He Who Lifts the Skies

by Kacy Barnett-Gramckow

  “Who did this?” Nimr-Rada’s deep, authoritative voice demanded, furious.

  Keren opened her eyes and answered before anyone else could speak. “I did this to myself, O King. Please … don’t blame or punish the innocent.”

  Relief swept across several faces; Qaydawr’s, Erek’s, and one of Nimr-Rada’s own guardsmen. Nimr-Rada did not see them; he was glaring at his father and at Zehker, who now stood just behind Kuwsh. “Tell me the truth!”

  Kuwsh waved toward Qaydawr and the guardsman, distinctly irritated. “Those two. One horse collided with hers, and another horse trampled her. They were riding too close. As was that one.” He pointed to Erek, who quaked visibly but recovered when Kuwsh said, “However, his horse did not collide with hers—therefore he is not to blame.”

  Instantly, Nimr-Rada cuffed his guilty guardsman, knocking him to the ground. Qaydawr dropped to his knees and bowed, seeming ready for punishment.

  Keren hastily lifted a hand, begging, “Don’t kill them, Great King! Banish them if it pleases you, but let others praise you openly for the mercy you show them!”

  “You’d save your own murderer,” Nimr-Rada told Keren, grimly amused. “Very well. If you survive this fall with no lasting injuries, they will live. If your injuries are permanent, I will kill them.”

  Feeling faint again, Keren relaxed in the grass and shut her eyes. “I will recover. Thank you.”

  “Don’t return to the city until after sunset,” Nimr-Rada commanded her. “Look at me. Did you hear what I said, Lady?”

  Opening her eyes—the right one now painful—Keren said, “I won’t return to the city until after sunset, as you have said, O King.” Chuckling mirthlessly, aware of her muddied clothes and her missing headpiece, she added, “I must look truly horrible if you want to keep me hidden.”

  “You do,” he agreed. He turned to leave them, frowning at Revakhaw, who bowed humbly at his feet. Coldly, Nimr-Rada said, “Stay here and be useful. But return to me tonight, or I will come after you myself.”

  “As you say, my Lord,” Revakhaw answered, so frightened that Keren hated Nimr-Rada all the more.

  Satisfied, he left, accompanied by his father and his household.

  Gently, Alatah covered Keren with damp, musky fleeces, tucking them beneath her as much as possible, saying, “I’m sorry you’re in such pain, Lady. And we’ll have to wait here for such a long time.…”

  “Then we should try to build a fire so Na’ah can finish her cooking,” Keren murmured, exhausted, the stabbing in her legs worsening.

  Pleased by the thought of food, everyone scattered to create a hearth and to unload food from the packhorses. Everyone but Zehker. He knelt as close to her as he dared. Keren longed to reach for his hand and to cling to him; her pain was so great. She curled her hands into fists.

  “I’ll be sure that your attendants brace your injuries properly,” he said quietly. “We’ll carry you into the city after dark.” Then he muttered through his teeth, “Never ride ahead of Kuwsh again, Lady. I thought I would have to strike him down. He was aiming for you.”

  Keren stared, unable to respond. By the time she could think clearly again, Zehker had departed to assemble a makeshift litter like the one he had made for Lawkham. Keren pushed away all thoughts of Lawkham, too weakened to endure her memories of his death. O Most High, she thought, by this “accident,” You saved my life from Kuwsh. I thank You—though I wish it didn’t have to be so painful. What are You planning? Shivering, she closed her eyes and prayed.

  Revakhaw knelt beside Keren, holding a cup of steaming liquid. “Zehker won’t allow us to give you solid food until after your legs are braced,” she said. “I think he fears you’ll heave everything up again.”

  “He’s right as usual,” Keren agreed. Her pain was nauseating. To distract herself, she concentrated on Revakhaw. Softly she asked, “Is anyone else nearby?”

  “No, Lady.” Leaning down on her elbow, Revakhaw faced Keren. “What do you want to say?”

  Keren whispered, “You can’t tell anyone what I’ve told you today. But do you feel better, knowing that you are Nimr-Rada’s true wife and that my sister is not?”

  Hanging her head remorsefully, Revakhaw nodded. “I wish it weren’t so but yes. Until I knew this, I wanted to die; I was so ashamed.”

  “Why?” Keren challenged her, whispering. “If Nimr-Rada saw no evil in taking you for his own—being the perfect He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies—then you should have been proud. Instead you were ashamed. Why?”

