“What are you doing, Karan-child?”
“Making Revakhaw laugh,” Keren said, pleased. She had feared that Nimr-Rada had destroyed Revakhaw’s laughter forever. But he had failed.
Don’t let him triumph at the midsummer gathering, Keren implored the Most High. Show He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies the will of his own Creator.
Beneath the first misty-gray traces of dawn, Gebuwrah crept through the dew-dampened grass toward the rough-stone stable to check it again—as she had been doing for weeks. They would leave this morning, but she would be sure that the overbearing Zehker would leave without his new weapons. She was going to burn them to ashes and blackened metal. How dare he plot against the Great King and endanger her! Well, she’d be sure He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies heard of Zehker’s rebellion. And I will be rewarded.
Imagining Nimr-Rada’s gratitude, Gebuwrah eagerly crept into the stables. Rummaging through the straw, she scowled. Where were those axes? She was sure Zehker had left them here last night. Irritated, she passed Keren’s stupid horse, Dobe, and checked Tsereth’s milk goats in their little enclosure, then inspected the other side of the feed trough. Nothing. And the dim corners appeared to be empty. After poking through the straw again, Gebuwrah straightened, frustrated.
As she turned, Zehker appeared in the doorway, eyeing her calmly, Dobe’s bridle and lead reins in his hands.
“Move,” she commanded, her heart thudding hard.
He shook his head. “No.”
“Where’s Gebuwrah?” Keren asked, looking around the clearing before the Lodge of Meshek.
“She won’t be coming,” Zehker answered, fashioning a makeshift rein for Dobe.
Keren frowned at him suspiciously; Gebuwrah had been eagerly anticipating their return to the Great City, so it was unlikely that she would refuse to leave. “Is she ill?”
“No, Lady.” He bound a leather strap to a toughened leather bit and worked it into Dobe’s mouth. “But it’s best for her to stay.”
“Who tied these here?” Tsereth called from the front of the lodge; her milk goats were conveniently tethered just outside the doorway.
Zehker hurried toward her. Keren followed him, her suspicions growing.
Seeing them, Tsereth smiled. “Did you bring the goats to me, Zehker? Thank you. It’s a pity you’re leaving, now that I’ve got you trained.”
“Eliyshama should put them in the stable tonight,” Zehker informed her grimly. “There’s another loud, stinking goat in there who shouldn’t be released until then. Keep your children away too; she will be angry.”
“You didn’t!” Keren gasped, horrified.
Zehker inclined his head toward the amused Tsereth. “Forgive me.”
Keren pushed another dried stick into the fire, watching uneasily as sparks snapped upward into the darkness, swayed by a chilling breeze from the huge salt lake nearby. Shem, Meshek, Zehker, the bearded Neshar, Metiyl, his son Khawrawsh, and the guardsman Ethniy were having a loud discussion on the other side of the hearth. After days of travel, Ethniy was finally questioning their new weapons, Neshar’s presence, and Gebuwrah’s surprising absence from this journey.
“Whatever you’re planning, you’ve involved me against my will!” Ethniy fumed at Zehker and Neshar. “He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies won’t believe me if I say I had nothing to do with this. And do you really think you can overcome him and all his guards?”
“Those weapons are for our protection,” Metiyl argued. “That king of yours stole my father’s lands, and mine. We’d be foolish to go there unprotected.”
“We will not provoke a fight at this gathering,” Shem said firmly. “I will hear what Nimr-Rada has to say for himself, and everyone’s complaints will be heard. Things will be decided justly.”
“But will those decisions be obeyed?” Meshek asked, almost challenging Shem—which distressed Keren; her father usually revered Shem without question. “What if that Nimr-Rada decides to take my daughter with him again? She despises him. And I’ll refuse to let him take her!”
They all looked at Keren. She felt obligated to speak. “I am unimportant. But Nimr-Rada has committed crimes against all the tribes, and against the Most High. He has destroyed lives—I will testify to that. He should pay with his own life.”
“How can you say that without an open rebellion?” Ethniy demanded. “And if there’s a rebellion, I’ll be considered guilty simply by being here with you now.”
“I won’t stop you if you wish to leave,” Keren said, aware of Na’ah’s miserable gaze flicking from her to Ethniy.
