“Ugh.” Revakhaw winced.
Neshar stared at her. “Lady,” he said gently, formally acknowledging her as Nimr-Rada’s wife, “if I could do anything to compensate you for the sorrows Sharah and the others have inflicted upon you, I would.”
Revakhaw nodded and ducked her head, almost in tears. Grieving, Keren glanced from Revakhaw to Neshar, who seemed infinitely saddened … and infatuated.
Despondent, Keren thought, They might have been happy together.
Meeting Keren’s gaze, Neshar changed the subject. “I have returned to the Most High. I believe that our brothers—excluding Ra-Anan—will return to Him eventually. They realize Nimr-Rada is not the Promised One.”
Before Keren could exclaim her delight, Neshar nudged the silent Zehker. “We should wash. I’m sure the Ancient Ones will offer a sacrifice this evening—for all of us.”
Zehker nodded agreement, eyeing Keren. She gasped, suddenly realizing that he had joined Neshar in returning to the Most High. Exhilarated, she restrained herself from hugging Zehker. Instead she laughed at him, almost dancing.
He grinned, the first genuine smile he had dared to reveal; the sight of his wonderful dimples took her breath away.
She stepped back, sorely tempted by that grin. “Go, before I touch you,” she warned him.
Zehker bowed almost jauntily and went with Neshar to the stream that flowed down the lower hills near the lodge. Keren watched them go, sighing, enthralled.
A hand gripped her arm. Keren jumped, remembering Revakhaw. “You love him,” Revakhaw gasped, clearly stunned. “And he loves you.…”
“Yes,” Keren agreed simply. “Forgive us; we forgot ourselves. Now our lives depend upon your silence.”
“As if I would say anything to anyone,” Revakhaw protested indignantly, showing some of her former spirit.
Keren smiled, then sighed again, wishing Revakhaw were free to marry; she would have encouraged her to escape with Neshar.
“It was kind of your brother to speak to me,” Revakhaw said, mournful now.
Carefully neutral, Keren murmured, “He longs to protect you.”
“Oh.” Revakhaw hesitated, then shook her head. “No one can protect me.”
“Only the Most High.”
“Your Most High …”
“And Neshar’s Most High.”
Revakhaw stared at Keren, silent.
Sacrificial smoke drifted over them all as Noakh raised his hands in praise to the Most High. Keren watched Revakhaw carefully. She was crying again, no doubt remembering that her infant son’s body had been consumed in such a fire. But to a nonexistent god. Keren resolved to talk to her friend later, when Revakhaw was ready to listen. Calm now, Keren lowered her face into her hands and closed her eyes, cherishing her time with the Most High. She felt forgiven. And loved.
When they had offered their last prayers, and the fire was dwindling, Shem approached Keren. “I know you are worried about this midsummer gathering, daughter. But don’t be afraid. The Most High guards you in this—as He has protected you thus far. As for Nimr-Rada, you must convince him to accept our summons.”
“How can I convince him from a distance?” Keren wondered aloud. Pondering this, she looked down at her bare feet, stripped of her scorned ceremonial sandals. Humbly bared feet were the only way to approach the Most High on His holy ground before His altar. A thought occurred to her, and she smiled, making Shem raise a dark eyebrow.
Answering his unspoken question, Keren said, “He will be convinced.”
Meysha and Darak, Eliyshama’s two older sons, agreed to act as messengers for the Ancient Ones. To verify that Noakh and Shem had truly instigated this formal midsummer gathering, Meysha wore Noakh’s distinctive gold-leaf pendant, while Shem had given Darak a gold medallion embossed with a tapering branch—the handiwork of Annah’s father before the Great Destruction.
“One more thing,” Annah murmured, before the two young men departed. She removed her cherished shell carving—made by Shem—and placed its dark cord around Meysha’s neck. “Take this to Yeiysh, son of your cousin Metiyl. Ask Yeiysh to accompany you and to wear this. If the three of you must separate to notify all the tribes, then each of you will wear one of our tokens.”
“I’ma-Annah,” Meysha protested, stricken. “How can you give up your wonderful carving?”
“This is important,” Annah said gently, blinking down her tears. “Everyone will recognize it, and we know you will bring these things back to us again.”
“We will, Ma’adannah,” Darak promised, hugging her earnestly, then embracing Noakh and Shem.