  Revakhaw shrugged, bewildered. “I don’t know, Lady, truly. I thought that if I wasn’t his wife … then it wasn’t right that he should take me. And it would be a shame indeed that I carry his child.”

  “Because his ways are not honorable; you know it.”

  Hesitant, Revakhaw nodded. “It’s true; he’s not honorable. Nor is he the Promised One as he implies. He’s nothing but a greedy man. And after being with him for all these weeks, I see that he loves no one. Yet if he could love anyone, Lady, it would be you. No other woman on this earth speaks to him as boldly as you do. And you amuse him. Few people can make him laugh.”

  “When I don’t make him angry enough to kill me.” Keren closed her eyes again. “I pray he would become bored with me and free us … let us return to our families.”

  “Truly he won’t, Lady. Even so, I pray the same things.”

  “Do you pray to the Most High, or to Nimr-Rada and his Shemesh?”

  “You never give up with your Most High,” Revakhaw muttered good-naturedly.

  Moistening her dry lips, Keren said, “Don’t you give up, Revakhaw. These next few months are going to be difficult. Think of the Most High. Call to Him.”

  “Do you want to drink this broth now?” Revakhaw asked, changing the subject.

  A little disheartened, Keren slowly propped herself up on her elbow and drank the hot, salty, herb-scented broth. Then she gave the cup to Revakhaw and said, “Don’t worry. I’m done preaching for now.”

  “Don’t worry, Lady,” Revakhaw answered, some of her sparkle returning. She clasped Keren’s hand fondly. “I enjoy being with you, even if you are preaching at me. I know you’re concerned.”

  “You’re the sister I wish I could have had at birth. If Sharah had been like you, my life would have been so much better.” Keren settled down again miserably. Just as she was beginning to relax, she was roused by approaching hoofbeats. Curious, she looked up.

  Three riders were approaching from the Great City. Two of the riders were Nimr-Rada’s guardsmen, and the third was … Meherah. Nimr-Rada had apparently sent her to supervise Keren’s household.

  Keren watched as Revakhaw stood and hurried with Tsinnah to meet Meherah. Zehker also hurried to meet his adoptive mother. He reached up to Meherah and lifted her off the horse, setting her on her feet, solemnly kissing her cheek.

  How I wish he could greet me and kiss me in such a way, Keren thought enviously. She stared as Zehker, Tsinnah, and Revakhaw conferred with Meherah, their heads lowered, their expressions grim.

  One of Nimr-Rada’s guards interrupted them, giving Meherah a sealed clay flask and another small bundle. Revakhaw promptly took these to Na’ah, who was tending a smoking makeshift hearth. Now Meherah approached Keren, clearly worried.

  After examining Keren’s legs, Meherah looked Keren straight in the eyes and sighed mournfully. “Lady, I’m so sorry to see you in this terrible condition. Listen, we’re going to straighten and brace your legs now, and I must tell you that it will hurt beyond anything you’ve ever known. I’m going to give you some wine and remedies, but it would be best if you could simply faint altogether.”

  Swallowing, dreading the pain to come, Keren said, “Thank you. I think I will.”

  Keren looked up to the clear blue morning sky, unable to believe it was finally spring. Tiny pools of water lingered in her courtyard, and the slender branches of her almond trees were budding with the promise of delicate pink flowers. Touching one of the bud
s, Keren sighed, feeling rested and whole for the first time in months.

  “Lady.” Tsinnah beckoned to Keren, indicating that her guardsmen were nearing the gates with her horses. Smiling, Keren met Tsinnah and waited, enjoying the freedom of walking without the cumbersome reed splints, fleece paddings, and makeshift crutches she had endured throughout her recovery. Alatah joined Tsinnah, patting Keren’s arm delightedly.

  “You look wonderful, Lady,” Alatah said, her childish voice almost singsong.

  The horses clattered into the courtyard, and everyone watched as Keren approached Shaw-Kak. Keren still detested the beast, but the thought of a morning ride eased the irritation of his presence. Carefully, she planted one sandal-adorned foot on the thick reed held by Zehker and the humbled Erek, then hoisted herself onto Shaw-Kak. This now-unaccustomed movement made her leg muscles pull and ache. Even so, she wouldn’t admit to feeling pain. Nimr-Rada still insisted that if she did not make a complete recovery, then his own guilty guardsman and that foolish Qaydawr—both now tending horses in Sharah’s stables—would forfeit their lives.

