“You would!” Sharah snapped. “Well, if my dear husband hears anything that makes him believe I’ve plotted against him, then I’ll be sure your life is endangered with my own. I’ll tell him that you’re desperate to save your precious Revakhaw. I’ll—”
“Then he will slit our throats, cut out our hearts, and pour our blood down the steps of his tower,” Keren interrupted, raising her voice to force Sharah to listen. “He gave me his word that’s how he’d kill us. And our households will follow us in death.”
Everyone in the courtyard gasped or cringed or went ashen. Keren half regretted frightening them.
Glancing around suspiciously, Sharah said loudly, “Forgive me. I’m overcome with despair that my husband has taken another wife. Yet I love him; he is more than the Sun to me.” Leaning toward Keren, her pale eyes full of malice, Sharah whispered, “Let his stupid spies tell him that! How I wish he’d been killed while driving the tribes of Asshur from his lands!”
Keren pressed a hand to her throbbing forehead. Nimr-Rada’s brutal conquest of the tribes of Asshur was still a source of pain to her. Nimr-Rada had celebrated his victory by declaring that he could see a sign in the stars—a man riding an eagle as if it were a horse. The eagle was Father Asshur’s favored creature, his personal symbol. “Let’s not speak of the tribes of Asshur,” she begged softly, eager to be done with her errand. “I was also supposed to tell you … He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies has declared that you are bound by these oaths—he also made me swear that I will be protectoress of his Tower of Shemesh.”
“Protectoress of Shemesh?” Sharah looked at her, darkly amused, ignoring the fact that she too was bound by Keren’s vows. “Oh, but what will the Most High do without you, His most faithful follower? Or do you no longer believe that foolishness? Never mind. I don’t want you preaching at me like the Father of my Fathers.”
“I won’t,” Keren sighed. “I’ve told you everything I was commanded to tell you, so I’ll depart. Enjoy your day, my sister.”
“You should bow to me,” Sharah pointed out as Keren turned to leave.
Keren inclined her head politely, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. “No, my own sister, I should not. And don’t challenge me; you won’t win.”
They stared at one another. Sharah straightened, suddenly furious. “Get out!”
Keren left her sister’s courtyard, relieved to be away from her. Now she could wait for an almost-certain summons from Ra-Anan.
Ra-Anan faced Keren, his thin mouth drawn into a disdainful curl. “Again, you have done what you should not do.”
As you have done, Keren answered silently. Aloud, she said, “Tell me, O wise one, what I should do.”
His eyes flashed, and Keren looked away, regretting her sarcasm. She wasn’t helping herself or Revakhaw by insulting Ra-Anan, though he had apparently planned the whole situation. A breeze gusted into the courtyard then, making a tiny nearby whirlwind of dry, rustling, dead leaves. Keren felt as if she were those leaves, useless and caught in a storm she had no power to resist. Exhausted, she said, “Forgive me.”
“You berated my wife while she was your guest.”
“I will ask Zeva’ah’s forgiveness,” Keren agreed, toneless. “I know she couldn’t have warned me. She’s loyal to you above all.”
“And who claims your loyalty?” Ra-Anan demanded, staring at her hard. “Your Most High?”
Unable to speak, Keren simply looked at her brother. How could Ra-Anan live without the Most High? How could she herself live without honor, righteousness, or love? All these things were being stolen from her. Now, would Nimr-Rada and Ra-Anan officially force her to denounce the Most High?
Ra-Anan knelt, leaning toward her, his hooded eyes fierce. “Give Him up! What has He done for you? Nothing! If you resist, then those you love will die one by one, victims of your devotion to those old storytellers.”
Aching, Keren thought of Noakh, I’ma-Naomi, Shem, and I’ma-Annah. Then she thought of Revakhaw. The ache intensified. O Most High, help me. How can I save her without turning against You? That would be like death to me.
Unexpectedly, she remembered her brother Neshar’s words when they had parted. Learn to use your weapons. Trust no one. Judge everything coldly. Neshar would be appalled to know what had happened to Revakhaw. What would Neshar do in this situation, if he loved the Most High? He would trust no one and learn everything he could, then try to find a way to turn his knowledge against Nimr-Rada and Ra-Anan. That was apparently what Keren would have to do. Then, surely, the Most High would intercede for her at His appropriate time. Until then, Keren would have to be like Neshar.