“No, I don’t wish to leave,” Ethniy said reluctantly, glancing at Na’ah. “But I also don’t wish to throw away my life for nothing.”
“There are things worth dying for,” Neshar said quietly, as Khawrawsh grunted and Zehker nodded in agreement, staring hard at the flames.
“There are also justice and order and reason,” Shem admonished. “We will conduct this gathering properly. We will hear everyone, including Nimr-Rada. And if he must be punished, then he will be punished.”
“How, Father of my Father?” Metiyl leaned forward, his big fists clenched on his knees. “His men outnumber our own!”
“Do they?” Shem asked, his dark eyes flaring in the firelight. “Let the Most High deal with his men.”
Keren shivered.
Seated nearby, I’ma-Annah said softly, “I’m glad our Noakh and Naomi did not come with us.”
Or my I’ma, Keren thought, remembering Chaciydah’s fears at their parting. She should not have to see her husband and children die.
Later, as the others prepared their sleeping places near the fire, Meshek approached Keren. She waited, certain he wanted to talk about Nimr-Rada.
“Daughter,” he said uncomfortably, looking up at the stars. “Before you left the mountains, years ago, to visit the tribe of Bezeq, I asked you to request my approval in a certain matter. Do you remember?”
Surprised, Keren recalled his demand that she seek his approval for her marriage. “Yes, I remember—though that hope is dead for as long as Nimr-Rada lives.”
He looked her in the eyes now. “I approve.”
He walked off. As Keren stared, astonished, he gave the unsuspecting Zehker a solid thump on the shoulder before preparing for the night.
Zehker lay awake, fatigued, staring up at the glittering stars. Sleep would bring physical rest for him but stir emotional chaos. The nightmares of his childhood had returned in fragments throughout the winter, growing now as this journey progressed.
You destroyed everything I loved, he thought to Nimr-Rada. But the Most High has given me hope again. This past winter, I actually lived a normal life, which I treasured. And I’ve remembered peace. Now, I would rather die than return to your service.
As Keren would rather die—though Zehker wanted her to live.
Turning on his side, Zehker watched Keren sleeping on the opposite side of the hearth. Her face was averted from the flames, and the smooth line of her cheek looked terrifyingly vulnerable. Protect her, he prayed. He dared not think beyond those words. Shutting his eyes, exhausted, he prepared to face his nightmares.
Accompanied by Revakhaw, Keren walked along the rushing torrent that led to the main river, which eventually flowed through the eastern territories now claimed by Nimr-Rada. Tents of wool and leather were scattered all along the banks of this torrent. Horses flanked some tents, but many of the leaders had apparently traveled to these low, grassy hills on foot.
“Your nephews and their fellow messengers must have invited the whole earth,” Revakhaw told Keren. “But even with all these people, I’m afraid. Are you ready to face Nimr-Rada?”
“I will never be ready to face him,” Keren said, sickened by the thought.
Revakhaw sighed, not looking at Keren. “He will demand that I return to him. And I fear that if I bear him another child, he will kill it as he did his firstborn. I’ve been praying that the Most High will save me from that … or …”
“Or from
death with me?” Keren asked, hugging herself.
Nodding reluctantly, Revakhaw said, “Something I’ve never told you … I heard talk while I was in his household.… When his tower is finished, He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies will declare himself to be more than a man—he will be like a god.”
“And I will be his most revered servant,” Keren agreed bitterly.
“I think he will make you his next wife … in his Tower of Shemesh.”
Keren shook her head at the thought, speechless.
“I don’t want us to die,” Revakhaw said, her voice breaking.
“Unless he lives.” They gripped hands for consolation; their fingers were cold.
As they returned to the women’s tent, Keren looked around, wondering if she would see her once-beloved Yithran, or his father, Ramah. Or worse, Bezeq himself. Thus far, she hadn’t seen them, and she was grateful for this, it was safer for them to stay away. Nimr-Rada would almost certainly kill them. Protect them, she prayed to the Most High. Please, protect us all.
The huge, gauzy woven women’s tent was crowded and warm with laughter and chatter. To Keren, it seemed that every woman entering the tent immediately looked for I’ma-Annah, who kept Keren close at her side. I’ma-Annah happily introduced Keren to her daughters by marriage, daughters by blood, daughters of sons and of daughters: Chashum, Sansannah, Tekhinnah, Yishrah, Khemdaw … Their names blurred in Keren’s mind.