As they watched the two young men leave, burdened with traveling packs and weapons, Noakh teased Annah. “They love you more!”
She laughed, fondly denying his words.
The two young men paused at the bottom of the slope, waved them a cheerful farewell, and headed off to the nearest tribe, the sprawling family of Metiyl.
“Most High, protect them,” Noakh sighed aloud.
“Metiyl will be visiting us soon,” Annah announced, delighted.
Returned from their successful hunting trip, Erek, Becay, Ethniy, and Abdiy all expected praise from Keren. They had brought her two deer, plus partridges, hares, and fox furs. Keren thanked them politely and said, “Now, you’ll need some of this meat for a journey: I must send a message to He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies.”
“But someone should stay to guard you, Lady,” Ethniy objected, frowning.
“My father is as strict as Zehker,” Keren pointed out. “And Zehker is staying. Though you may stay too, Ethniy. Three men traveling together will be safe enough.”
Ethniy clearly regretted his impulsiveness; he eyed Zehker, who was stacking chopped wood near Meshek’s stable adjoining the lodge. Keren smiled, certain that Ethniy was correctly imagining that he would be chopping wood for the rest of the summer, into autumn. He would also be building two small lodges: one for Keren and her attendants, and another for himself and Zehker.
“Let it be as you say, Lady,” Becay said impatiently. “Tell us your message for He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies.”
“Tell him I will be fully recovered at the end of the year, as he said. Also tell him that the Ancient Ones wish to speak to him personally at a midsummer gathering of all the tribal leaders at the source of the eastern river. Here …” Keren handed her right ceremonial sandal to the bewildered Erek. Carefully expressionless, she said, “He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies will understand why I have sent him this.”
The guardsmen frowned, doubtful. Keren met their gazes steadily, knowing she looked frail because she had deliberately shunned meals in their absence. “Thank you,” she said. “I realize this is a burden for you.”
Becay nodded, but Abdiy grunted irritably. “At least we won’t have to spend the winter in these mountains,” he muttered to Becay as soon as Keren dismissed them.
Yes, Keren thought gratefully. At least you three will be gone for the winter.
Erek, however, lingered nearby, holding Keren’s sandal as if it might poison him. “Ah, Lady.” He hesitated, cautiously keeping his distance. “You’re sure that you’ve nothing else to say to our He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies?”
Keren sighed and knelt, suddenly very tired. “Give him the sandal, Erek. Truly, he is wise and will understand.”
Relaxing in the crisp autumn air, Keren watched as her wild-haired cousin Metiyl and his son Khawrawsh worked at the deep hearth near the Ancient Ones’ lodge. Khawrawsh was plying a pair of leather foot bellows, heating the stout clay firing pot that contained Meshek and Shem’s mangled copper ax heads.
As he worked, Khawrawsh furtively watched Tsinnah, who had accompanied Keren and Revakhaw today. Metiyl looked up from his side of the hearth and frowned.
“Khawrawsh!” he roared. “You’ll get burned, and you’ll deserve it too! Ignore that pretty girl and stomp those bellows.” Turning to Neshar and Zehker now, Metiyl sneered, “You’ve beaten those ax heads to shavings; I’d almost think you’ve bee
n working like ordinary men.”
Keren suppressed a smile. Metiyl detested Neshar and Zehker for being horsemen-guards to Nimr-Rada.
Now that Metiyl had deigned to acknowledge him, Zehker approached him. “Your axes are exceptional.”
Metiyl grunted and shoved some thick clay molds into the outermost coals. “What do you want, horseman? I came to work for the Ancient Ones, not for you.”
“You have the wrong opinion of us, cousin,” Neshar said. He crouched at Metiyl’s right, while Zehker leaned toward Metiyl on the left.
Instantly Metiyl’s thick brows rushed together in a frown, and his broad nostrils flared. “Horsemen or not, I can crush you both!”
“Good,” Zehker replied quietly. “But first, we’ll talk.”
“Let’s leave them to argue,” Keren murmured to Revakhaw and Tsinnah, not wanting them to hear Zehker and Neshar’s plans—though Keren resolved to question Zehker later. As they went toward the lodge, she noticed that both young women cast backward glances toward the men at the hearth—Revakhaw sadly, Tsinnah smiling.