Quietly, she said, “I will do whatever I must do to help Revakhaw—short of killing anyone else. Now, my own brother, what does He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies intend when he commands me to become his protectoress of Shemesh?”
“He intends you to become his most honored servant.”
I don’t want to become his most honored servant.
Ra-Anan—how he loved to hear himself talk—continued in his reasonable teaching voice. “All your lessons have been a prelude to everything you must learn between now and the highest day of our benevolent Sun. Every tribal leader under the command of He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies will be amazed by your presence.” Whispering eagerly now, he said, “You will hold great power, which will strengthen our grip on this kingdom—if you are willing to truly listen and learn, my sister.”
Pompous serpent, she thought. How can you be my own brother? Keeping her voice tranquil, her expression accepting and attentive, she said, “I’m listening.”
The rains had ended temporarily, just before the midday meal, and Nimr-Rada sent word that Keren was to present herself at his gates immediately, prepared to hunt. A general moan arose from her household, but Keren lifted her hands to silence everyone. “Not a word of complaint! He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies is waiting. Hurry as if your lives depend on it.”
She joined them in the rush to collect her gear, to inspect her attire and to throw on a half-sleeved, open-fronted outer robe and bind it together with a wide linen sash. She paused to help Na’ah and Gebuwrah bank their cooking fire and pile all their pots of food into large baskets to be strapped onto fleece-draped packhorses.
Dobe was now one of these packhorses, scorned by Nimr-Rada. Keren’s new horse was a muscular brute that endured her as badly as she endured him. But he was a gift from Nimr-Rada and had to be accepted.
As Keren went toward Shaw-Kak, she patted her faithful Dobe to let him know she was near. She was thankful, as always, that Nimr-Rada had not sent Dobe to the stew pots—like the ones Dobe now carried so calmly. I could take lessons in patience from you, Keren told Dobe in unspoken affection.
Zehker and Qaydawr were waiting, holding the thick reed that served as her step-up to Shaw-Kak’s fleece-draped back. “Thank you,” Keren murmured.
Qaydawr gave Keren an intense, admiring smile that made her skin crawl. Zehker handed Keren her quiver of arrows, then her bow. She accepted her weapons, pretending to be indifferent, but longing to touch Zehker’s hardened hands and coax a genuine smile onto his imposing features. She suspected he had dimples, but until he laughed, or revealed some true expression, she could prove nothing.
Shaw-Kak shifted beneath her abruptly, saving her from the temptation of staring at Zehker. Qaydawr handed Keren her reins, leaning too close for comfort. Incredulous, she drew back.
“Do you want to die, Qaydawr? Please, don’t lean so near me.”
“Are you worried, Lady?” he asked softly, looking up at her from beneath eyelashes that any woman would envy.
“Of course; please, be careful.”
He smiled at her caressingly; Keren almost rolled her eyes. He had taken her warning as an expression of affection. Wonderful, she thought darkly. He’s deluded. She had to find some way to be rid of him.
Keren rode through her courtyard gate, reining in the restless Shaw-Kak long enough to allow her guards and attendants to mount their ho
rses and take their places in front of her and behind her. All the way to Nimr-Rada’s wall-enclosed residence, Shaw-Kak skittered, bounded, pranced, and snorted his impatience. Exasperated, Keren wound the reins tight in one fist and gave Shaw-Kak a resounding whack on the neck with the feathered end of one of her arrows. “No! And don’t you put your ears back at me—no tantrums!”
To her disgust Shaw-Kak stopped altogether. She had to kick him viciously to make him proceed. By the time she rode up to Nimr-Rada’s gate, she was fuming. Her headgear was askew, and she was ready to eat Shaw-Kak for her evening meal.
Nimr-Rada was already mounted and waiting just inside his gate. He looked irritated.
Keren bowed her head formally, then glared, pointing at Shaw-Kak. “I’m ready to stew this one, O King!”
Nimr-Rada laughed at her, his irritation vanishing like a mist. “He is good for you, Lady. He challenges you.”
“As you told him to, I’m sure,” Keren grumbled, turning Shaw-Kak to ride just to Nimr-Rada’s left.
