He Who Lifts the Skies

by Kacy Barnett-Gramckow

  “Lady!” Gebuwrah gasped, horrified. Keren had just offered this humble tradesman a lucrative portion of her many holdings.

  Ignoring Gebuwrah, Keren watched the tradesman. Apparently, Keren had just offered him his most cherished dream. Tears filled his eyes.

  “Lady … let it be as you say.”

  “What about the knife and this pendant that my dear niece loves?”

  “Nothing, Lady,” he said, shaking his head. “Take them.”

  “These carvings were made from days in your life,” Keren reminded him gently. “How can you live if you give up your days for nothing? Ask a price.”

  “The smallest ring from your hands?” he suggested, fearful. Keren laughed. So the man had a wife, and she knew that Keren no longer gave her gold rings out as tokens to anyone—the demand had been too great. Looking down at Demamah, Keren winked.

  “Do you want that pendant, Demamah-child?”

  Demamah nodded quickly, not looking at her mother, who frowned at being ignored. Keren removed her smallest ring, and Demamah hurriedly gave it to the tradesman, while clutching the ivory pendant tight in her tiny brown hand as if she feared Keren would change her mind.

  “Why did you do that, Lady?” Gebuwrah scolded as soon as the tradesman departed through the gate, clutching his tokens as Demamah clutched her pendant. “Do you think it will be easy to replace a field near the river? Or another gold ring?”

  Wearied by the thought of yet another argument, Keren sighed. “Gebuwrah, the field doesn’t matter. Will you take this sword and knife to He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies?”

  “I’ll go if she doesn’t,” Revakhaw said stoutly. She and Gebuwrah had been at odds with each other lately. Her offer was a challenge to Gebuwrah, who stiffened.

  “I will go.”

  “And I will go,” Tsinnah said softly. “How can he be angry with you after you’ve offered him such marvelous gifts?”

  “Indeed,” Meherah agreed, eyeing the sword, clearly fascinated by its workmanship. “Our Great King will be pleased.” She looked at Keren now, her eyes bright. “By the way, Lady, that field you granted the tradesman … is it near my own?”

  It was. “I’ve complicated your life,” Keren told her, remorseful at her own impulsiveness. “We don’t know what that tradesman and his wife will be like as neighbors. Forgive me.”

  “I want to apprentice my youngest son to your tradesman,” Meherah said happily. “I’ll befriend him—and his wife.”

  Relieved that Meherah was pleased, Keren sent Gebuwrah, Revakhaw, and Tsinnah off to Nimr-Rada’s residence with the sword and the iridescent knife. And with Zehker to guard them against the spies. Keren watched them leave, suddenly wondering if she should have presented the gifts to Nimr-Rada with her own hands.

  It wasn’t long before Gebuwrah returned with Tsinnah, who was in tears. Zehker was right behind them, wide-eyed and silent.

  Keren stood, alarmed. “What happened? Where’s Revakhaw?”

  As Gebuwrah stared, Tsinnah dropped in front of Keren, tearing at her garments in agitation. “He took the gifts, Lady. And Revakhaw. He put a rope around her neck! Tomorrow …”

  When Tsinnah could not continue, Gebuwrah said, “The Great King says that he will send for you tomorrow. If you don’t obey, then Revakhaw will die.”

  “I’m going to him now,” Keren said, reaching for her sandals.

  Tsinnah stopped Keren, clutching at her robes, horrified. “No, Lady, you must do exactly as he says, please! Otherwise, he might kill Revakhaw.”

  “He said he won’t see you until tomorrow. You must obey him,” Gebuwrah insisted fiercely. “Otherwise we could all be punished!”

  “She’s right,” Zehker agreed. There was a lost quality in his voice that stilled Keren completely. She shut her eyes to prevent herself from looking at him—her love and concern for him would have been evident to every person in the courtyard.

  Meherah sucked in her breath audibly, drawing Keren’s gaze to her. “Lady, forgive me, but we must leave.” She beckoned Hadarah and Chayeh, pausing just long enough to touch Zehker’s arm and make him look her in the eyes. “Do whatever he says, my son,” she pleaded. “Don’t anger him.”

  Zehker nodded and clasped her hand. “I will escort you home.”