  Your penalty is always death, Keren thought to Nimr-Rada, frustrated. At least Revakhaw was still alive, though Keren had heard she was dejected, hidden inside Nimr-Rada’s heavily guarded residence, awaiting the birth of Nimr-Rada’s child. Few people were allowed to see her now, not even Keren.

  “Do we go to our Master Ra-Anan’s household today?” Gebuwrah asked, drawing her horse up beside Keren’s as they turned out of her gate to ride through the city.

  Keren shook her head. “No, though it would be a pleasure to see my little Demamah again.” Demamah had been her most sympathetic visitor during the past few months, but those visits had been brief, rushed by the dutifully polite Zeva’ah. “Today our Master Ra-Anan waits for us at the tower.”

  “More preparations for his grand ceremony on the highest day of our Sun,” Gebuwrah said. “Not that I’m complaining, Lady. Our Master Ra-Anan only seeks perfection.”

  “Of course.” She dared not say more, or less; the self-serving Gebuwrah might decide to inform Ra-Anan if Keren became critical of their Shemesh. And that could endanger Revakhaw. Sighing, Keren looked about the streets eagerly now. Some children whooped at the sight of her, and she laughed at them, pleased to be outside her walls at last.

  Hearing the shouts of the children, other citizens came out into the streets, calling to Keren enthusiastically as young mothers brought their daughters to see her and be held by her. Though no more gold rings were forthcoming, the young mothers of the Great City still vied for Keren’s attention, deeming it a point of pride if she admired their babies. Keren simply enjoyed holding the infant girls and praising the antics of their brothers.

  “Lady, are they going to let us through?” Na’ah called, obviously scared by the growing throng of citizens.

  “Eventually, perhaps,” Keren answered over her shoulder, aware of Erek’s discomfort as he whistled sharply and pleaded for the citizens to allow the procession to pass. Erek, surprisingly, had behaved these past few months and showed admirable restraint.

  But the crowd was slow to respond to his pleas. Instead of dispersing, many followed Keren’s household on foot, out of the streets of the Great City toward the sprawling grounds of Nimr-Rada’s Tower of Shemesh.

  “You managed everything well, Erek,” Keren called out loudly enough for everyone to hear, deciding that he deserved open praise. “And you were most courteous. Thank you.”

  Erek looked bewildered, then straightened proudly. “Thank you, Lady.”

  “He’s just relieved that you’re fully recovered and he’s not been punished for causing your accident,” Gebuwrah grumbled to Keren. “Now that you’re better, I’d wager all my rings that he will return to his usual sneaking ways within a month.”

  “It can’t hurt to praise him,” Keren pointed out. “Perhaps he will find that he prefers our praise to our scorn.”

  Gebuwrah sniffed, unconvinced. “As you say, Lady.”

  At the base of the tower, the crowd surged around Keren while she stared, amazed. Much had been accomplished during her seclusion. A neatly squared and corrugated temple of fire-darkened clay bricks now crowned the present summit of the massive square tower. And the stairs that angled precariously up the sides of the tower now boasted decoratively perforated balusters of the same fire-darkened clay bricks. Keren did not admire Nimr-Rada’s ambitions, or her brother’s deceitful rationale for building this Tower of Shemesh, but she had to admit that their work was awe inspiring, though less than half finished.

  “We’re expected to go up the stairs, Lady,” Tsinnah called out over the chatter of the crowd around them. She indicated a waiting line of horses. “Look, He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies and your Lady-Sister must be inside the tower.”

  Keren dismounted, eyeing the stairs unhappily. Her legs were going to ache miserably tonight after all that climbing. She was spared the stairs for a time, however, as a crowd of jubilant women and young girls surrounded her. They evidently felt that she belonged to them and no one else. Glad for the delay, Keren visited and laughed with the women of the Great City. Let Nimr-Rada wait.

  “She’s entirely too popular,” Sharah complained to Kuwsh and Ra-Anan as they descended the long bricked tower stairs, distantly followed by Keren and her attendants. “You saw her; she kept us waiting just to prove how much she’s loved by everyone. I think we should correct her. She detracts too much attention from my husband’s efforts to please his people.”

