He Who Lifts the Skies (24 page)

Lifting her eyes upward to the evening skies, Keren prayed.

Make him hate you
, her thoughts urged,
more than anyone else on earth
….

Fourteen

“KEREN?” MESHEK asked, staring at her with an expression of horror.

Keren felt ill. Unable to face her father, she lifted her chin and looked away from him, toward the dais. Let him think she didn’t care to see him. Let him believe that she preferred to live here with Sharah, who seemed furious with her, and with Ra-Anan, who was studying her as if she were an apparition whose existence he doubted.

Nimr-Rada, however, was smiling. Inclining his dark head, which was crowned by a rim of gold atop his usual horseman’s plait, Nimr-Rada spoke to Keren indulgently, almost paternally. “You have forgotten your sandals, my sister.”

She forced herself to smile at him, to seem pleased and equally indulgent. “I was commanded to come at once because He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies was waiting. Putting on
my sandals would have taken time.”

“Then, seeing that you hurried to obey, we forgive you for keeping us waiting,” he answered, so amiable that Keren couldn’t believe it was the same tyrannical Nimr-Rada she detested.

“What have you done to her?” Meshek demanded, almost snarling.

“All this, she has done for herself,” Nimr-Rada said, waving a dark hand toward Keren’s attire, “with our full approval and encouragement.”

Keren felt her father staring at her, seething. “Look at you! How can you be my daughter? Your sister’s attire is actually more appropriate, and her manners more pleasing. You’ve not even greeted me properly. At least she’s asked me if I’m better today. I’ve been here for two days; didn’t you know?”

Two days? Genuinely shocked, Keren had to steady herself before she answered. Half turning, without looking at him, she said, “No, I didn’t hear that you were in the Great City; I’ve been busy. But I’m glad to know you’re well, Father. Were you ill?”

“He was exhausted,” Sharah told Keren sweetly. “We begged him to rest.”

“They’ve guarded me the entire time—against my will,” Meshek said. His discourtesy caused the servants and some of the guards to visibly flinch, evidently fearing Nimr-Rada’s reaction. But Meshek didn’t appear to notice or care. He rebuked Keren. “It seems that all I’ve been told is true; you have your own household, your own servants and horses and guards, and you’ve no wish to return to a simple life in the mountains.”

“Life is easier here,” she said tersely, fearing she might choke on the words.
I can’t do this
, she thought, staring up
at the heavens, pretending irritation, but struggling against the tears that could only bring disaster.
O Most High, let him forgive me eventually. He feels so betrayed; I can tell by his voice
.

As if goaded beyond endurance, Meshek cried, “Look me in the eyes as you say these things, Keren!”

Keren noticed Zehker and Lawkham drawing near to restrain her father if the situation became too dangerous. Their actions distracted Meshek, who tensed, scowling at them. The interruption allowed Keren to compose herself, to glance at him, and to answer curtly. “I wish to stay. Tell my mother I’m sorry.”

“It would kill your mother to hear those words! And what of Yithran?”

She had to look away from her father then; he was so hurt. She could see that his anger was a shield for his despair. No doubt he believed that only his youngest son, Eliyshama, remained loyal to him and to the Ancient Ones. But Keren felt she could speak of Yithran coldly. “Yithran gave me a small token when I last saw him; I’ll send it to you later. Tell him I won’t leave this place.”

“That’s all you have to say?” her father demanded, the words rasping in his throat.

“Yes.” If this meeting didn’t end soon, Keren knew she would begin to cry. She watched the drowsing leopard, Tselem, focusing on his dazzling speckled hide. As she expected, her father raged at her, at all of them.

“Then my journey to your Great City has been an evil waste of time! Why should I worry about you? Faithless, misbegotten curs!” Meshek stood, furious. “You’re no children of mine! Six of my sons and both of my daughters—dead! You’re all dead to me!”

Heartsick, Keren lowered her head and cast a sidelong glance at her father. He spat contemptuously on the
courtyard paving bricks, then strode out the gate, his gray woolen traveling robe flaring behind him. Nimr-Rada signaled to several of his guards.

“Go with him; provide for all his needs and be sure he reaches his own lodge safely. Do not delay your return from the mountains, or I will send others after you.”

As the gate closed behind the guardsmen, Keren shut her eyes and pressed her hands to her face, trying to stifle her sobs. She felt as if she were dying inside. She wished she would die. Didn’t her father say she was dead?

“Lady.…” Someone was holding her now. Revakhaw. And Meherah. Tsinnah and Alatah, too, moved to comfort her. Their concern crushed her completely. She clung to Revakhaw and cried like a child.

“Did you
see
her?” A guard’s conspiratorial, barely audible whisper lifted just beyond the open doorway of Meshek’s temporary lodging. Meshek paused amid the task of packing his gear. The guard sounded wickedly pleased. “With the paint on her face and her new garments and all that gold—I didn’t recognize her. It was as if heaven and earth had changed places.”

Meshek stiffened, listening with all his might. They were talking about Keren, he was sure. No other woman in this accursed Great City wore paint on her face, not even Sharah—which surprised Meshek, now that he considered it.

“Completely,” a second guard’s lowered voice agreed. “And she was actually polite to He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies. She’s never smiled at him before. I—”

A clatter outside put an abrupt end to this furtive conversation,
and a third man’s voice called angrily from a distance. “Are you a pair of women, whispering with your heads together? One of you help me with these horses! And the other—yes, you!—go open the gate. We have a visitor.”