  Now Keren stared at her sister-in-law, who seemed too calm; Zeva’ah was standing, holding Demamah’s hand. “You know what’s happening, don’t you?” Keren accused. “Tell me what they’re planning! Ra-Anan knows, doesn’t he? But you didn’t even try to warn me. How dare you!”

  Zeva’ah left quickly, pulling the reluctant, tearful Demamah after her.

  Zehker commanded Keren to bar the gate after he left with Meherah. But to Keren, the bar was a futile gesture. The damage had been done. She sank to her knees, stunned, feeling as if she had been struck by a club blow to the heart.

  “I should have gone alone, Lady,” Zehker told Keren, when he returned at dusk.

  Keren paused, her hand on a rung of the ladder to her roof, Alatah standing beside her. “Would it have stopped him from taking Revakhaw?”

  “No.”

  “Then there is nothing we could have done. And now, we can only wait. I knew his tantrum was about more than the length of my hair. But tell me, did he snatch Revakhaw at random, or had he decided beforehand that she would be his victim?”

  “Beforehand, I’m sure.”

  “He’s punishing her for being my true friend,” Keren observed bitterly.

  “Yes.”

  “What does he want?”

  “Your compliance, Lady.”

  “My compliance in what? Ra-Anan is involved in this too. Why? And Zeva’ah knew this would happen. She knew! She ate in my household—she accepted our hospitality, and she never warned us of any trouble. I could shake her!”

  By now, Alatah was crying softly, frightened. Keren looked at her and suddenly felt tired—completely beaten and ill. “Forgive me. I’m sure our spies have heard what I just said. And I suppose we will know everything when he sends for us tomorrow.” Desolate, she added, “It seems that his hunter’s patience is gone.”

  Silent, Zehker nodded. Keren dismissed him with a limp imitation of Sharah’s petulant wave. Zehker bowed and departed, walking slowly.

  Keren climbed to her roof, aggrieved, remembering Lawkham with every step upon every rung of the ladder. Alatah followed her, then knelt beside her, whimpering in terror, “He won’t hesitate to kill Revakhaw. Then he will kill us all, one by one.”

  Resisting the fears wrought by Alatah’s premonitions, Keren stared up at the first stars of the night. But Nimr-Rada and Ra-Anan had even spoiled this pleasure for her. The stars all had patterns and meanings now, with their shiftings in the darkness of the skies. The signs of the sun, the bull, the ruler, the lady, the lion, the child, the balance, the conquered eagle, the bow and arrow, the man within walls, the flowing water pitcher, and the fish.

  The movements of these stars marked the passage of time—days, weeks, months of Keren’s life—all wasted and lost to Nimr-Rada’s endless schemes. And, of course, all these signs pointed to Nimr-Rada and his kingdom, by his will. According to Nimr-Rada, the stars revealed his inevitable dominance of the skies, the earth, and the waters.

  Remembering all these things, Keren could no longer consider only the Most High and adore only Him when resting beneath His heavens. She put her hands to her face in frustration, blotting the stars from her sight.

  Where are You? she cried to the Most High. Why don’t I feel You anymore? Why are You no longer with me—though I love You and have longed for You? Have I been wrong? Speak to me, and tell me I’ve been wrong—help me.

  There was no answering comfort. Nothing. Confronted with silence, Keren mourned.

  Nineteen

  “PERHAPS HE’S KILLED Revakhaw,” Tsinnah quavered as they walked toward the gate of Nimr-Rada’s sprawling residence.

  Keren stopped and stared at Tsinnah. Her sweet oval face was haggard; she hadn’t sle
pt last night. Nor had Keren, Alatah, or any of the others. They were all terrified. Pushing away her own fears, Keren confronted her attendants like a stern mother. “Revakhaw is alive. And if she’s in danger, I’ll do whatever I must do to save her—as I would for each of you.”

  Her attitude seemed to hearten them, though Alatah was dabbing at tears that threatened to spoil her face paints. And Na’ah was sniffling. Keren gave Na’ah’s arm an encouraging squeeze, then patted Alatah’s hand as she smiled at the trembling Tsinnah and the hushed Gebuwrah. “You won’t die today. Nor tomorrow. Now, think of Revakhaw and compose yourselves.”

