“Yes,” the mother said, plainly bewildered by the question.
Zehker shot a warning look at Keren. The death order. She sucked in a fearful breath. Recovering, she said to the young mother, “Forgive me; your son is beautiful, truly … but I’m only allowed to hold infant girls.” She was even more disappointed than the infant’s mother, who had obviously been hoping to gain honor for her tiny child. To ease the situation, Keren hastily removed the smallest of her gold rings, her voice breaking. “Here—please—to celebrate your son’s birth. I envy you such joy.”
The young mother shifted her infant to one arm and accepted the gold ring, smiling, her disappointment forgotten. Lawkham had stopped just ahead, but seeing that Keren was ready to proceed, he chirruped to his horse and started out slowly. Keren knew he was lingering, listening as she turned to Zehker, who was now riding behind her.
“Would Nimr-Rada take her baby’s life, simply because I touched him?”
“Yes.”
No, Keren thought. Aloud, she said, “That can’t be true. How do you know he would actually do such a terrible thing?”
It was the wrong question to ask, she realized. Zehker was staring past her, his lips compressed, his whole attitude strictly controlled. He refused to look at her or to answer her question. Why? Keren wondered. Was he angry with her for doubting him?
“Lady, don’t take offense at my brother’s silence, I beg you,” Lawkham said, leaning back on his horse to speak to her—his lighthearted attitude seeming forced. “How can a man of so few words possibly explain anything of importance to anyone?”
Uncomfortably aware of Zehker’s stone-faced presence, Keren didn’t respond. She trembled, thinking, I almost touched an infant boy. What if Zehker is right—and he usually is right. What if Nimr-Rada had demanded the life of an innocent child because of my carelessness? I’d want to die too. Save me from such a disaster, O Most High.
Followed by Zehker and her attendants, Keren rode in silence to their destination—a field adjoining the river to the west, just beyond the northern streets of the Great City. Lawkham halted his horse and with a dramatically exultant gesture, said, “Here, Lady, will be our wonderful tower.”
This whole field for just one building? Keren studied the site, incredulous. Men, oxen, and horses swarmed like insects throughout the boundless field, and only the prized horses were idle. A few men were obviously in charge of all the workers, waving measuring cordage and pointing, or shaking their heads emphatically to emphasize their instructions. Under their direction, a number of men were guiding oxen around the far side of a sprawling trench, hauling loads of sunbaked bricks and huge resin-coated baskets filled with a dark, slimy substance. Other men were gathering loose heaps of earth cast up from the trench, which was being dug by crews of laborers wielding hardened-clay scythes, antler picks, or large gourd scoops. Keren could hear some of the men groaning as they worked. Their discomfort was evident, reminding her of what her brothers must have suffered.
“Come, Lady.” Lawkham goaded his horse toward a beaten track in the grass. “You must ride around this whole field to truly appreciate how extraordinary this tower will be when it is finished.”
“It’s going to be foolish, this tower,” Keren muttered. But she prodded Dobe into a brisk trot, following Lawkham, who was jubilant as a wild frolicking colt.
“Here’s one corner, Lady.” Reining his horse to an unsettled halt, Lawkham indicated a large, perfectly squared pile of blackened, fire-baked bricks, which were joined with the dark, slimy-looking substance Keren had noticed earlier. Nudging one leather-clad foot toward the dark slime, Lawkham said, “This we bring from the north by river; it boils up in pools there for us to gather into baskets as we please. Later, you’ll see the reed boats at the river—and perhaps travel on one. Surely you’d enjoy a trip up the river. But come; we’ll ride past all the corners of the tower!”
Swiftly, Lawkham kicked his horse into a gallop, compelling her to follow. The loathsome decorative gold circlet wobbled on Keren’s head as Dobe jogged forward. Keren snatched the circlet off, slung it over her arm, and leaned toward Dobe’s neck, pressing the horse to a smooth gallop. The grass blurred beneath her, the resultant breeze lifting her hair, fluttering her robes, and heightening her spirits.
As she rode, Keren heard Na’ah yelping in protest while Gebuwrah cried, “Lady! Make him stop!” But Revakhaw was laughing, and Tsinnah and Alatah whooped and squealed, obviously pleased to race their fat, cherished, tawny horses at a full gallop. Zehker rode past Keren, apparently determined to catch Lawkham.
