He Who Lifts the Skies (26 page)

She shut her eyes, thanking the Most High that this terrible day was finally drawing to an end.

Fifteen

KEREN COAXED DOBE to plod after Lawkham’s horse through the streets, while trying to seem unconcerned about her appearance. The citizens of the Great City were staring and gasping at her bizarre attire, her garish face paints, and her excessive gold ornaments. Their shock made Keren squirm. Last night she had threatened never to leave her residence again if Nimr-Rada and Ra-Anan required her to wear this ridiculous apparel. But this morning, Ra-Anan had retaliated with a terse message:
Surely you are concerned for the well-being of your entire household?

Ra-Anan’s messenger—one of his devout pupils, a bald-shaven scrawny youth—had smirked while relaying this taunt. Keren had been sorely tempted to put her face directly in front of his, with only a hair’s breadth of space separating him from Nimr-Rada’s “do-not-touch” death order. That would have made the scrawny youth sweat,
she was sure. But of course she had restrained herself.
O Most High
, she thought,
save me—and everyone around me—from my foolish impulses
.

Her foolish impulse, at this instant, was to tear off all her gold ornaments, rub dirt into her white robes, and then urge Dobe into the river so she could wash the paints off her face. But Nimr-Rada and Ra-Anan would punish her for such behavior. Sighing, Keren forced herself to appear solemn, and at ease—everything she was not. Now, children were thronging the streets ahead, squealing, pointing, and daring each other to look into her pale eyes.

Little mischief makers, how I wish I could play with you
, Keren thought, admiring their beautiful brown complexions, bright dark eyes, and musical voices. How she longed to take care of a child again. As if discerning her thoughts, a young braid-decked mother approached Keren, proudly offering her plump, half-asleep infant to be held and admired by the “sister” of the Great King.

Unable to resist, Keren smiled at the young mother, halted Dobe, and reached for the infant. But before she actually touched the baby, a spear was brandished in her face. She drew back, alarmed. Zehker rode up beside her, asking the young mother, “Is your child a son?”

“Yes,” the mother said, plainly bewildered by the question.

Zehker shot a warning look at Keren.
The death order
. She sucked in a fearful breath. Recovering, she said to the young mother, “Forgive me; your son is beautiful, truly … but I’m only allowed to hold infant girls.” She was even more disappointed than the infant’s mother, who had obviously been hoping to gain honor for her tiny child. To ease the situation, Keren hastily removed the smallest of her gold rings, her voice breaking. “Here—please—to
celebrate your son’s birth. I envy you such joy.”

The young mother shifted her infant to one arm and accepted the gold ring, smiling, her disappointment forgotten. Lawkham had stopped just ahead, but seeing that Keren was ready to proceed, he chirruped to his horse and started out slowly. Keren knew he was lingering, listening as she turned to Zehker, who was now riding behind her.

“Would Nimr-Rada take her baby’s life, simply because I touched him?”

“Yes.”

No
, Keren thought. Aloud, she said, “That can’t be true. How do you know he would actually do such a terrible thing?”

It was the wrong question to ask, she realized. Zehker was staring past her, his lips compressed, his whole attitude strictly controlled. He refused to look at her or to answer her question.
Why?
Keren wondered. Was he angry with her for doubting him?

“Lady, don’t take offense at my brother’s silence, I beg you,” Lawkham said, leaning back on his horse to speak to her—his lighthearted attitude seeming forced. “How can a man of so few words possibly explain anything of importance to anyone?”

Uncomfortably aware of Zehker’s stone-faced presence, Keren didn’t respond. She trembled, thinking,
I almost touched an infant boy. What if Zehker is right—and he usually is right. What if Nimr-Rada had demanded the life of an innocent child because of my carelessness? I’d want to die too. Save me from such a disaster, O Most High
.

Followed by Zehker and her attendants, Keren rode in silence to their destination—a field adjoining the river to the west, just beyond the northern streets of the Great
City. Lawkham halted his horse and with a dramatically exultant gesture, said, “Here, Lady, will be our wonderful tower.”

This whole field for just one building?
Keren studied the site, incredulous. Men, oxen, and horses swarmed like insects throughout the boundless field, and only the prized horses were idle. A few men were obviously in charge of all the workers, waving measuring cordage and pointing, or shaking their heads emphatically to emphasize their instructions. Under their direction, a number of men were guiding oxen around the far side of a sprawling trench, hauling loads of sunbaked bricks and huge resin-coated baskets filled with a dark, slimy substance. Other men were gathering loose heaps of earth cast up from the trench, which was being dug by crews of laborers wielding hardened-clay scythes, antler picks, or large gourd scoops. Keren could hear some of the men groaning as they worked. Their discomfort was evident, reminding her of what her brothers must have suffered.

