exhaling the words in a dramatic, mourning sigh, as Lawkham often did when trying to coax Keren to agree with him.
“I look very different,” Keren began, not wishing to offend her guest.
“But, Lady, you look wonderful, not terrible,” Revakhaw added, obviously delighted. “I want to try this on my own eyes.”
“If you all darkened your eyes this way—and wore the new attire and ornaments—you would be amazing,” Meherah told them. Gebuwrah, Revakhaw, and Tsinnah agreed, but Na’ah and Alatah looked nervous. Before they could argue, the gate opened. Zehker stepped inside, admitting Ra-Anan’s rude guard, Perek.
After gawking at Keren, Perek remembered his few manners and bowed his head respectfully. The instant he lifted his head, however, all courtesy was gone. He strode forward, angrily brandishing his longspear. “You’ve kept our Master Ra-Anan waiting, Lady,” he said accusingly. “And He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies is waiting with him—in the company of his lady, your sister. You are commanded to come at once.”
“I—have to go to my privy,” Keren told him, almost stammering, she was so taken aback. “I can’t show myself to them yet.”
Swiftly the guard positioned himself between Keren and the doorway to her house. “I don’t wish to die, Lady,” he said, holding out his longspear to fend her off. “But I must fulfill my orders; you will leave now.”
“We are all with you, Lady,” Tsinnah promised beneath her breath, though Gebuwrah was shaking her head. “Whatever you say, we will do.” Revakhaw and the othe
rs were gathering around her now, in a show of silent support.
Keren shook her head, for once agreeing with Gebuwrah. “Let’s not invite disaster. I’ll walk there right now, barefoot and looking ridiculous.”
“I’m sorry to cause you such trouble.” Meherah sounded anxious. “I’ll go with you and explain that I’m at fault for detaining you.”
“Perhaps He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies will be pleased to see you again,” Keren agreed. “But I doubt that my brother and my sister will care to know why I’m late.”
Led by Zehker, and followed by the obdurate Perek, they walked through the hardened clay streets. Keren braced herself against the feel of the dirt on her bare feet, and against the shocked stares of the citizens who happened to see her pass. She wouldn’t have blamed them if they laughed at her outrageous appearance. Perhaps later she might be amused, remembering this scene she was creating. At the moment, however, she was angry. When they reached Ra-Anan’s residence, she stalked inside the gate. Instantly, she stopped, all the breath leaving her body.
Her father was seated stiffly on a mat before Nimr-Rada, Sharah, and Ra-Anan. Meshek was flushed, obviously enraged. And Sharah and Ra-Anan were both tightlipped, staring at him. They had been arguing, Keren was sure. Only Nimr-Rada seemed to be self-possessed, occupying the uppermost seat on a makeshift dais, fingering his ever-present flail, the languid Tselem at his feet. When he saw Keren, Nimr-Rada sat back, his endlessly dark eyes gleaming in undisguised pleasure.
“Come, my sister.” His deep, rich voice turned everyone in the crowded courtyard toward Keren. “Come visit with your father.”
Dazed, Keren slowly wiped her dusty feet on a mat provided by a servant. As she knelt and glimpsed her father’s disbelieving face, Keren remembered Neshar’s warning. I beg you, if you cherish our father, you must make him leave you here. Reject him.
Lifting her eyes upward to the evening skies, Keren prayed.
Make him hate you, her thoughts urged, more than anyone else on earth….
Fourteen
“KEREN?” MESHEK asked, staring at her with an expression of horror.
Keren felt ill. Unable to face her father, she lifted her chin and looked away from him, toward the dais. Let him think she didn’t care to see him. Let him believe that she preferred to live here with Sharah, who seemed furious with her, and with Ra-Anan, who was studying her as if she were an apparition whose existence he doubted.
Nimr-Rada, however, was smiling. Inclining his dark head, which was crowned by a rim of gold atop his usual horseman’s plait, Nimr-Rada spoke to Keren indulgently, almost paternally. “You have forgotten your sandals, my sister.”
She forced herself to smile at him, to seem pleased and equally indulgent. “I was commanded to come at once because He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies was waiting. Putting on my sandals would have taken time.”
“Then, seeing that you hurried to obey, we forgive you for keeping us waiting,” he answered, so amiable that Keren couldn’t believe it was the same tyrannical Nimr-Rada she detested.
“What have you done to her?” Meshek demanded, almost snarling.
“All this, she has done for herself,” Nimr-Rada said, waving a dark hand toward Keren’s attire, “with our full approval and encouragement.”
Keren felt her father staring at her, seething. “Look at you! How can you be my daughter? Your sister’s attire is actually more appropriate, and her manners more pleasing. You’ve not even greeted me properly. At least she’s asked me if I’m better today. I’ve been here for two days; didn’t you know?”
Two days? Genuinely shocked, Keren had to steady herself before she answered. Half turning, without looking at him, she said, “No, I didn’t hear that you were in the Great City; I’ve been busy. But I’m glad to know you’re well, Father. Were you ill?”
“He was exhausted,” Sharah told Keren sweetly. “We begged him to rest.”
“They’ve guarded me the entire time—against my will,” Meshek said. His discourtesy caused the servants and some of the guards to visibly flinch, evidently fearing Nimr-Rada’s reaction. But Meshek didn’t appear to notice or care. He rebuked Keren. “It seems that all I’ve been told is true; you have your own household, your own servants and horses and guards, and you’ve no wish to return to a simple life in the mountains.”