Lawkham finally stopped at the next corner of the would-be tower, with Zehker beside him. As she approached, Keren heard Zehker saying, “She could be injured.”
“She’s perfectly safe,” Lawkham answered pleasantly, waving a careless hand. “Look, my brother, that useless horse you gave her doesn’t have the spirit to move suddenly enough to shake her off, much less kick her off. And if she does fall—how hard is this field, eh? Not very.”
“Don’t talk against my poor Dobe,” Keren chided as she reined him to a halt.
“He’s fit for nothing but stew, Lady.” And Lawkham laughed at her screech of horror, saying, “It’s true. Actually, you should be riding a mare. Doesn’t the death order apply to males of any kind?”
“Never say that again,” Keren gasped, truly upset now. “If your He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies hears you and kills my Dobe, I’ll never forgive you.”
“Yes, you would.”
“Lawkham!” Aggravated, she brandished her headdress at him like a weapon. “Give me your word.”
At once he raised his hands, laughing, giving up. “Please, don’t beat me, Lady! You have my word. We’ll protect your dear Dobe with our lives.”
“You will,” Zehker told him. “I’d find her another.”
“You’re both cruel—no tender sympathies at all,” Keren complained.
“But it’s quite the opposite, Lady! I have much tenderness within me,” Lawkham protested. Mischievous, he clutched his heart, choking out, “I do! I assure you … I feel it continually … and bitterly. You injure me every day!”
“Liar,” she said, biting back a reluctant smile.
Lawkham laughed and straightened. “There, I made you smile—don’t deny it. Ah, here are your adorable companions, who also remind me of my tender feelings—they wound me so often.”
Alatah rode up happily, followed by Revakhaw and Tsinnah, who glowed, delighted. But Gebuwrah sulked—she was surprisingly awkward on a horse—and Na’ah looked ready to burst into tears. She hated any horseback ride faster than a sedate walk.
“You don’t have to race to keep up with me,” Keren said, touched by their misery.
Na’ah was silent, but her dimpled chin quivered, and she sniffed moistly.
Gebuwrah grumbled, “Thank you, Lady.”
“Lady,” Tsinnah sighed, her brown eyes sparkling in her slender face, “Think how huge and amazing this tower will be!”
“But think of all the time and work that will be spent on it,” Keren responded, waving toward the men laboring in the distance. “Wouldn’t they rather be plowing their fields and hunting for food?”
“Plowing?” Lawkham looked shocked—as openmouthed as a little boy whose favorite toys are suddenly snatched away. “But, Lady, who wants to plow a field when they can build a magnificent tower? Why are you so disturbed? I give you my word that every man working on this tower wants to work on this tower.”
“My brothers didn’t,” Keren reminded him, unable to stop herself.
“True, Lady, but that was an entirely different situation,” Lawkham said. “And a regrettable one,” he added hastily, evidently fearing she was offended.
“Yes, catch yourself, O wondrous Lawkham,” Revakhaw taunted him in a singsong voice, “before you end up in a regrettable situation—in the mud and slime!”
“If you were with me, I could bear it, O precious Revakhaw.”
“Ride,”
Zehker commanded quietly, ending their banter.
As they rode past the third would-be corner and turned toward their starting place, a horn sounded in the distance. Alatah gasped, her sweet childlike voice scared. “He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies!”
He-Who-Would-Kill-an-Infant, Keren thought bitterly. I pray it’s not true.
“Lady,” Gebuwrah admonished urgently, “your headpiece.”
To sooth her nervous attendants, Keren placed the despised gold circlet on her head, fumbling with it. “Is it straight?”
“You’re perfect, Lady,” Revakhaw said. “You outshine your Great Lady sister.”
“She’s coming too?” Keren moaned, longing to ride in the opposite direction.
Sharah, pale and unsmiling, was indeed riding to Nimr-Rada’s left. Keren also noticed a man riding to Nimr-Rada’s right, who was thinner than Nimr-Rada but strikingly similar in height and arrogance.
Lawkham leaned toward Keren and the others, hushed yet eager. “Lady, you’re about meet our Great King’s father—who is also a Father of my Fathers—the formidable Kuwsh.”