  “And from your efforts,” Ra-Anan observed acidly, disgusted with Sharah’s persistent complaints. Sharah threw him a spiteful look. Ra-Anan longed to give her a shove; she was the one who needed correction. But he restrained himself, saying, “It’s useful that Keren is popular and has been missed during her absence.”

  “I disagree,” Kuwsh muttered, glancing toward Nimr-Rada, who was ahead of them, marching proudly down the stairs of his Great Tower, surrounded by his guardsmen. “She could become a focal point for some future rebellion. She needs to be stopped.”

  Ra-Anan nearly halted midstep, hearing the threat in Kuwsh’s voice. But then Ra-Anan continued, keeping his face a smooth mask of civility. He would have to decide soon if the stubborn Keren was actually useful to his own plans—never mind Nimr-Rada’s fixation on Keren’s intended role in the tower. If Keren’s growing influence needed to be eliminated, then Kuwsh was the best person to handle that task.

  Better to be inside this conspiracy than outside. That way I can thwart his plans if I must, to protect myself, Ra-Anan thought. Turning to Kuwsh, he spoke in his most soothing, reverent manner, giving Kuwsh a title he didn’t actually possess. “You are worried, my Lord, and I don’t blame you. She does occupy too much of our Great King’s attention. Tell me … how would you deal with this situation?”

  I hate it, Keren thought, shivering as she left the gloomy, dark interior of the temple. Did that Nimr-Rada truly want her to live there? She would feel buried alive.

  Save me from such a fate, O Most High.

  Twenty-One

  ASTRIDE THE RESTLESS Shaw-Kak, Keren concentrated on her target—a single gourd mounted on a reed post, halfway across the trampled field. A sharp whistle cut through the morning air, making Keren look up. Nimr-Rada waved his flail impatiently. She lifted her bow to acknowledge him, then pressed her knees into Shaw-Kak’s sides, urging the capering horse into a gallop.

  As Shaw-Kak reached full speed, Keren swept an arrow from the quiver on her back and took aim, turning herself as she rode past the target, releasing the arrow in an over-the-shoulder posture. The arrow struck the gourd low, with a quiet thump.

  “You gut wounded your enemy,” Nimr-Rada told her, his black eyes gleaming in his broad, high-boned face. “He will die a painful death as his family grieves.”

  Keren winced at Nimr-Rada’s graphic imagining of this would-be death. He took a perverse pleasure in trying to upset her. During these practices, he never said, “You felled a lio
n,” or “You wounded a gazelle.” Her victims were always humans. She had to clench her teeth hard to keep from screaming at him. Or from using him as her target—a tactic she had rejected, knowing that she and her entire household would be slaughtered instantly.

  Changing the subject, she said, “Please tell me that you are satisfied by my full recovery, O King.”

  “You are persistent, Lady.” He narrowed his eyes. “Are you fond of those two fools?”

  The “two fools,” Qaydawr and Nimr-Rada’s former guard—whom she now recognized as Ethniy—were present this morning, tending the bored Sharah. Determined to absolve them, Keren eyed Nimr-Rada, calm and straightforward. “I can tell you almost nothing about them, O King, except that it would be a shame to waste their lives—or to distress them for months when it’s obvious that I’m fully recovered. I beg you to be merciful; set their minds at ease.”

  “An endless sense of mercy makes one weak,” Nimr-Rada told her. “Someday you will agree with me.” But he shrugged and beckoned the two young guardsmen, who rode forward, dismounted, then folded their hands properly before themselves and bowed to Nimr-Rada.

  Coldly dignified, he said, “The Lady Keren has recovered from the injuries she suffered by your carelessness. For her sake only, I excuse your crimes.”

  Both young men maintained their composure; Keren was secretly proud of them. Even the audacious, enticing Qaydawr was dignified. They thanked Nimr-Rada, then bowed to him again, and to Keren—which made her uncomfortable. Nearby, Sharah watched jealously, clearly hating this little ceremony. Kuwsh, too, seemed disgruntled by the attention Keren was receiving.

  Kuwsh rode up in time to hear Nimr-Rada tell Keren, “You will take your evening meal with me tonight, Lady.”

  “Am I uninvited then, my son?” Kuwsh asked, obviously reminding Nimr-Rada that they had already made plans.

  “Do you think I have forgotten you, my father?” Nimr-Rada asked, trading him look for look. “Certainly you will eat with us.”