  As she turned to lead them into Nimr-Rada’s ceremonial courtyard, Keren found the new guard, Qaydawr, standing directly in her way. He had been listening. Nimr-Rada’s faithful spy. He smiled at Keren politely and bowed with all the grace of a man who realizes he is attractive—tall, handsome, and openly appreciative of the sight of any woman. Resisting him, Keren said, “Tell the Great King everything you’ve heard—I command you. Tell him that too.”

  “As you say, Lady,” he answered smoothly, clearly determined to charm her.

  Keren waited, silently compelling him to step aside. He did so, bowing again, fascinating her attendants. Beyond him was Zehker, his dark eyes alert, watching her continually.

  You are—in every way—more honorable and more desirable than that Qaydawr will ever be, Keren told Zehker inwardly, careful to keep her admiration hidden. O Most High, she prayed, following Zehker to the gate, though I don’t feel Your presence, be with us today.

  They filed into the courtyard and went through their accustomed ritual of bowing and kneeling before Nimr-Rada. He sat on his fleece-draped dais with Revakhaw kneeling at his feet, his powerful right hand curved around the base of her bruised throat. Revakhaw was shaking, not looking at Keren.

  “Please,” Keren began gently, scared by Revakhaw’s bruises and her obvious terror, “tell me what I’ve done; don’t punish Revakhaw.”

  “She hasn’t been punished yet, Lady,” he said, smiling. “And she won’t be, if you behave.” He caressed Revakhaw’s cheek and hair now, as a man might caress his wife.

  Keren gazed at him, shocked, trying to understand his intentions. “You’re keeping her here?”

  “Do you not trust me with your little friend?”

  Not when you’re behaving as if she’s your wife. Had he taken Revakhaw as a second “wife”? The thought stunned Keren. No man beneath these blue heavens had taken two wives for himself. Indeed, according to the Ancient Noakh, only evil men who lived in the times before the Great Destruction had taken two wives. But wasn’t Nimr-Rada just that sort of man? He looked so self-satisfied, so above ordinary men—and not one person in this courtyard was brave enough to speak against him. You are evil! I wish I could destroy you.…

  “Say what you are thinking, Lady,” he said.

  Keren forced herself to speak softly. “I am thinking that my dear friend is in pain. I long to help her.”

  “You long to kill me,” he said.

  She stiffened and looked him straight in the eyes, knowing he wouldn’t believe her if she denied his statement. “Death is a natural thought under these circumstances. If you are offended, Great King, then you may punish me for my own stupid impulses.”

  “You have chosen.” He released Revakhaw and stood. Revakhaw sagged like a dying creature, as if she couldn’t bear to watch what was about to happen. Pulling the gleaming shell-adorned knife from a fold in his leopard-skin wrap, Nimr-Rada left the dais and planted his dark, gold-cuffed feet directly in front of Keren. “Stand up!”

  Keren stood, looking up at him, resigned to whatever punishment she had brought upon herself. To her surprise, he offered her the knife. “Take it, Lady.”

  Now, she thought, clasping the warm handle. I could kill him now. He leaned toward her, seeming to invite the blow. She would have only one chance, she knew. A vein pulsed in his dark throat; she watched it, contemplating his death. A thought came to her then; she shut her eyes against it, because it wasn’t her own thought.

  No.

  No? Aggrieved, she sensed that the Most High was against her murderous impulse. And truly, she would fail to kill Nimr-Rada—he was ready for her blow. He expected her to turn against him. Indeed, he probably expected everyone to turn against him. How could he trust anyone on this earth? His cruelty and ambition poisoned all his relationships; he was trapped by his own power. As she pondered this, Keren felt reluctant compassion for the undeserving Nimr-Rada—the last thing he would desire. Opening her eyes, she deliberately kissed the stone blade in submission to the will of the Most High. To Nimr-Rada alone, she whispered regretfully, “If only you could be like any other man.”

  He actually flinched. His reaction, Keren thought, was almost as if she had wounded him. Then he took a breath, and his broad, muscled jaw hardened. Keren held out the knife, and he snatched it away. Before she could so much as twitch, he thrust the blade toward her throat, startling her. Controlling her instinct to retreat, Keren swallowed as Nimr-Rada snarled, “Swear on your life that you will never try to kill me!”

  “I swear on my life.” Forgive me this lie, O Most High.

  “Swear on your life that you will submit yourself to my authority!”

  “On my life.”