Before Keren could enter the lodge, her small nephew Achyow darted out, skittering away from Keren to sit near Metiyl’s son Khawrawsh. Now Zehker, Neshar, and Metiyl stepped away from the hearth, talking quietly. Metiyl was listening intently, eyebrows raised, pleased.
You are discussing weapons, Keren decided. And the death of Nimr-Rada.
Kneeling beside Keren’s I’ma-Annah, Revakhaw moistened her lips. “Ma’adannah … our Keren—I mean Karan—told me that you survived the loss of your family before the Great Destruction. How? I feel such grief for my son, I long to die.…”
Ma’adannah smiled at Revakhaw, her lovely, dark-lashed eyes warm and understanding. “You will grieve for years, child. But you are cherished by many people, including me. Survival …” She sighed, as if remembering ageless sorrows. “For me, knowing that just one person truly loved me and wanted me to live … it was enough. My Shem’s love—and the love of the Most High—persuaded me to survive.”
Their words always return to You! Revakhaw cried silently to the Most High, rebellious, shutting her eyes hard. But why do You want me to live with such pain?
In the midst of her unspoken outcry, Revakhaw felt Ma’adannah’s arms go around her comfortingly. “Our Revakhaw … never forget the child who was stolen from you by Nimr-Rada’s schemes and hatred! But remember that the Most High longs to console you; He grieves for you, child … as you grieve for your son.”
Broken, Revakhaw wept.
Wrapped in the ceremonial splendor of his gold, linens, and a new fleece mantle, Kuwsh shivered in Nimr-Rada’s courtyard. He stared at the cause of his discomfort—a slender, sparkling golden sandal, which rested on the pavings where the Lady Keren once knelt.
Also fixated on the lovely sandal, Nimr-Rada waved his flail at everyone in the courtyard, from Keren’s wearied guardsmen to Kuwsh and the pale Sharah. “Leave!”
At once everyone began to file out, silent and afraid. Leaning toward Nimr-Rada, Kuwsh begged hoarsely, “Don’t go after her! She doesn’t love you! That sandal is meant to befuddle your reasoning, my son—not to convey any true message. Those Ancient Ones are using her to entrap you.”
Nimr-Rada straightened proudly. “You sound like a fearful child, my father. What are those Ancient Ones to me? Nothing! I will go to their midsummer gathering, listen to their foolish speeches, denounce their stupidity, then retrieve her. She promised me her devotion, and she will fulfill her promises.”
“Don’t go!” Kuwsh warned again.
“I can defeat any man who stands against me, and my guards can easily overcome their weak rebellion. Why are you so afraid?”
In despair, Kuwsh shook his head.
Nimr-Rada was still staring at the sandal as Sharah left the courtyard.
Humiliated, she looked around, wondering if her servants were daring to gloat. Her gaze settled upon one of her horsemen, Qaydawr—an amazingly handsome man. He alone was watching her. She held his look deliberately, then lowered her lashes, suddenly pleased.
In her quiet home, Achlai looked at her husband sadly, knowing that Kuwsh was telling her of their son’s plans only because he could not speak so freely to anyone else. Achlai always kept her husband’s words close. And his fears. But he never admitted that he feared the Most High.
Achlai silently admitted her fear, then thought, It is a terrible thing to have such a son as Nimr-Rada, while loving You, O Most High….
Twenty-Four
KNEELING BEFORE the crackling fire in Keren’s lodge, Tsereth’s youngest daughter, Nekokhah, shyly plucked at the sleeve of Keren’s leather tunic.
Keren paused in stitching a soft leather boot. “Yes, my Nekokhah?”
Casting a wary look at Yelahlah, who was kneading dough with Alatah, Nekokhah cupped a small hand to Keren’s ear, whispering, “Gebuwrah hates you.”
Keren nodded, watching Gebuwrah, who sat with Revakhaw and Tsinnah, sharpening bone needles against a filing stone. Gebuwrah’s hostility had grown with the deepening winter cold. And now that spring was almost here, her contempt was in full bloom, every word dripping with sarcasm, every glance suspecting mischief. She was thoroughly aggrieved at being removed from the Great City; she hated the mountains and seemed to hate her mistress as well. Keren dreaded their daily confrontations.