Suddenly I’ma-Annah cried, “Bekiyrah!”
A lovely woman with exquisite dark eyes and a sweetly curved mouth paused at the entrance of the tent, smiling at I’ma-Annah.
“Yes, Bekiyrah! And I’ma-Ghinnah, and I’ma-Tirtsah.…”
“Oh, Bekiyrah, move!” someone called behind the lovely Bekiyrah. “Ma’adannah, are you here?”
“Ghinnah!” I’ma-Annah jumped up and ran to hug a rosy, laughing woman swathed in a curiously fringed and beaded pale-blue headscarf that fluttered with her movements.
“Now, you move,” another woman said from the entrance, her voice husky and warm. “Ma’adannah, tell our selfish Ghinnah that she must make a scarf like this for me.”
“Tirtsah.…” I’ma-Annah embraced the complainer, who was tall and strikingly beautiful. As the three women laughed together and wiped each other’s tears, Keren realized she was seeing the other two First Mothers, Ghinnah and Tirtsah.
“Come.” I’ma-Annah took I’ma-Ghinnah and I’ma-Tirtsah’s hands. “Meet the cause of our gathering. Karan, these are my sisters by marriage, Ghinnah and Tirtsah.”
The other women hushed and moved about silently, offering food and drinks as the three First Mothers knelt with Keren.
“I’ve heard about you,” Ghinnah said, leaning forward eagerly, the blue fringes dancing around her cheeks and throat. “You’re my granddaughter Chaciydah’s child. Look at your eyes!”
“They are amazing,” Tirtsah agreed, raising her perfectly arched eyebrows and staring at Keren.
“I wish they weren’t, I’ma-Tirtsah,” Keren murmured. “My freakish eyes have caused me such grief.”
“Tell us about your grief,” Tirtsah commanded, kind and imperious.
Keren looked over at Revakhaw, who took a deep, visible breath, and nodded.
As they were preparing for sleep that night, I’ma-Ghinnah approached Keren, quiet, unsmiling, but tender. “Karan-child, I don’t want to distress you, but … I have news from the tribe of Bezeq, and of his father, Ramah.”
Bezeq? Apprehensive, Keren whispered, “What is it?”
Softly, I’ma-Ghinnah explained, “Ramah and Bezeq are sons of my sons, and so we stayed with them during our journey. They did not dare come with us; Nimr-Rada would surely kill them.… But Bezeq’s mother, Nihyah, asked me to bring you word of her regard, and of her son Yithran. You were almost betrothed to him, weren’t you?”
“Yes.” Keren felt a stab of fear. Had Nimr-Rada killed Yithran after all? “What of Yithran? Is he well?”
Gently I’ma-Ghinnah said, “Yithran has married someone else. I saw her; she’s a lovely young girl from another tribe; they have a daughter.”
Keren sighed. “He’s alive then. I’m glad, I’ma-Ghinnah, truly. It’s for the best that I didn’t marry Yithran. If you see Nihyah again, please tell her I wish them blessings, with all my heart.”
I’ma-Ghinnah echoed Keren’s sigh, then laughed and gave her a warm hug. “I dreaded telling you this—I didn’t want to upset you. But I also wish you blessings, Karan-child!”
If I live … “Thank you, I’ma-Ghinnah.”
Tsinnah’s hands were shaking as she tried to apply Keren’s face paints. Alatah had to take the paints from her. Self-conscious, Keren wiped her hands over and over on her fabric-draped knees, wishing the First Mothers and the other women weren’t staring. While Revakhaw combed Keren’s freshly scrubbed hair, Na’ah coaxed Tsinnah to help with Keren’s gold ornaments.
Tsinnah burst into tears. “He’s going to kill us!”
Murmurs of sympathy arose from the watching women. A man’s voice called into the tent’s entrance. “Where is the Lady Keren?”
Keren shut her eyes, recognizing her guardsman Erek’s voice. He had obviously arrived last night with Nimr-Rada and his household.
“I must speak to her personally,” Erek insisted, “for He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies.”
Exhaling, Keren stood and crossed the woven grass mats to the entrance.
The instant he saw her, Erek bowed and presented Keren’s golden ceremonial sandal. “Lady, I return this to you from the Great King’s own hand.”
