He Who Lifts the Skies (22 page)

She was so contemptibly pathetic that Ra-Anan longed to laugh. But the situation was serious: Her downfall might bring about his own disfavor. He had to retrain her completely. “Instead of grasping for all those ornaments you crave, you will work to enrich your mind,” he told her. “And it won’t be enough to pretend to change. He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies will see through you at once. He is as cunning and cruel as one of his cherished leopards. Never forget that.

“Now, the first thing you must do is to apologize to him for your failings. Then you must discipline yourself to learn new things and to take an interest in others. It would also help your situation if you will bear him a son.”

“He’s said nothing of wanting a child!” Sharah snapped, abandoning her wailing tone. “And I don’t wish to be burdened with a child; they are horrible to bear, not to mention the effect on my looks.”

“He does not think of children yet,” Ra-Anan conceded. “But if you gave him sons who would follow him and honor him, then He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies would be less likely to abandon you.”

Sharah lowered her eyes, smoldering, but not faulting his logic, which pleased Ra-Anan. Even she—dense as she was—could comprehend that a tribe of worshipful sons and daughters might appeal to Nimr-Rada’s vanity. As Ra-Anan waited for Sharah to formulate a reply, Ra-Anan’s wife, Zeva’ah, emerged from the shadows of the house, bearing a reed tray laden with cups of wine and an appealing assortment of nuts, fruits, cakes, and delicately smoked meats.

Clad in a subtly woven, flowing robe of tawny fabric, Zeva’ah knelt gracefully near Sharah, bowed her sleek
dark head, and offered Sharah a red-glazed cup of new wine. Sharah took the cup silently.

“Thank my wife,” Ra-Anan prompted Sharah. “Consider this your first lesson, my sister.”

“I never see you thanking your servants,” Sharah argued, her temper flaring again.

“My wife is not a servant,” Ra-Anan pointed out. “She honors you by her actions, therefore you should thank her and ask her if she is well. If you value your place, you will always do this for her and for anyone else who honors you. Do it!”

“Thank you …” Sharah hesitated, her expression going blank.

“Zeva’ah,” Ra-Anan’s wife reminded Sharah softly. “You are welcome, Lady.”

“Ask if my wife is well,” Ra-Anan prodded.

Sharah flashed him a cold look but complied. “Are you well, Zeva’ah?”

“Oh, very,” she answered, smiling and gracious. “Thank you, Lady. If I can help you in any way, do not hesitate to ask.” Turning to Ra-Anan, she said, “Do you need me to stay, or should I go?”

“As you please,” Ra-Anan told her politely, knowing she would go. Zeva’ah despised Sharah but hid this fact beautifully. She left them, the epitome of a perfect wife.

“She is with child again,” Ra-Anan told Sharah when they were alone. “At your next lesson, you will ask her if her pregnancy is faring well.”

“You are enjoying this—humiliating me!” Sharah accused.

He was enjoying himself but would never tell her so. Instead, he reminded her, “This is for your own sake. If you do not work to change yourself, then you will be sent
away with nothing but your clothes. What will happen to you then, my sister?”

She scowled at him but said nothing. Ra-Anan smiled inwardly, gratified.

Unable to relax, thinking of her father, Keren walked out into her courtyard and looked up at the stars.

The loyal Revakhaw trailed outside also, lingering just behind her. As if hearing her thoughts, her attendant asked, “What will you say to your father, Lady?”

“I pray I’ll know that when I see him,” Keren sighed.

Low guardsmen’s voices echoed into the courtyard, making them both turn toward the sounds. Lawkham and Zehker were kneeling on the timber, reed, and clay roof of Keren’s house, apparently on watch. Moving near, she called to them as loudly as she dared, not wishing to disturb nearby households. “How did you get up there?”

Lawkham leaned over the edge of her roof, shadowed in the moonlight. “We climbed the wall, Lady. We can see most of the surrounding area from here. Do we disturb you?”

“No,” she said, intrigued, “but I would like to climb up there myself.”

