He Who Lifts the Skies

by Kacy Barnett-Gramckow

  “Send her back to those Ancient Ones,” Kuwsh commanded, willing Nimr-Rada to obey. “She’s just like them —I heard the very cadence of that old fool Noakh in her voice. Send her back.”

  “Why are you so worried?” Nimr-Rada asked. “It is precisely because she is just like them that I want her here. If I can subdue her, convince her of our ways without utterly crushing her, then I can subdue every creature on earth. And you have to admit that she is as amazing in looks as my wife.”

  “Yes, but your wife wants to please you. This Keren does not. Why do you allow her to defy you?”

  “You mean, why do I not force her to bow to me?” Pondering this, Nimr-Rada studied the field before them, obviously not seeing it at all. “She must become like my leopard Tselem. An amazing creature that will choose to obey me, despite herself. Confess, my father, wouldn’t it give you joy to have this small revenge—taking something that is precious to the Ancient Ones and turning it against them?”

  “I doubt that will happen. She follows their Most High. I can feel it.”

  “She will be controlled,” Nimr-Rada said.

  “Or she will control you.”

  “Never.”

  “Never?” Kuwsh shook his head, wishing he could be persuaded that Nimr-Rada would win this particular battle. But the young woman, Keren, had been too close to those Ancient Ones for too long. She would be as stubborn as that idiotic old Noakh.

  Kuwsh remembered Noakh, his grandfather, with bitterness. The old storytelling fool. Other memories crowded in now: His own father, Noakh’s youngest son, Khawm, had usually been joyous and carefree but grew increasingly frustrated with Noakh’s endless faultfinding. Kuwsh’s mother, Tirzah, had been angry with Khawm for continually complaining against Noakh. And the uncles, Yepheth and Shem, and their wives, Ghinnah and Ma’adannah, as well as their revered I’ma-Naomi—all were upset by the growing unrest in their family. And that family had finally separated after Khawm’s most flagrant display of contempt toward Noakh.

  It sobered you, didn’t it, old man, Kuwsh thought to Noakh. You were always so filled with your own goodness. Seeming so benevolent and kind, knowing what was best for us all. But no, let your youngest son laugh at you when you stupidly pass out drunk and naked in your tent … then where is your goodness? Instead you curse a son of Khawm—my own brother Kena’an. Then you declare that Kena’an—and by association, all of his brothers and their children—will be less than everyone else on earth. But you’re wrong. We’ll rule you instead. Perhaps Nimr-Rada is right. We should turn this situation to our advantage.…

  Kuwsh was briefly heartened. But then he remembered Keren’s strange, captivating eyes and her obvious spirit.

  “No,” he said aloud. “She’s deluded, as they are; her presence will ruin all our plans. You must get rid of her.” And if you don’t, I will.

  Sixteen

  SWEAT SLITHERED down Keren’s back as she fit the nock of an arrow into the dye-marked center of her bowstring. Shutting her right eye against the bright midmorning light, she focused her left eye on a portion of her target—a series of reed posts topped with a row of gourds that Lawkham had erected at the opposite end of the small field before her.

  Standing to her right, Lawkham lifted his hands in an overwrought pleading gesture. “Lady! Is this how I taught you? No-no-no! Relax and stand easily.”

  Lowering the bow, Keren gave him the most severe look she could manage—which was not terribly impressive, she was sure. “You relax and stand easily. You’re not the one who must strike those gourds.”

  “Even so, Lady, you cannot—”

  “Stop,” Zehker commanded Lawkham.

  “Augh!” Lawkham tore at his plaited hair—so great was his frenzy. “Do you mean to tell me that I should say nothing, never mind that our He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies will arrive soon and declare that we’ve taught her badly?”

  “Exactly.”

  “But she’s standing wrong, she’s nervous, and she’s leaning; by the heavens, look at her! You’re leaning,” he told Keren, extending his hands again.

  Zehker gave Lawkham an attention-getting shove. “Sit.”

  “I may as well sit,” Lawkham groaned, plopping onto the stubbled, recently grazed grass. “I’m going to be knocked flat anyway when he sees her missing one shot after another.”

  I haven’t missed one shot after another, Keren argued silently. But she excused Lawkham’s despair. They were all tense; their perfect He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies had announced that he would judge Keren’s progress this morning. If she did well, they could celebrate. If she did badly, then Lawkham—and possibly Zehker—would be removed from her household and replaced by other guardsmen who might be more adept at teaching weaponry. The thought made Keren sweat.