“Come, Lady.” Lawkham goaded his horse toward a beaten track in the grass. “You must ride around this whole field to truly appreciate how extraordinary this tower will be when it is finished.”

“It’s going to be foolish, this tower,” Keren muttered. But she prodded Dobe into a brisk trot, following Lawkham, who was jubilant as a wild frolicking colt.

“Here’s one corner, Lady.” Reining his horse to an unsettled halt, Lawkham indicated a large, perfectly squared pile of blackened, fire-baked bricks, which were joined with the dark, slimy-looking substance Keren had noticed earlier. Nudging one leather-clad foot toward the dark slime, Lawkham said, “This we bring from the north by river; it boils up in pools there for us to gather into
baskets as we please. Later, you’ll see the reed boats at the river—and perhaps travel on one. Surely you’d enjoy a trip up the river. But come; we’ll ride past all the corners of the tower!”

Swiftly, Lawkham kicked his horse into a gallop, compelling her to follow. The loathsome decorative gold circlet wobbled on Keren’s head as Dobe jogged forward. Keren snatched the circlet off, slung it over her arm, and leaned toward Dobe’s neck, pressing the horse to a smooth gallop. The grass blurred beneath her, the resultant breeze lifting her hair, fluttering her robes, and heightening her spirits.

As she rode, Keren heard Na’ah yelping in protest while Gebuwrah cried, “Lady! Make him stop!” But Revakhaw was laughing, and Tsinnah and Alatah whooped and squealed, obviously pleased to race their fat, cherished, tawny horses at a full gallop. Zehker rode past Keren, apparently determined to catch Lawkham.

Lawkham finally stopped at the next corner of the would-be tower, with Zehker beside him. As she approached, Keren heard Zehker saying, “She could be injured.”

“She’s perfectly safe,” Lawkham answered pleasantly, waving a careless hand. “Look, my brother, that useless horse you gave her doesn’t have the spirit to move suddenly enough to shake her off, much less kick her off. And if she does fall—how hard is this field, eh? Not very.”

“Don’t talk against my poor Dobe,” Keren chided as she reined him to a halt.

“He’s fit for nothing but stew, Lady.” And Lawkham laughed at her screech of horror, saying, “It’s true. Actually, you should be riding a mare. Doesn’t the death order apply to males of any kind?”

“Never
say that again,” Keren gasped, truly upset now. “If your He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies hears you and kills my Dobe, I’ll never forgive you.”

“Yes, you would.”

“Lawkham!” Aggravated, she brandished her headdress at him like a weapon. “Give me your word.”

At once he raised his hands, laughing, giving up. “Please, don’t beat me, Lady! You have my word. We’ll protect your dear Dobe with our lives.”

“
You
will,” Zehker told him. “I’d find her another.”

“You’re both cruel—no tender sympathies at all,” Keren complained.

“But it’s quite the opposite, Lady! I have much tenderness within me,” Lawkham protested. Mischievous, he clutched his heart, choking out, “I do! I assure you … I feel it continually … and bitterly. You injure me every day!”

“Liar,” she said, biting back a reluctant smile.

Lawkham laughed and straightened. “There, I made you smile—don’t deny it. Ah, here are your adorable companions, who also remind me of my tender feelings—they wound me so often.”

Alatah rode up happily, followed by Revakhaw and Tsinnah, who glowed, delighted. But Gebuwrah sulked—she was surprisingly awkward on a horse—and Na’ah looked ready to burst into tears. She hated any horseback ride faster than a sedate walk.

“You don’t have to race to keep up with me,” Keren said, touched by their misery.

Na’ah was silent, but her dimpled chin quivered, and she sniffed moistly.

Gebuwrah grumbled, “Thank you, Lady.”

“Lady,” Tsinnah sighed, her brown eyes sparkling in
her slender face, “Think how huge and amazing this tower will be!”

“But think of all the time and work that will be spent on it,” Keren responded, waving toward the men laboring in the distance. “Wouldn’t they rather be plowing their fields and hunting for food?”

“Plowing?” Lawkham looked shocked—as openmouthed as a little boy whose favorite toys are suddenly snatched away. “But, Lady, who wants to plow a field when they can build a magnificent tower? Why are you so disturbed? I give you my word that every man working on this tower
wants
to work on this tower.”