Kuwsh! Keren sucked in her breath, unable to believe that she was about to meet the very Kuwsh who lived in her childhood stories. Kuwsh, charming, wonderfully clever, headstrong, aggressive—yet the same Father-Kuwsh who humbly bowed to his own son, the Great King Nimr-Rada.
I’ma-Naomi and I’ma-Annah often spoke of Kuwsh, longing for the delightful rogue-child he had been and wondering what sort of man he had finally become, that he would serve his own son. Keren studied him now, mesmerized and nervous.
Kuwsh also stared at Keren unwaveringly. He was a prideful man; she could see it in the straightness of his back, the sardonic curve of his full mouth, and the brilliance of his bleached leather wrap and leggings, gold cuffs, and showy leopard-skin cloak. A rectangular gold ornament gleamed at his forehead, held by thin lashings of black leather, which also restrained his thick, shining black waves and curls. He was handsomer than Nimr-Rada, but his smoldering arrogance lessened his appeal.
As Kuwsh, Nimr-Rada, and Sharah stopped before her, Keren inclined her head in a polite gesture of greeting. Lawkham, Zehker, and all her attendants dismounted and bowed. You wonder why I don’t do the same, Keren thought to Kuwsh, seeing his black eyebrows lift, challenging her.
Nimr-Rada, however, chose to ignore her lack of submission yet again. His voice deep, booming, he said, “Father, this is our Lady Keren.”
Kuwsh nodded to Keren coldly. Remembering Shem and Noakh’s recitations, Keren said gently, “Kuwsh, father of Nimr-Rada, Sebaw, Khawvilah, Sabtaw, Rahmaw, and Sabtekaw. I am pleased to meet you.”
Somehow, her quiet recitation of the names of his sons disturbed Kuwsh. His soot-dark eyes became wary. And perhaps more respectful. Now he spoke, his voice as full and resonant as Nimr-Rada’s. “It seems that you’ve heard more of me than I have of you, Lady.”
Keren smiled. “Many stories. All told fondly.”
“By whom?” he asked, carefully polite.
“The Father of my Fathers, Shem, and his Ma’adannah. And our I’ma-Naomi and her beloved—the Ancient One, Noakh.”
Kuwsh flung an accusing look at Nimr-Rada, and at Sharah, who was staring at Keren as if she wanted to beat her. Inclining his head toward Keren once more, Kuwsh said, “You must visit me while I am in the courts of my son, our Great King. I will hear these stories, Lady, and perhaps correct any errors you have heard.”
I’ve heard no errors, Keren thought to him. But she smiled. “As you say, Father Kuwsh. I will be pleased to speak with you again.”
She meant what she said, but Kuwsh studied her doubtfully. Breaking their silence, Nimr-Rada turned to Sharah. “Will you return to the city with your sister’s household, my Sharah, or will you stay here with us this afternoon?”
As if weighing her decision, Sharah glanced from Nimr-Rada to the forbidding Kuwsh. “Perhaps I should return with my sister. I’ve not visited her for many weeks.”
Keren groaned inwardly. But obviously Sharah gave the answer Nimr-Rada desired, for he smiled at her pleasantly, a rarity. “As you wish. I will see you at our evening meal. And you, my sister,” he nodded to Keren. “You will take your evening meal with us. Don’t be late.”
Was he mocking her, reminding her of the grievous meeting with her father yesterday? Keren’s throat tightened as she nodded agreement. Nimr-Rada gave her a subtly taunting smile. Keren bit her lip hard. He did want to wound her; he was delighting in her unhappiness. She wanted to scream like Sharah in a fit.
“Come,” Sharah ordered, as Nimr-Rada waved them off. “We have much to discuss—and I want to meet that Lawkham’s mother. I want her to show me how to darken my eyes and paint my lips.”
Keren spoke stiffly, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I detest the paints myself, but if that’s what you wish, I’ll take you to see her. Perhaps your Great King will be pleased to see you adorned this way. I don’t understand why he wants me to look so ridiculous—except that it makes me miserable. He must have been pleased yesterday, seeing me cry over Father’s departure.”
“Oh, he was.” Sharah stared at Keren now, her gray eyes hardening as they turned their horses into the streets of the Great City. “You create most of your own grief, you know—as you did just now when you met the father of my husband. Why did you provoke Kuwsh? Naming his sons and reminding him of the Ancient Ones … that was frankly stupid of you.”
