He Who Lifts the Skies (41 page)

Meshek handed Zehker a copper-bladed ax of marvelous quality. “I’m told you’ll need this for a week.”

“Yes. Thank you.” Zehker appraised the shining, cold-hammered ax. “Who made this?”

“Metiyl of the tribe of Asshur. He brought his family to the mountains after that Nimr-Rada attacked his tribe.
They live within a day’s walk of here.”

“Good,” Zehker said beneath his breath. To have a skilled metalworker nearby was a blessing. His own father had carried such an ax. Zehker swiftly pushed thoughts of his father away and glanced at Meshek, who was watching him steadily.

“Thank you,” Meshek said, clearly referring to Zehker’s role in Keren’s return.

Embarrassed, Zehker changed the subject. “She plans to visit the Ancient Ones?”

“Before dawn,” Meshek told him. “Sleep in my stable tonight if you wish to follow her. We’ll detain her attendants here, except for Nimr-Rada’s wife, Revakhaw.” Meshek spoke harshly, not looking at Zehker. “What Sharah did to her …!”

Meshek stopped, too angry to finish. He was clearly ashamed of Sharah, knowing now that nothing was beyond her. Zehker shared his opinion. He intended to keep Keren from ever seeing her sister again. Otherwise, Sharah would eventually destroy Keren. Or Keren would destroy Sharah.

“We’ll leave before sunrise,” Keren whispered to Revakhaw as they tied the lashings of their leather tent. “I’ll need your help. And your presence will protect Zehker—I’m sure he will follow us.”

“That’s his duty, Lady,” Revakhaw said. “But must I see the Ancient Ones?”

“They’ll love you. And they need to hear your story.”

“Why?” Revakhaw dropped a tie.

Keren wrenched a knot ferociously. “Because they need
to know why I long to kill that Nimr-Rada.”

“Will you?”

“I long to. Whether I can or not … we’ll know soon enough.”

As instructed, Revakhaw crept out of Keren’s tent into the darkness, toward Meshek’s stable. Keren waited briefly, then followed her. Tsinnah turned in her sleep. Gebuwrah burrowed deeper into her fleeces but didn’t wake.

Sleep until dawn
, Keren silently urged her remaining attendants.
Give us enough time to get away
.

Keren approached her father’s stone-and-thatch stable. As she expected, Zehker emerged from the shadows. “Revakhaw is waiting inside. I’ll lead the horses around; they are ready.”

Inside the stable, Revakhaw was trembling, but she had managed to open Keren’s bundle of ceremonial robes. Keren dressed rapidly, shivering in the cool air. She threw on her overtunic for warmth, tied her sandals, and hurried outside.

Zehker had halted Dobe beside an old stump, which Keren gratefully used to mount the horse. Revakhaw climbed on behind her, clutching Keren’s despised face paints in a pouch. Swiftly, Zehker handed Keren her bow and arrows, then mounted his own horse.

“You’re still shaking,” Keren whispered to Revakhaw.

“I’m scared.”

“Don’t be,” Keren said. “This will be easy. When we face Nimr-Rada again, then you can be scared.”

Revakhaw groaned faintly. Zehker nodded to Keren, and she led them away from the Lodge of Meshek.

Twenty-Three

HUMMING, ANNAH knelt to weed Naomi’s prized herb garden. Birdsong and sunlight brightened the morning mist as she worked. This would be a lovely day; soon Shem would return from checking the herds, and together they would walk to the Lodge of Meshek to welcome their dear Karan. Annah smiled, remembering how frightened Tsereth’s little Achyow had been the night before. He had described Karan’s “terrible” eyes, then asked, “She can’t truly see … can she?”

Noakh and Naomi had laughed at him as Shem said, “She saw right through
you
, son-of-my-sons.”

Annah had soothed the little boy with happy childhood stories of Karan, while teaching him to sort lentils. Achyow’s two older brothers, Meysha and Darak, had gladly abandoned him to Annah’s care in favor of their Uncle Neshar’s company. Now, as she weeded, Annah saw
Achyow wander from the lodge, sleep tousled, his dusky little face creased with imprints from his pillow.

Annah sat back. “Achyow-child! Come to I’ma-Annah.”

The little boy stumbled into Annah’s arms, still half asleep. As Annah kissed his dark hair, Naomi leaned outside the doorway and pretended indignation, shaking her silvery head.

“Huh! He walked right past me, daughter. Achyow-child, when I catch you, I’ll make you sorry you ignored me!”

Naomi stopped, openmouthed, staring past Annah. Puzzled, Annah turned. Two horses with three riders were emerging from the morning mists below. Annah vaguely recognized the young man on the first horse. As for the two young women sharing the second, one was unknown to Annah, while the other young woman was like an apparition—eerie, yet familiar. Annah blinked, astonished by the apparition’s dreadful weapons, her three-pronged gold headpiece, form-fitting linen garments, lavish gold ornaments, and gold sandals. Most shocking of all were the apparition’s intensely painted lips and eyes—those unforgettable eyes.