“My brothers didn’t,” Keren reminded him, unable to stop herself.

“True, Lady, but that was an entirely different situation,” Lawkham said. “And a regrettable one,” he added hastily, evidently fearing she was offended.

“Yes, catch yourself, O wondrous Lawkham,” Revakhaw taunted him in a singsong voice, “before you end up in a regrettable situation—in the mud and slime!”

“If you were with me, I could bear it, O precious Revakhaw.”

“Ride,” Zehker commanded quietly, ending their banter.

As they rode past the third would-be corner and turned toward their starting place, a horn sounded in the distance. Alatah gasped, her sweet childlike voice scared. “He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies!”

He-Who-Would-Kill-an-Infant
, Keren thought bitterly.
I pray it’s not true
.

“Lady,” Gebuwrah admonished urgently, “your headpiece.”

To sooth her nervous attendants, Keren placed the
despised gold circlet on her head, fumbling with it. “Is it straight?”

“You’re perfect, Lady,” Revakhaw said. “You outshine your Great Lady sister.”

“She’s coming too?” Keren moaned, longing to ride in the opposite direction.

Sharah, pale and unsmiling, was indeed riding to Nimr-Rada’s left. Keren also noticed a man riding to Nimr-Rada’s right, who was thinner than Nimr-Rada but strikingly similar in height and arrogance.

Lawkham leaned toward Keren and the others, hushed yet eager. “Lady, you’re about meet our Great King’s father—who is also a Father of my Fathers—the formidable Kuwsh.”

Kuwsh!
Keren sucked in her breath, unable to believe that she was about to meet the very Kuwsh who lived in her childhood stories. Kuwsh, charming, wonderfully clever, headstrong, aggressive—yet the same Father-Kuwsh who humbly bowed to his own son, the Great King Nimr-Rada.

I’ma-Naomi and I’ma-Annah often spoke of Kuwsh, longing for the delightful rogue-child he had been and wondering what sort of man he had finally become, that he would serve his own son. Keren studied him now, mesmerized and nervous.

Kuwsh also stared at Keren unwaveringly. He was a prideful man; she could see it in the straightness of his back, the sardonic curve of his full mouth, and the brilliance of his bleached leather wrap and leggings, gold cuffs, and showy leopard-skin cloak. A rectangular gold ornament gleamed at his forehead, held by thin lashings of black leather, which also restrained his thick, shining black waves and curls. He was handsomer than Nimr-Rada,
but his smoldering arrogance lessened his appeal.

As Kuwsh, Nimr-Rada, and Sharah stopped before her, Keren inclined her head in a polite gesture of greeting. Lawkham, Zehker, and all her attendants dismounted and bowed.
You wonder why I don’t do the same
, Keren thought to Kuwsh, seeing his black eyebrows lift, challenging her.

Nimr-Rada, however, chose to ignore her lack of submission yet again. His voice deep, booming, he said, “Father, this is our Lady Keren.”

Kuwsh nodded to Keren coldly. Remembering Shem and Noakh’s recitations, Keren said gently, “Kuwsh, father of Nimr-Rada, Sebaw, Khawvilah, Sabtaw, Rahmaw, and Sabtekaw. I am pleased to meet you.”

Somehow, her quiet recitation of the names of his sons disturbed Kuwsh. His soot-dark eyes became wary. And perhaps more respectful. Now he spoke, his voice as full and resonant as Nimr-Rada’s. “It seems that you’ve heard more of me than I have of you, Lady.”

Keren smiled. “Many stories. All told fondly.”

“By whom?” he asked, carefully polite.

“The Father of my Fathers, Shem, and his Ma’adannah. And our I’ma-Naomi and her beloved—the Ancient One, Noakh.”

Kuwsh flung an accusing look at Nimr-Rada, and at Sharah, who was staring at Keren as if she wanted to beat her. Inclining his head toward Keren once more, Kuwsh said, “You must visit me while I am in the courts of my son, our Great King. I will hear these stories, Lady, and perhaps correct any errors you have heard.”

I’ve heard no errors
, Keren thought to him. But she smiled. “As you say, Father Kuwsh. I will be pleased to speak with you again.”

She meant what she said, but Kuwsh studied her
doubtfully. Breaking their silence, Nimr-Rada turned to Sharah. “Will you return to the city with your sister’s household, my Sharah, or will you stay here with us this afternoon?”