In response, Zehker descended to the top of the courtyard wall, then dropped carefully, easily, into the courtyard. As he approached, Revakhaw retreated; Zehker’s stoic ways intimidated her. “A ladder will be safer for you, Lady,” he informed Keren. “We will make one later.”

“But not tonight?” she asked, hearing his unspoken words.

“Not tonight,” he agreed.

Undaunted by his refusal, she studied the hardened, impenetrable outlines of his face, wishing she could see his expression in the darkness. “Why did you cut the string from my bow today? Did you think that I would kill our Master Ra-Anan?”

“A precaution only.”

“To protect him?”

“And you. He is also a warrior. A weapon can be made of anything.”

“Including the stave,” she pointed out. “If Ra-Anan is so dangerous, should you have given me the stave?”

“You requested the stave, Lady. I obeyed.” Pausing, he added quietly, “I would have stopped him.”

“But you wouldn’t have killed him, would you?”

“If need be.”

The thought chilled her. “I’ll be more careful in the future,” she promised.

“Thank you, Lady.” He bowed his head and started to turn away, but then he looked back. “Your father must be protected.”

“You think Neshar was right? And Ra-Anan too?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, Zehker.”

Unhappily, Keren recognized a weakness in Zehker’s logic, and in Ra-Anan’s, and Neshar’s: If she bowed to Nimr-Rada in her father’s presence, then her father would certainly grab her and shake her in a fatal reprimand. How could she protect Meshek without bowing to Nimr-Rada? Feeling sick within, Keren looked up at the heavens again and prayed to the Most High for an answer.

Thirteen

KEREN DISMOUNTED in the courtyard, stroking the black mane of her precious new horse, Dobe. Zehker had decided that Dobe should be hers because he was placid, almost sluggish, and safely dull. But Keren didn’t care.
You have the most beautiful eyes
, she thought to the patient animal.
If my eyes were as dark as yours, then I wouldn’t be here today; I would be free. I would be preparing to wed Yithran
.

With a small pang, she pushed away all thoughts of Yithran and marriage. She had to focus on covering the wearied Dobe with a fleece and rubbing his hide with a soft swatch of leather, then combing him gently. Her early morning rides were the most enjoyable part of her day, despite the weaponry lessons that inevitably accompanied them. And caring for Dobe never seemed like work.

Keren patted the horse’s tawny neck, pleased to feel his muscles quiver beneath her hands. As she stepped
back, Lawkham approached, bowed his head to Keren, and chirruped merrily, turning Dobe toward the stables, which were separated from her residence to lessen the swarms of flies.

“Thank you, Lawkham,” Keren called after him, grateful that he had behaved himself this morning, teasing her less than usual.

“Certainly, Lady.” Lawkham paused then, as if remembering some minor detail. “I should tell you that my mother has asked to meet you and present you with some gifts. She should be here just after midday.”

Keren stared at him, openmouthed. No wonder he’d been so pleasant this morning. “Your mother?”

“Yes, I do have a mother,” said Lawkham, obviously amused by Keren’s shock. “Her name is Meherah.”

Meherah
, Keren thought.
Hurry
. Appropriate. She would have to hurry all the time to keep up with a son like Lawkham.

“How like you,” Keren told Lawkham, feigning disgust. “You say nothing of your mother during all these weeks, but this very morning, you tell me that she will visit my household just after midday. When did she arrive in the Great City?”

“Last night—with my father and my younger brother and sisters.”

“And you’ve managed to keep it a secret all this time? Amazing. Well, now that you’ve told me about my visitor, you have to get the horses out of the courtyard so we can prepare everything to welcome her.”

“As you say, Lady. I’ll have Erek scrape up the horse dung,” Lawkham answered genially. He loved to harass the egotistical Erek, provoking conflicts that upset the entire household.

Keren lifted her hands, halting him. “Don’t annoy Erek, Lawkham, please.”

“You’re saying I should scrape the dung myself?”

“Your mother will be touched by your consideration,” Keren said warmly. She hurried inside before he could disagree.

Gebuwrah, Alatah, and Na’ah were in the cool, shadowed main room of Keren’s house, crouching on the woven grass mats, paring a large heap of assorted fruits and vegetables for their midday meal. Tsinnah and Revakhaw were there as well, settling in after their ride with Keren, preparing to grind wheat for cakes.