  “Swear that you will reveal any plots against me.”

  “I swear.”

  “Swear as you live that you are my protectoress, who will live in the temple of my Tower of Shemesh—the Sun.”

  Keren stared at him, faltering. Live in that monstrous tower he was building? Wasn’t she enough of a freak already? And what did he mean—that she would be his protectoress? What would that imply? This was what Ra-Anan had been planning all along, she realized. She was being trained for their precious temple.

  Nimr-Rada turned the blade against her throat, stinging her, making every pore of her body prickle with sweat. Someone gasped, then stifled a sob.

  Sickened, remembering what she had promised her attendants just before walking through the gate, Keren said, “I swear.”

  “On your life?”

  “On my life.”

  Lowering the blade, Nimr-Rada said, “On my life, if you fail to keep these oaths, I will slit your throat, cut out your heart, and spill your blood down the steps of my tower for all to see. And everyone in your household will follow you in death.”

  “I will obey you.”

  But Keren knew he didn’t believe her. Drawing himself up proudly, Nimr-Rada said, “Go tell your sister everything you have sworn. Tell her that she, too, is bound by your oaths.”

  He returned to the dais, still clutching the knife. Keren bowed to him, glancing at Revakhaw, hoping to catch her eye. But Revakhaw remained limp, almost lifeless, her joy replaced by desolation.

  And if I do one thing wrong … he will kill her. Keren left the courtyard, nauseated, half faint. If only she could have killed Nimr-Rada. When she trusted herself to speak, she asked the others, “Did I make the right decision?”

  “You didn’t notice his guards, Lady,” Gebuwrah told her. “When you took the knife, they all stepped nearer. They had weapons. If you had turned that knife against our Great King, they would have slaughtered us like sheep.”

  Her voice shaking, her eyes red, Alatah said, “Forgive me for crying out as I did, Lady, but I thought he gave you a fatal wound—your neck is bleeding.”

  Keren pressed her fingertips to her throat, then pulled them away, staring at the smears of blood in surprise. “I felt only a stinging.” Bleakly amused, she added, “Perhaps my sister will be soothed by the sight of my blood.”

  “Is there no way we can help Revakhaw?” Na’ah pleaded softly, her dimpled chin quivering as she looked around at all of them.

  Though she was touched by Na’ah’s timorous longing for action, Keren shook her head despondently. “No. There’s nothing we can do. I feel as if I’ve failed her. We can only pray that the Most High will protect her.”
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  While Alatah, Na’ah, and Tsinnah nodded miserable agreement, Gebuwrah shook her head stubbornly. “For all our sakes, Lady, as I’ve told you all along, you must obey him.”

  “Do you see how I’m treated?” Sharah raged, storming through her own lush, plant-filled courtyard, her fingers all outspread and curving like pale gold-decked talons. “I could kill him!”

  “Then he will kill you and your entire household,” Keren told her. “You must be calm.…”

  “Don’t you tell me what to do! You’re the reason I’m in this situation.”

  “And you know that the opposite is true,” Keren answered, watching Zehker from the corner of her eye. He was tensed, staring at Sharah as if she were a vulture he intended to ward off if she got too close to Keren. In addition, the women of Sharah’s household were smirking, obviously delighted by her mortification. None of them seemed sympathetic or loyal to Sharah. Now, as always, Sharah was heedless of everyone but herself; she continued to rave and claw at the air.

  “I’ve done everything for him—and this is how I’m repaid! I’ve taken all of Ra-Anan’s advice, attended his stupid lessons, played loving mother to his stupid citizens, given in to all his idiotic whims. As for having a child, my husband has never expressed an interest in being a father, so how can he hold that lack against me? Now he takes this Revakhaw-creature for his own. I could kill her!”

  “If you kill her, my sister, then I’ll repay you and no one will stop me; I give you my word! Revakhaw is half dead already.” As she spoke of Revakhaw, Keren could feel the tears burning in her eyes. “She doesn’t deserve your hatred.”

  Sharah lifted her chin, scornful. “You always were a fool for others. I see you’ve earned a wound—probably for her sake.”

  Keren sniffed back her tears, angry with herself for appearing weak in front of Sharah. “He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies inflicted this wound on me while making me swear never to plot against his life. I will also submit to his authority and reveal any other plots against him.”