Annah gasped, “Karan-child?”

Achyow whimpered and fled from Annah’s lap, past Naomi, into the lodge. Annah stood, unable to believe that this cold, shocking apparition—now dismounting from her horse—was Karan. But within a breath, the shock vanished; Karan dropped her weapons, raked off the gold headpiece, and flung it to the ground at Annah’s feet. Glittering tears filled her pale eyes.

“See what I’ve become?” she cried to Annah. “A non-woman!”

“Not in your heart,” Annah said, grieved. “Come here,
Karan-child.”

Karan crept into Annah’s embrace, seeming as young as Achyow. Karan’s shame and frailty were obvious. Infuriated, Annah thought,
Kuwsh, Nimr-Rada, Sharah, Ra-Anan—look what you’ve done to my Karan-child!

“You’ll be well now, daughter,” she told Karan protectively.

Naomi approached and hugged Karan tight. “Look at you—wretched and stick thin! This is Nimr-Rada’s doing—don’t deny it! I long to shake him and his father!”

“Karan-child,” Annah murmured, glancing at the young man who was covering their horses with fleeces and tying them to the battered stump near the doorway. “Come into the lodge—you and your companions. Have something to eat and drink; we will hear your story when my Shem and our Noakh have returned from the herds.”

In brisk agreement, Naomi nodded to the second young woman, who retrieved Karan’s headpiece. “Now, who is this?”

“I’ma-Naomi, I’ma-Annah,” Karan said, “this is my dear friend Revakhaw.”

Annah studied Revakhaw, liking her immediately, but wondering at the deep sadness in her sweet brown face and shadowed eyes.
What had happened to this child, who lowered her head as if humiliated by my gaze?

To Annah’s horror, Karan said, “Revakhaw is Nimr-Rada’s true wife—against her will.”

“Against her will?” Realizing Karan’s meaning, Annah shut her eyes hard.
How dare you!
she screamed silently at Nimr-Rada.
How dare you shame this sweet girl and my Karan child!

When Annah opened her eyes, Revakhaw was crying. Naomi clasped Revakhaw’s hands kindly, welcoming her,
and Annah gently hugged the unhappy girl. “Come, all of you. We will eat, then you’ll tell us everything.”

“You’ll hate what we have to say,” Karan whispered, tears smudging the black paint at the corners of her eyes.

Her words filled Annah with dread.

Neshar sat inside the lodge with Shem, Annah, Naomi, Achyow, and Noakh, listening as Revakhaw told her story. She seemed too ashamed to even lift her gaze. And when she told of Sharah taunting her, taking her newborn son, then turning her out into the streets of the Great City, Neshar shuddered. He was sickened, remembering the one time he had seen Revakhaw in Keren’s courtyard. She had been altogether more delightful than any girl alive. Neshar had thought of her often since that day, as one would desire a perfect unattainable dream. And now the same Revakhaw was crying before him, wholly devastated by Nimr-Rada and Sharah’s self-serving schemes.

I will kill you
, Neshar thought, covering his face with one cold hand, astonished by the depths of his rage.
Nimr-Rada, whatever I must do, you will be destroyed
.

Composing himself, Neshar lowered his hand. Revakhaw hushed, obviously too wounded to speak of her infant son in Sharah’s arms. Beside her, Keren was crying again, clenching her hands tight. She looked at Neshar, terrified, seeming to beg him for courage. Neshar stared at his sister, fearing what she was about to say.

Annah almost wept aloud, hearing Karan tell of another
god now worshiped beneath these blue heavens at the urging of that Nimr-Rada. His name should have been Nu-Marad, man of rebellion. How could the citizens of the Great City deny the love of the Most High? How could they scorn His wisdom, unless they truly believed that Nimr-Rada was the Promised One?

Karan faltered, speaking of the ceremony in Nimr-Rada’s Temple of Shemesh. Of poison. Of fire. Of the death of Revakhaw’s child. Listening, Annah was stabbed by a long-ago pain, remembering the stillborn form of her youngest brother. She had tried to bury the memory, telling herself that such evil would never happen again in this new earth. But Nimr-Rada had enacted this same evil. Why?
Why does our Adversary—that Serpent—crave the blood of defenseless little ones?
The thought tormented her.

Nearby, Noakh’s voice rose in a mourning whisper. “I’ve failed.…”

Unexpectedly, Neshar bolted from the lodge, followed by the young guardsman, Zehker, who had been waiting near the door. Their grimness alarmed Annah.

“That Nimr-Rada is a madman!” Naomi cried, clutching Achyow in her lap. She turned to Noakh as if to demand the chance to rebuke Nimr-Rada herself. But seeing her husband’s anguish, her anger faded and she moaned, “Why did we live to see the children of our children turn against the Most High?”

Now Shem exhaled; Annah could almost feel his inner turmoil. Karan turned to Shem, raising her hands in a fierce appeal. “Father of my Fathers, Nimr-Rada must be stopped! No one should suffer as Revakhaw has suffered. I
have
to—”