“I wasn’t provoking him,” Keren protested. “And why should it be stupid of me? I have no reason to hide the fact that I spent my childhood with the Ancient Ones, but Nimr-Rada apparently did hide that fact from his own father.”
“Then you’re more the fool for revealing it.”
Scowling, Keren said, “I’m glad you love me so much, my sister. Your concern makes my grief easier to bear. Weren’t you upset by our father’s departure?”
“I was relieved; he’s as rude as ever.” Impatiently Sharah called out, “You, Lawkham, show me where your mother lives.”
On horseback, Lawkham bowed to Sharah, so exaggeratedly courteous, so overly respectful that she glared at him. “He should be beaten and tossed in the slime pits,” she snapped.
Still fuming at Sharah’s disrespect for their father, Keren said, “Lawkham serves my household, not yours, my sister. You have no say over his circumstances.”
“Oh. Are you fond of him?”
“He’s a prankster and a flirt—not the sort of man I’d admire for myself,” Keren said. She noticed Sharah’s lovely, pale, scheming face and became alarmed. “Leave Lawkham alone, please; don’t make trouble for him with your Great King. You’ll like his mother,” she added, hoping to distract her.
“We’ll see,” Sharah murmured, looking unconvinced.
Before Keren could persist, a wide-faced, leather-clad woman with a long black hair plait called out, “Lady! Wait, I beg you.” She lifted a tiny baby toward Keren, saying, “You wished to hold a child earlier, but he was not one you could touch. Here, hold my daughter if you wish.”
With a cautious glance at the unmoving Zehker, Keren halted Dobe, then slowly reached for the child, asking, “A girl? She’s lovely.” The infant girl was truly pretty, with soft ringlets, dimpled cheeks, and tiny hands that curled tight like flower buds. Feeling like a starveling suddenly granted a feast, Keren breathed the warm infant scent of the girl-child and rocked her, kissing her tenderly wrinkled forehead, then reluctantly handed her back to her eager mother.
As she thanked the woman, Keren noticed her avid expression and realized what she wanted, apart from the honor of having her child noticed by the “sister” of He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies. Squelching a laugh, Keren gave the woman the thinnest of her remaining gold rings. Perhaps she would end up giving all her gold away—definitely an idea worth considering.
“You’re a fool,” Sharah sniffed, “giving her one of your own rings just for holding her baby.”
“It was worth it,” Keren told her, enjoying Sharah’s indig
nation. Another hopeful mother scurried up with her daughter, who was older than the infant Keren had just held, but a baby nonetheless. Keren accepted the girl, smiling. The baby’s eyes were huge, and she glanced at her mother for reassurance, whimpering pathetically.
“Poor thing. I’m too frightful for her,” Keren said, handing the now-wailing child to her mother. “I don’t blame her for crying. Here.” She gave the woman a ring, then waved Lawkham onward and gave Dobe a prodding little kick.
“I forbid you to give away any more rings,” Sharah told her severely—all thoughts of Lawkham apparently forgotten.
“I challenge you to give away some of your rings, and to at least act as if you enjoy holding babies,” Keren answered. “You’re the most exalted woman in this Great City. You should try to please its citizens.”
Sharah’s mouth went down in a hard, sullen curve. “You sound like Ra-Anan. ‘Smile.’ ‘Be gracious.’ ‘Act as if you care.’ ‘Have a child.’”
Keren almost dropped Dobe’s reins. “Are you going to have a child?”
“No. But Ra-Anan thinks it would please my husband.” “He’s not pleased with you?” Sharah gave her a savage look.
Keren sighed. “I’m sorry you’re so unhappy, my sister; I wondered if this would happen. But now you truly have nowhere else to go. What will you do?”
“Perhaps I must pretend to be you,” Sharah said coldly, eyeing the growing throng of women and children ahead. “Look at them, just waiting for you! Everyone loves you. And as much as you anger him, my husband is also fascinated by your spirit.”
“I don’t want him to be fascinated by my spirit.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Keren stared at her sister, appalled. Sharah’s face was the face of an enemy: vicious, unforgiving. If Sharah had ever felt any sense of sisterhood between them, those feelings were obviously gone. Keren winced. “You hate me.”
“Yes. Completely.”
He Who Lifts the Skies Page 19