  Shifting her stance, she rechecked her leather wrist guards, her protective leather chest guard, and her finely carved bone thumb-guard ring, which was new and irritating. She plucked it off and called to Tsinnah, who was waiting with Gebuwrah and the others. “Do you still have my old leather thumb guard?”

  Tsinnah beamed at her. “O Lady, of course I saved the old one; I knew you’d want it today.”

  “You can keep the new ring,” Keren said, trading her thankfully. As Tsinnah tested her new ring on finger after finger, Keren lifted her bow again. Zehker was now standing to her right, and she eyed him, pretending defiance. “Do you want to tell me everything I’m doing wrong?”

  He shook his head, his dark gaze fixed on the gourds. “No, Lady. Shoot one.”

  Relaxing, concentrating, she obeyed. As the arrow cracked against one of the gourds, smashing its top to the ground, Lawkham jumped up, yelling and capering like a child. “There! There! That’s how I’ve taught you! Again! Shoot another!”

  She missed. Lawkham slumped to the ground once more, his head in his hands, moaning, certain he would be disgraced. As he was lamenting his fate—his future in trampling clay to be used in the tower he had sworn he loved—Keren heard Dobe whicker softly. Turning, she saw guardsmen riding out from the city. Nimr-Rada was coming with his entire household. Including Kuwsh and the paint-adorned Sharah.

  Keren grimaced. No doubt Sharah, her declared enemy, was hoping to see her fail. Kuwsh, too, would take pleasure in her humiliation. Despite his courteous words, Kuwsh had said nothing to her after their first conversation at the site of the would-be tower. And Keren had seen him several times during the past three weeks while she was visiting Nimr-Rada and Ra-Anan.

  Why do you refuse to speak to me, O Kuwsh? Keren wondered. Is it so terrible that I love the Ancient Ones? Uneasy, she glanced from Kuwsh to Lawkham, who scrambled to his feet and folded his hands respectfully, bowing to Nimr-Rada.

  Everyone was bowing to Nimr-Rada now, except Keren. He rode over to Keren and looked down at her, his eyes flinty in his broad, high-boned, dark brown face. His air of command, matched with all his gold and the leopard-skin wrap, strongly reminded Keren of the first time she had seen him, in the Lodge of Bezeq. What if she had agreed to marry him when he had first expressed an interest in taking her as his wife? She shivered at the thought but inclined her head toward him politely.

  Nimr-Rada gave her a curt nod. “I see you have already taken down one of your targets—unless Lawkham or Zehker did that for show.” He tipped his head toward the shattered remains of the gourd in the distance, flanked by its still-upright companions.

  “No, Great King,” Keren answered clearly enough for her voice to carry. “I hit that one from this very spot.”

  “After how many tries?” Nimr-Rada asked.

  “Three.”

  “Seeing Lawkham’s misery, I thought you would say thirty.” Waving his flail, Nimr-Rada said, “Hit two of the next four and I will be satisfied for now. Begin.”

  Keren shut her eyes, breathing out a silent prayer. O Most High, my enemies, Nimr-Rada, Sharah, and Kuwsh, long to see me fail. Please, don’t let them rejoice.

  Intent upon the remaining gourds, she reached back over he
r shoulder, slid an arrow out of the leather quiver, fixed it in her bowstring, and relaxed. She could almost hear Lawkham’s frantic, silent instructions. Shoulder down. Elbow up. Sight along the arrow. Ease your fingers.… She released the arrow, her gaze still upon the gourd. The arrow struck the gourd and stayed. Lawkham celebrated by stomping one leather-clad foot down hard.

  Nimr-Rada glanced at him, then said, “Once more.”

  Keeping her focus on the gourds, her movements smooth, Keren shot another arrow. It sped over a gourd, barely whisking it. From atop his horse, Kuwsh said, “You would not count that for one of your horsemen, O King. Should she be given more than they are given?”

  You will not upset me, Keren thought, staring at Kuwsh, then at Sharah, who was gloating quietly—her lampblack darkened eyes and ochre-stained lips stark and shocking in her pale face. Lifting an eyebrow at Nimr-Rada, Keren said, “I have two more tries.”

  “Proceed,” he said, surveying the remaining gourds.