Baring his teeth, Meshek flung the thin leather cords of his traveling pack to the hardened clay floor. “Stupid!” he muttered to himself. He had let his temper rule him again. Of course Keren had been acting. He should have known at once when she was unable to look him in the eyes. Such behavior was totally unlike her. But why had she behaved so? He would go to her now and demand an explanation, then insist that she return with him to the mountains. The sunlight would be gone soon; he had to hurry. Swiftly, Meshek examined his traveling pack’s bentwood frame to be sure it was fastened, then he folded its protective cover in place and snatched the thin leather cords from the floor.

A shadow in the doorway blocked the already dim light. Irritated, he stood and turned to see who was lurking in the doorway. A guard. No, not just any guard but the one he had recognized from Keren’s household. The silent, always cautious young man he had sheltered beneath his own roof after Eliyshama’s wedding.

“Zehker,” he remembered aloud, not bothering to hide his exasperation.

“Yes.” Zehker inclined his head with the proper measure of respect but never moved his gaze from Meshek’s face. Straightening, he offered Meshek a small, nondescript leather pouch. “She asks that you please return this to Yithran.”

Accepting the pouch, Meshek slapped it beside his traveling pack, then eyed Zehker accusingly. “You threatened
me today.”

“For her sake.”

As toneless as those three words were, they made Meshek stare at Keren’s disconcertingly self-possessed guard.
For her sake
. Too much could be made of those three words. Or not enough. Could this man be trusted?

Zehker held Meshek’s look steadily, quietly. And the longer Meshek stared at this wary guardian of his daughter, the more convinced he was of Zehker’s inherent sense of honor. “She was compelled to behave as she did today, wasn’t she?” he demanded.

Zehker’s careful glance toward the open doorway told Meshek everything. But before Meshek could insist upon being taken to Keren, Zehker said beneath his breath, “You must leave. At once.”

Meshek lowered his voice to match Zehker’s. “Am I in such danger?”

Zehker replied so quietly that Meshek almost didn’t hear. “Yes.”

“Is she in danger?” Meshek asked.

“Less if you go.”

“Why?”

Zehker shook his head, warning Meshek that this discussion was unsafe. “You’ll be protected on your return journey,” he said, raising his voice, changing the subject. He hesitated, then asked, “Did you come alone?”

Exhaling heavily, Meshek retied his traveling pouch, cinching the leather cords ferociously. “I may be a fool,” he told Zehker, “but I’m not that much of a fool. No, I didn’t come alone. Yithran and his friends and … another … traveled with me along the river to the northern tribes of Asshur. From there I was brought by boat, watched the entire way by relays of that Nimr-Rada’s horsemen. They
knew who I was, I’m sure.”

Zehker nodded and spoke beneath his breath again. “Yithran and the others should return to their tribe.”

Yanking at the final cord to be sure it was secure, Meshek said, “I imagine they would be in even more danger here than I am.” When Zehker did not reply, Meshek added, “Tell my youngest that I regret losing my temper with her.” He longed to say more but found that he couldn’t form the words. His throat ached at the realization that he had caused Keren grief. Obviously she had enough to endure without his adding to her burdens. But evidently he had said enough, for Zehker seemed to relax, as if he had heard what he needed to hear.
Does this man love my daughter?
Meshek wondered.

The very idea roused Meshek’s protective indignation and, oddly, relief. Meshek almost hoped his suspicion was true. If he had to leave Keren here in this accursed Great City, then it comforted him to know that she had at least one trustworthy ally. Giving Zehker his most fearsome glare, he muttered through his teeth, “Keep her safe.”

“That is my duty,” Zehker replied. He was cool and formal now, but his eyes flickered, deepening Meshek’s suspicion that this man truly loved Keren. As if to prevent any further questions, Zehker bowed and departed. No one had ever bowed to Meshek before. He was discomfited and glad to be discomfited, for only the Most High deserved such obeisance.

Sighing, Meshek passed one hand over his bearded face, then froze. A thought struck him, and he almost reeled at the impact of this new realization. “You didn’t bow,” he whispered, remembering how Keren had knelt in Ra-Anan’s courtyard and lifted her eyes toward the heavens as if in prayer. Everyone else in that courtyard
had bowed to their cherished Nimr-Rada. Everyone but himself and Keren. So the whispers of those errant guards were true; Keren had probably never smiled at Nimr-Rada before this day. Undoubtedly, she was more inclined to scorn him. But today she had been ruled by her fears for her foolish, rage-blinded father.

On their journey through the mountains, Bezeq had warned Meshek that Nimr-Rada would not hesitate to put him to death—a fear Keren apparently shared. Was Keren’s life in danger as well? If so, then he—Meshek—could do nothing to help her.

His stomach in knots now, Meshek reached for the nondescript leather pouch given to him by Zehker. Inside, reflecting the last glints of daylight, he found a delicate bracelet of pink gold set with a small, smooth oval crystal. Meshek was sure he could easily crush this little bracelet with one hand. He had forgotten that Keren’s wrists were so tiny. Now, the fragile ornament glistened at him through the haze of his own tears. In despair, he silently begged the Most High to protect his youngest child.

Zehker retraced his path through the darkening streets of the Great City, returning to Keren’s household. All along the way, he went over every detail of his conversation with Keren’s father, questioning his own memory.

Had he said too much? Had he betrayed his feelings for Keren? Zehker confessed to himself that he did not mind too much if he had; Meshek’s suspicions couldn’t harm him from some distant mountain lodge. No, Zehker’s utmost fear was that Nimr-Rada’s guards might report
an unsanctioned, whispered conversation between Zehker and Keren’s father. If so, then a merciless interrogation and punishment would come swiftly.