“Life is easier here,” she said tersely, fearing she might choke on the words. I can’t do this, she thought, staring up at the heavens, pretending irritation, but struggling against the tears that could only bring disaster. O Most High, let him forgive me eventually. He feels so betrayed; I can tell by his voice.
As if goaded beyond endurance, Meshek cried, “Look me in the eyes as you say these things, Keren!”
Keren noticed Zehker and Lawkham drawing near to restrain her father if the situation became too dangerous. Their actions distracted Meshek, who tensed, scowling at them. The interruption allowed Keren to compose herself, to glance at him, and to answer curtly. “I wish to stay. Tell my mother I’m sorry.”
“It would kill your mother to hear those words! And what of Yithran?”
She had to look away from her father then; he was so hurt. She could see that his anger was a shield for his despair. No doubt he believed that only his youngest son, Eliyshama, remained loyal to him and to the Ancient Ones. But Keren felt she could speak of Yithran coldly. “Yithran gave me a small token when I last saw him; I’ll send it to you later. Tell him I won’t leave this place.”
“That’s all you have to say?” her father demanded, the words rasping in his throat.
“Yes.” If this meeting didn’t end soon, Keren knew she would begin to cry. She watched the drowsing leopard, Tselem, focusing on his dazzling speckled hide. As she expected, her father raged at her, at all of them.
“Then my journey to your Great City has been an evil waste of time! Why should I worry about you? Faithless, misbegotten curs!” Meshek stood, furious. “You’re no children of mine! Six of my sons and both of my daughters—dead! You’re all dead to me!”
Heartsick, Keren lowered her head and cast a sidelong glance at her father. He spat contemptuously on the courtyard paving bricks, then strode out the gate, his gray woolen traveling robe flaring behind him. Nimr-Rada signaled to several of his guards.
“Go with him; provide for all his needs and be sure he reaches his own lodge safely. Do not delay your return from the mountains, or I will send others after you.”
As the gate closed behind the guardsmen, Keren shut her eyes and pressed her hands to her face, trying to stifle her sobs. She felt as if she were dying inside. She wished she would die. Didn’t her father say she was dead?
“Lady.…” Someone was holding her now. Revakhaw. And Meherah. Tsinnah and Alatah, too, moved to comfort her. Their concern crushed her completely. She clung to Revakhaw and cried like a child.
“Did you see her?” A guard’s conspiratorial, barely audible whisper lifted just beyond the open doorway of Meshek’s temporary lodging. Meshek paused amid the task of packing his gear. The guard sounded wickedly pleased. “With the paint on her face and her new garments and all that gold—I didn’t recognize her. It was as if heaven and earth had changed places.”
Meshek stiffened, listening with all his might. They were talking about Keren, he was sure. No other woman in this accursed Great City wore paint on her face, not even Sharah—which surprised Meshek, now that he considered it.
“Completely,” a second guard’s lowered voice agreed. “And she was actually polite to He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies. She’s never smiled at him before. I—”
A clatter outside put an abrupt end to this furtive conversation, and a third man’s voice called angrily from a distance. “Are you a pair of women, whispering with your heads together? One of you help me with these horses! And the other—yes, you!—go open the gate. We have a visitor.”
Baring his teeth, Meshek flung the thin leather cords of his traveling pack to the hardened clay floor. “Stupid!” he muttered to him
self. He had let his temper rule him again. Of course Keren had been acting. He should have known at once when she was unable to look him in the eyes. Such behavior was totally unlike her. But why had she behaved so? He would go to her now and demand an explanation, then insist that she return with him to the mountains. The sunlight would be gone soon; he had to hurry. Swiftly, Meshek examined his traveling pack’s bentwood frame to be sure it was fastened, then he folded its protective cover in place and snatched the thin leather cords from the floor.
A shadow in the doorway blocked the already dim light. Irritated, he stood and turned to see who was lurking in the doorway. A guard. No, not just any guard but the one he had recognized from Keren’s household. The silent, always cautious young man he had sheltered beneath his own roof after Eliyshama’s wedding.
“Zehker,” he remembered aloud, not bothering to hide his exasperation.
“Yes.” Zehker inclined his head with the proper measure of respect but never moved his gaze from Meshek’s face. Straightening, he offered Meshek a small, nondescript leather pouch. “She asks that you please return this to Yithran.”
Accepting the pouch, Meshek slapped it beside his traveling pack, then eyed Zehker accusingly. “You threatened me today.”
“For her sake.”
As toneless as those three words were, they made Meshek stare at Keren’s disconcertingly self-possessed guard. For her sake. Too much could be made of those three words. Or not enough. Could this man be trusted?
Zehker held Meshek’s look steadily, quietly. And the longer Meshek stared at this wary guardian of his daughter, the more convinced he was of Zehker’s inherent sense of honor. “She was compelled to behave as she did today, wasn’t she?” he demanded.
Zehker’s careful glance toward the open doorway told Meshek everything. But before Meshek could insist upon being taken to Keren, Zehker said beneath his breath, “You must leave. At once.”
Meshek lowered his voice to match Zehker’s. “Am I in such danger?”
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