Nimr-Rada’s attendants were gathering now, and Keren had to hide her dismay as Kuwsh rode up, eyeing her coldly. But then her dismay turned to soaring hope. For the first time in many weeks, she saw Revakhaw ride out of Nimr-Rada’s gate and take her old accustomed place among Keren’s attendants. Nimr-Rada prodded Keren with his flail, demanding her attention.
“Do not think that her presence here changes anything, Lady,” he warned.
“As you say, O King,” Keren reassured him hastily. “I’m just glad to see her. Please, please, may I visit with her as we ride?”
“That was my intention,” he answered, his voice unusually low.
“Thank you, Great King.”
He grunted and waved her off with his flail, nodding to Kuwsh, who waited at his right. Keren pulled Shaw-Kak back to ride with Revakhaw. But her joy vanished when Revakhaw leaned toward Keren and whispered sadly, “I am with child.”
As Keren gasped, Revakhaw lamented beneath her breath, “I long to die! What am I, Lady? Every day he taunts me, saying that I am not his wife and he will kill me if I defy him. But then he declares that I am his, and my child is his, yet I’m nothing to him. I don’t know what to think.…”
Furiously protective, Keren hissed, “Tell no one I said this: As I live, Revakhaw, before the Most High, you are Nimr-Rada’s true wife. Sharah was married to another man, whom she abandoned for Nimr-Rada—their marriage is a mockery!” For safety’s sake, Keren said nothing more. But she glared at Nimr-Rada’s leopard-skin draped back. Animal!
Twenty
“TWO WIVES FOR one man invites nothing but disaster,” Kuwsh said, unable to prevent himself from lecturing his son as they rode out of the Great City. “And to ignore these two wives in favor of a third woman—who is also the sister of your first wife—is worse than disaster. It’s—”
“I know what I am doing,” Nimr-Rada answered, unperturbed.
“But do your people know what you are doing?” Kuwsh demanded. “Will they still follow you when they become aware of your growing household?”
“They are free to do as I do. I have not forbidden men to take more than one woman. Such restrictive marriage bonds are remnants from the beliefs of those Ancient Ones in the mountains; if I encourage this new freedom, most men won’t argue.” Nimr-Rada glanced over his shoulder now at Keren.
Kuwsh fumed, watching his son study the obstinate female. “At least you didn’t marry her. Listen, my son: You are still angry that she refused you as a husband. You’re doing all this to repay her, but it will do you no good. Be satisfied with the promise of a son from your Revakhaw. Forget that Keren! She won’t give you the devotion you crave.”
“Do you speak from your own experience, my father?”
Nimr-Rada taunted Kuwsh, because Kuwsh’s first love, Bekiyrah, daughter of Yepheth, had shunned Kuwsh in favor of Asshur, son of Shem. Kuwsh seethed, regretting that he had ever spoken of Bekiyrah to his son. He also regretted Nimr-Rada’s physical prowess, he longed to thrash some respect into this “Great King” he had helped to create. But he was no match for Nimr-Rada.
Attempting to be reasonable, he said, “A large portion of your power is due to my own homage to you, my son. By bowing to you, I gave you the loyalty of all the tribes of my sons, and most of my brothers’ tribes. You owe me at least the freedom to speak without enduring your mockery.”
“If any other man said such things to me as I allow from you, my father, that man would be dead within a breath.”
“I believe you,” Kuwsh replied, controlling his temper. “But because I am your father, I’ll be blunt: Your prized Keren won’t accept you.”
“You are wrong. I will become everything to her. She longs for me to be like other men.” Nimr-Rada lowered his voice. “She told me so.”
“She was tormenting you.”
“She was not,” Nimr-Rada growled, causing Tselem— leashed by a keeper nearby—to watch him attentively. “If you could have seen the look on her face, you would have known the truth. Even so, I will never allow her to become a mere wife to me, or to anyone. And I will never allow myself to be a mere man to her.”
“Then why do you pursue her?”
“I have my reasons.”
Kuwsh could imagine his reasons. Aggravated, he muttered, “She has never given up her loyalties to those Ancient Ones.”
“She will forget them,” Nimr-Rada said confidently. “Come now. Let’s go down to the river and wait. No doubt our prey is there.”
Kuwsh turned his horse to follow after Nimr-Rada, wondering if—during the hunt—he might be able to “misguide” an arrow toward Keren.