“We are going to have a visitor,” Keren told them. “Lawkham’s mother, Meherah, is coming to see us early this afternoon.”

“Aha! The first woman to officially visit you since we’ve been here!” Revakhaw exulted, sifting grain through her brown fingers into a broad, hollowed stone mortar. “Truly, we must celebrate.”

“We’re supposed to finish your new attire today, Lady,” Gebuwrah reminded Keren firmly. “And Master Ra-Anan has asked that when you call on him this evening you should bring all the ornaments he selected.”

“I think he means that you should wear them, Lady,” Na’ah said, cautiously placing her flint knife on a nearby tray. She said no more but watched Keren’s reaction.

Keren suppressed a groan of frustration. The symbol-incised gold ornaments and fine materials so highly regarded by Nimr-Rada and Ra-Anan were completely impractical. Until now, she had pretended to forget that she was supposed to wear them.

“The headpiece is too heavy,” she complained. “Also, I have to remove the sandals before I can kneel—not to
mention that they blister my feet. And we have yet to create a fabric gown that won’t split at the seams or flap in the wind when I’m riding. If we can’t do better, then I must wear my leather tunics and leggings.”

“I have an idea, Lady,” Tsinnah began shyly. “We should dress you in layers of fabric rather than one long gown.”

“She would swelter in the heat beneath layers of fabric,” Gebuwrah argued, reaching for another tuber.

“No, she wouldn’t,” Tsinnah said, “not as I imagine her attire.”

“Gebuwrah’s right,” Alatah spoke gently, not looking up from the bowl of dried fruit she was seeding. “It’s too warm for us to dress her in layers.”

“Let Tsinnah describe the gown to us!” Revakhaw brandished her oval grinding stone at Gebuwrah. “Truly, it might be better than you believe.”

“Let’s forget about my would-be attire until we’ve prepared food for our guest,” Keren urged, waving her hands to catch their attention.

“You’re right, Lady,” Revakhaw answered obligingly. “We can argue later.”

Keren sighed, thankful, and prayed they would forget about her garments altogether. Why should she have to wear such ridiculous clothes? Sharah would enjoy all this fuss over gowns and ornaments. Frowning at the thought of her sister, Keren reached for a grinding stone and measured some wheat into a mortar. Lately, Sharah had taken to riding through the Great City with Nimr-Rada during his frequent inspections, displaying all her fine robes, new ornaments, and impressive retinue of attendants, while actually speaking to the citizens in the streets. Keren, however, rarely spoke to her.

I pray you are satisfied
, Keren thought to her sister as she
rubbed the heavy stone over the tan-husked grains in her mortar.
Your new happiness was purchased at an appalling cost to your husband and your beautiful infant son. I wonder if you’ll ever regret coming here
.

Keren and her household spent the remainder of the morning cooking, cleaning, and preparing an eating area in the courtyard, with thick mats and a temporary leather canopy for shade. At last, pleased with their accomplishments, Keren went inside to wash herself and change into a fresh tunic.

Gebuwrah was there, her jaw set stubbornly. Silently she pointed to a heap of fine pale fabric and to Keren’s ornaments, which she had arranged in a lavish display.

“Not now, Gebuwrah, please,” Keren begged. “I want to be comfortable while I’m visiting with Lawkham’s mother.”

“Her visit is not as important as your meeting with our Master Ra-Anan,” Gebuwrah insisted. “Why should you make him angry because you wish to eat and gossip instead of tending to his requests?”

“I won’t be
gossiping,”
Keren said, frustrated. Truly, Gebuwrah was making herself the lead attendant, seeming to expect everyone, including Keren, to follow her dictates.

Gebuwrah opened her mouth, then shut it hard. When she spoke, her bossy tone diminished. “As you say, Lady. But please, at least let us try this new fabric.” Tsinnah and the others were filing in from the courtyard now, and Gebuwrah added grudgingly, “Perhaps we could test Tsinnah’s theory of the layers.”