  Her hands were clammy, but she refused to allow Kuwsh and Sharah the pleasure of seeing her wipe her palms. Praying silently, she swept another arrow from her quiver and sighted her target. Bowstring aligned with nose and chin. String fingers curled lightly beneath the jaw, easing fingers slowly … the arrow struck the base of the same gourd. Lawkham stomped the ground hard. Zehker never moved.

  “Once more,” Nimr-Rada said, taunting her.

  Irritated, Keren took aim and missed.

  Nimr-Rada smiled unpleasantly. “Your aim is fair for a beginner, Lady. But a man would be able to outshoot you from a greater distance; you would be dead before your arrow landed at the hooves of his horse.”

  Keren stared at him, perplexed. “Why should you say such a thing? It’s not as if you could put me in your army.”

  “If I thought your presence would defeat my enemies, Lady, I would indeed put you in my army. But you’d probably kill my own men by mistake.” He sounded amused by the idea, but a vengeful, brooding expression crossed his dark face, as if he were contemplating his enemies.

  Who were his enemies? Keren wondered. She remembered as a child hearing I’ma-Annah and I’ma Naomi talk about Nimr-Rada’s endless harassment of the tribes of Asshur. And now, the tribes of Asshur were building small cities of their own—a show of defiance against Nimr-Rada. Horrified, Keren blurted out, “You’re planning to attack the tribes of Asshur.”

  His obsidian-dark eyes flickered. She had surprised him, guessing his plans. Her horror grew. He was going to formally attack the tribe of her cousin Metiyl. Dear Metiyl.

  Before she could protest, Nimr-Rada quelled her with a smoldering look, which swiftly—bewilderingly—changed to an indulgent smile. In a voice as dark, warm, and liquid as the slime coating the bricks of his would-be tower, Nimr-Rada said, “Come, my sister. We will go to the river to rest and celebrate your little victory.”

  Numb, her thoughts still fixed on the impending attack, Keren slung her bow over her shoulder and returned to her patient horse. Zehker and Lawkham were already ahead of her, holding the long, thick reed that served as Keren’s step onto Dobe. Keren mounted the horse without thinking, planting her sandal-shod left foot on the thick reed, then turning to sit lightly on Dobe’s fleece-draped back. Nimr-Rada was watching, apparently admiring her horse-mounting technique more than he had admired her skill with a bow. Keren looked away from him, distressed.

  She wanted to cry at him, to beg him to be satisfied with his kingdom as it was. But her pleas would only make him sneer. By everything she had heard and seen, Keren knew that Nimr-Rada’s pride—and Kuwsh’s pride—demanded complete control of all the earth’s tribes, particularly those born of the first fathers Shem and Yepheth, whom they scorned. Even so, she had to try to dissuade him.

  While she waited for Zehker to strap the reed pole onto a packhorse, Keren confronted Nimr-Rada again. “Why should you turn against the tribes of Asshur? They’re weak compared to—”

  “Do not provoke me, Lady.” His apparent mood of indulgence vanished.

  Keren bit down an aggravated response. The others were ready to ride now, but Keren held Dobe back, allowing Kuwsh and Sharah to move ahead of her with Nimr-Rada. She didn’t want to see Nimr-Rada’s face again until her rage had cooled. Perhaps later she would charge into the river and swim until she was exhausted. Anything to distract herself from thoughts of Nimr-Rada attacking the tribes of Asshur.

  While Keren was trying—unsuccessfully—to think of a way to warn Metiyl, Nimr-Rada suddenly drew his horse back, waiting for her. His black eyes gleamed maliciously. “As you are mastering the bow, Lady, you must also learn to ride without using your hands to guide your horse or support yourself. And you will be trained to shoot into the hoofprints of your horse as you ride.”

  “What? But why?”

  “Because from now on, whenever my household resides in the Great City, you will go hunting with me. And you must learn to shoot lions, leopards, men—anything that would stalk you as you ride. Otherwise you will be overtaken and killed.”

  She stared, incredulous. “Perhaps I should just throw myself into the river now and avoid these bloody deaths you keep planning for me, O King.”

  “You will also be taught to swim,” he said, countering her threat.

  “I know how to swim,” she retorted.

  “I am amazed to hear that, since your mouth is always opening at the wrong times. You should have swallowed water and drowned ages ago.”