Keren glanced up at the gray sky, dreading another downpour. She was wet, tired, and hungry, but she dared not complain. For much of the afternoon, they had hidden in the flooded reeds at the river and had netted a raft of ducks and several elegant birds: glossy, reddish-brown and purple-plumed ibis. But this was a yawn-worthy pastime for Nimr-Rada. He wanted larger prey and planned to have Tselem pursue a gazelle. The thought filled Keren with a wearied dread.
She detested Nimr-Rada’s kills. Plain arrows or spears weren’t enough: Nimr-Rada loved to physically attack his prey, grabbing their horns, twisting and breaking their necks. Worse, he expected Keren to follow him in the chase as an enthusiastic witness to his cruelty and strength. Therefore, her heart sank as a herd of ibex approached to drink at the river. Tawny and sure-footed, with graceful, back-curving V-shaped serrated horns, the ibex were like goats but larger than gazelles, which obviously pleased Nimr-Rada. He signaled everyone to be still.
Obediently Keren aligned herself to Shaw-Kak’s neck, gripping her bow and praying the wretched horse would not stir suddenly and frighten the ibex too soon. As some of the herd lowered their heads to drink, Nimr-Rada rode at them, his spear ready. They scattered, bounding in different directions. Nimr-Rada followed the largest ibex away from the river. Keren didn’t have to urge Shaw-Kak to the chase; the brute bolted behind Nimr-Rada, eager to escape his forced stillness in the reeds.
“Go-go-go!” someone cried from behind Keren.
Nimr-Rada’s guardsmen and Keren’s guardsmen were surrounding her, their horses galloping with their long necks lowered and outstretched as they had been trained, to avoid being shot in the head by their riders.
Keren disliked having others ride so close to her. She always feared that one of the young men would be tossed from his horse and accidentally strike her, causing his own death. She was about to wave them off when the ibex and Nimr-Rada changed direction, suddenly veering to the right. As they turned, so did Shaw-Kak, but not the horse directly to Shaw-Kak’s right. The horses collided, tossing Keren to the left. Astonished, Keren watched the earth rush toward her. Falling never seemed real. But landing was too painful to be doubted.
She struck the damp earth, rolling helplessly, crying out as another horse trampled over her, inflicting torturous snapping blows on her legs. Facedown, still clutching her bow, she sucked
in a breath and fought back tears. She hurt everywhere. Others were calling to her. Frightened, Keren lifted a hand to fend them off. “Stop!”
“Lady!” Tsinnah’s breathless voice eased Keren’s terror that some young guardsman might forget himself and try to help her. “Alatah is with me. And Gebuwrah. No one else will touch you, truly. Can you turn yourself? Can you walk?”
“Wait.” Slowly, Keren turned and gasped. Both her legs hurt, the right worse than the left, and they felt oddly cold. She tried to press her left foot onto the ground, but the effort brought vicious stabs of pain. And even the thought of moving her right leg provoked a chill of sweat. Worse, there was a rapidly swelling lump on her right shin.
“You’ve really injured yourself this time, Lady,” Tsinnah told her, studying Keren’s legs. “These are broken bones—no little sprains or bruises and scrapes. And I think you knocked your bow into your face when you fell—your right eye is swelling.”
“You look terrible, Lady,” Revakhaw said tremulously, kneeling beside Keren. “I was sure you’d be killed when that horse ran over you.”
“Well, it didn’t kick her in the head,” Gebuwrah muttered. She sounded almost disappointed.
Keren frowned. You’re becoming suspicious of everyone, she chided herself. She was in such pain that she probably wasn’t thinking clearly. But the unnerving thought remained: if she had a fatal accident, a number of people would be pleased. Among them Kuwsh, who approached her now, his handsome face inscrutable.
Just as Kuwsh started to speak, Gebuwrah prodded Keren’s injured left leg with excruciating accuracy. Keren yelped, and the world dimmed; an ominous humming noise filled her head. To avoid fainting, she lay back on the wet ground and shut her eyes. Yes, that was better. If misery could be called better than agony. As she lay there, eyes closed, a stealthy, heavy-scented creature padded up to her, hesitated, and glided on carelessly, uninterested in her prostrate form. Tselem, Keren thought. Nimr-Rada was approaching.
He Who Lifts the Skies Page 24