“Thank you, Erek.” Carefully polite, she took the gleaming sandal from his warily outstretched fingertips.
“He says that you and your household will leave with him today.”
Keren nodded toward him, courteous. Then, before Erek could say or notice anything else, she swiftly retreated into the tent, longing to throw the sandal away. He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies had touched it. Revolted, Keren gave the sandal to Na’ah, who dropped it as if it were poisoned.
While her attendants tied her gold-adorned leather chest covering, Keren looked over at I’ma-Annah, who was watching everything quietly, flanked by the equally somber I’ma-Ghinnah and I’ma-Tirtsah.
Controlling her fear, Keren said, “I’ma-Annah, please, if I die today, tell our I’ma-Naomi and my I’ma-Chaciydah that I love them.”
“Surely that won’t be necessary, Karan-child,” I’ma-Annah responded. But she sounded anxious.
Keren wiped her hands again, her terror rising.
Carrying her decorative bow and wearing its matching quiver of arrows across her back, Keren walked to the main gathering area. A series of leather canopies and tents had been erected in the largest field nearby and were furnished with fine mats, thick furs, cushions, and trays and baskets of fruits, cakes, meats, juices, and watered wines. As she reached the gathering area, Keren slowed her pace, trying to compose herself.
Nimr-Rada’s guardsmen lingered here and there, disdainfully proud. The tribal leaders, meanwhile, were crowded beneath the open-fronted main tent, some jovial, but most tense, and all of them focused on Nimr-Rada.
He sat, arrogant and gold covered, on a leopard-skin-draped mat in the center of the tent, surrounded by the leaders and watched by Shem and two men who resembled him so strongly that she knew they must be his brothers. Shem saw Keren first and nodded to her, indicating a vacant fleece-covered mat.
Keren looked over her shoulder at her nervous attendants and the other women. “Stay here, please; it’s less crowded.” They all looked relieved, except Revakhaw, who would stay with Keren during their testimony.
Slowly, following I’ma-Annah, I’ma-Ghinnah, and I’ma-Tirtsah, Keren advanced to her designated place, making sure that not even the edges of her ceremonial robes brushed anyone. Whispers and muttered comments arose in her wake.
While the First Mothers went to sit beside their husbands, Keren hesitated at the edge of her mat. Revakhaw knelt to unfasten Keren’s ceremonia
l sandals, then scooted away, holding them carefully. Keren knelt, facing Nimr-Rada, her decorative bow resting in her lap. He studied the bow and lifted a dark eyebrow.
“A new toy, Lady?”
She compelled herself to smile, noticing that he was wearing the ornately carved bone-and-ivory sword she had given him. Had he worn it to please her? He stared at her now as if he would memorize every detail of her face, her hair, her eyes.… She felt blood rise to her cheeks.
He smiled. “You have recovered from your illness.”
She had to clear her throat. “Yes.”
“Welcome,” Shem said, raising his voice, making everyone turn to him. He introduced his brothers, the solemn Yepheth and the vividly expressive Khawm, who blinked when Keren looked at him.
Shem lifted his hands, praying, “O Most High, be with us today.…”
Keren noticed Nimr-Rada shifting impatiently. She glanced at him; he was watching her closely, his eyes impenetrable. She felt like prey. Was he wondering why she hadn’t bowed? Or if she had returned to the ways of the Most High? Well, let him wonder. Throughout the prayers, she watched him steadily, quietly, thinking, Lawkham … Meherah … Yabal … Revakhaw … her son …
He continued to stare. When Shem’s prayer ended, Nimr-Rada said, “No one has declared the purpose of this gathering. I ask that it be declared now.”
“Above all, this is a peaceful gathering,” Yepheth said firmly. “Everyone who speaks will be heard. No one will be denied.”
Disdainful, Nimr-Rada looked around. “Then let all my enemies speak, and I will answer them.” He waited, clearly enjoying the silence.
At last, Shem spoke calmly. “Whom do you consider to be an enemy? My son, your Uncle Asshur, here?” Shem indicated a handsome, solidly muscled man clad in plain gray wool and a wide fringe-tied leather belt. “What did he do to offend you?”
Another man—fine skinned with a long, thin beard said, “Asshur refused to pay tributes.”
He Who Lifts the Skies Page 30