  Keren scowled, and Nimr-Rada laughed at her, his teeth white and dazzling, making him almost handsome. Reluctantly, Keren thought, Why can’t you be like other men? It would be easy to admire you if you weren’t so determined to rule everyone else—and to destroy anyone who disagrees with you.

  Nimr-Rada’s laughter drew disapproving looks from Kuwsh and Sharah, who slowed to join them. Immediately, Nimr-Rada told his father why Keren shouldn’t be able to swim. Kuwsh and Nimr-Rada shouted with laughter, then rode on ahead to talk.

  Sharah, however, lingered near Keren suspiciously. “Stay away from my husband.”

  “You keep him away from me, and I will be completely grateful.” Changing the subject, she said, “Your eyes are amazingly darkened. Meherah taught you well.”

  “She’s a clever woman,” Sharah agreed. “Never at a loss for words, the same as her son.”

  Speaking carefully, Keren said, “I like Meherah very much; she’s kind and loving. I beg you to cause her no trouble.”

  “Do you love that Lawkham?” Sharah asked, watching Keren hard.

  Keren gave her look for look. “He’s not what Yithran might have become to me, and you know it. Please, Sharah, you’ve stolen enough from me. Don’t torment my friends and those in my household—they’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Then stay away from my husband.”

  “Then you come with us when he takes me hunting. I don’t want to be near him, ever. You know it’s true, Sharah. To keep your husband away from me, you must remain near me. He wants me to learn to hunt. You should accompany us.”

  Keren could see Sharah’s dislike of physical exertion warring with her ambition and her desire to keep Nimr-Rada. Keren persisted. “It might please him if you learn all these things.”

  “You’ve made your point; I’ll consider what you’ve said.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t,” Sharah answered viciously. “If I can ever be rid of you, I will.”

  “And if I can ever escape you, I will,” Keren muttered.

  They rode on in bitter silence, following Nimr-Rada and Kuwsh to the river at the site of the would-be tower. There, floating near the riverbank, secured with ropes and pegs, was a long, curved, dark-red wooden barge, surmounted by a large, extravagantly painted black-on-red leather canopy, which shaded an assortment of furs, mats, and cushions.

  “Tell me you are unimpressed,” Nimr-Rada said, pulling back and challenging Keren with a forbidding look.

  “But I am impressed.” She stared at the barg
e, amazed. “Who else beneath these blue heavens could command such a vessel to be used for mere pleasure?”

  He grunted, and Keren sensed that he was satisfied with her answer. Sharah was fuming—to Keren’s dismay. Nimr-Rada dismounted, commanding his servants and Zehker to follow them along the shoreline with all the horses and supplies.

  “You,” he called to Keren’s attendants, and Lawkham and the skulking Erek, “get into the barge.”

  Keren would have preferred to leave Erek onshore instead of Zehker but decided not to risk another disagreement with Nimr-Rada. Lawkham and Erek waded out to the barge, climbed aboard—with some difficulty—and began to help the reluctant Gebuwrah, Alatah, Na’ah, Revakhaw, and Tsinnah inside.

  Lawkham was laughing, teasing them into a better mood. Erek, however, mocked the timorous Na’ah without pity until Revakhaw cried, “Weasel! Shut your stupid mouth and help her up. You’re worthless, as always!”

  Revakhaw’s voice carried clearly. Nimr-Rada heard her and frowned at Erek. Instantly, Erek hushed. His expression darkened as he helped Na’ah scramble up into the barge. Keren laughed to herself but then sobered, contemplating the best way to board the vessel. She wouldn’t be able to accept help from any of the men. Instead, she must depend upon her attendants, who were now giddy and laughing at the sensation of being afloat.

  To prepare, Keren removed her protective leather chest guard and spread it out on the trampled riverbank. She stripped off her sandals and the loathsome gold headpiece and bundled them inside the leather chest guard. Kneeling, she tied the cords of the chest guard together, struggling to make the edges of the leather meet without crushing any of the gold. A shadow fell across her, and Zehker’s voice said, “Here, Lady.”

  He was offering her a larger piece of leather. A memory arose then, of Zehker handing her a piece of leather when she was a child—when she had fallen off of Neshar’s horse and bit her tongue bloody. He had leaned toward her in exactly this same way and spoken to her in exactly this tone, saying, “Here.”

  You’ve always been ready to help me. I think you care.… A rush of unsettling thoughts filled her mind. She accepted the leather swiftly, hiding her embarrassment and confusion. “Thank you, Zehker.”