Leaning over, Keren cupped a hand to her niece’s ear. “Don’t worry about her; let’s just enjoy our visit.” Aloud, she said, “Shall we go help Na’ah and Alatah with our food?”
Cautiously the little girl nodded and scooted toward Na’ah, whom she liked.
Keren took a dish of dried fruit. “Do you want us to sort these, Na’ah?”
“If you could, Lady,” Na’ah said, her eyes shining. “Ethniy said that he and Zehker are making stew for their meal today, but I think we’ll have enough fruitcakes to send some to them.”
“That’s the last of our dried fruit,” Gebuwrah said darkly.
Na’ah widened her gentle eyes, indignant. “Don’t you think I know it? But we can share, Gebuwrah. Do you think we would have stayed warm this past winter without all the firewood Ethniy and Zehker provided for us?”
“We won’t starve,” Keren told Gebuwrah, keeping her voice kind. “We’ll be able to gather new greens and shoots soon; until then, we have dried meat and grains.”
Gebuwrah opened and closed her mouth sulkily. “As you say. Forgive me.”
Yelahlah spoke now, waving a dough-coated finger at Na’ah. “You like Ethniy and he likes you. Are you going to marry him?”
While everyone gasped or laughed, Na’ah blushed. Keren smiled, delighted to have her suspicions confirmed; Gebuwrah’s hostility wasn’t the only emotion to blossom these past few months.
“Ethniy is a good man,” Keren told Na’ah. “But He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies will decide our futures this summer.”
Her stomach tightened at the thought.
Gebuwrah slipped around the corner of the stable and paused beneath the dripping, rain-soaked eaves, peering inside. A pile of fresh wood shavings and some leather scraps had been left on the earthen floor near the shabby horse stall. That arrogant Zehker had been in here all morning, working with that Metiyl.
You’re making new axes, Gebuwrah thought angrily. And I’m sure it’s because you’re plotting against our He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies. She frowned, thinking hard. Whatever they were planning, that Metiyl and Zehker would never defeat the Great King. And Gebuwrah had no intention of being seen as a traitor alongside them. Was the Lady Keren involved in this plot?
I won’t die with you; you’ll bear your own punishment, she told Keren silently. If you had listened to me, and if you’d been more agreeable all along, I wouldn’t be in this miserable situation now.
Keren raised her new shortened decorative bow, masterfully carved by Zehker.
“Your stance is sloppy,” Neshar teased, watching.
“Your beard is worse,” Keren said sweetly, wrinkling her
nose at him. “Now go help Zehker and our Ancient Ones in the fields and leave me alone.”
“I tremble.”
“Liar,” Keren retorted mildly, eyeing her target—a scrap of birch bark, mounted on a swaying deerskin slung from the branches of I’ma-Annah’s favorite willow tree, her second Tree of Havah. Relaxing, Keren remembered Lawkham’s long-ago weaponry lessons.
Push your left arm straight and forward.… Pull the bowstring back. Let the hand holding the bowstring rest just beneath and against your jaw.…
A stinging swat frightened Keren badly, making her miss her target. Neshar laughed and taunted her with an unfinished arrow. “See! Your aim is—”
“Rat!” Keren struck his arm with her bow, making him jump.
He swatted her repeatedly with the arrow, grinning. “What’ll you do now, little sister, eh? I dare you to—”
She swiped him again. He grabbed the end of her bow and they jostled each other.
“Skinny girl! Give up!”
“Big mouth!” Worried about damaging her new bow, Keren snatched an arrow from her quiver and jabbed it toward him. He danced back a few steps, released her bow, then charged at her again. Keren darted across the clearing toward Noakh’s lodge, shrieking with laughter as Neshar chased her. Others were laughing with her now—Tsinnah, Alatah, and … Revakhaw.
Their laughter stopped Neshar in his tracks. Bowing to Keren mockingly, he said, “Peace, Lady.” He glanced toward Revakhaw and the others, bowing his head, acknowledging their cheers. “Admit it; I’ve won.”
“No!” Swiftly Keren slapped his rump with an arrow and dashed inside the lodge, where she would be safe. Outside, the others howled with delight.
“Hush,” I’ma-Naomi scolded fondly, busily winding a spindle of thread. “Achyow is napping.” Beside her, combing a fine tuft of light wool, I’ma-Annah smiled.
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