He Who Lifts the Skies (43 page)

Becay nodded, but Abdiy grunted irritably. “At least we won’t have to spend the winter in these mountains,” he muttered to Becay as soon as Keren dismissed them.

Yes
, Keren thought gratefully.
At least you three will be gone for the winter
.

Erek, however, lingered nearby, holding Keren’s sandal as if it might poison him. “Ah, Lady.” He hesitated, cautiously keeping his distance. “You’re sure that you’ve nothing else to say to our He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies?”

Keren sighed and knelt, suddenly very tired. “Give him the sandal, Erek. Truly, he is wise and will understand.”

Relaxing in the crisp autumn air, Keren watched as her wild-haired cousin Metiyl and his son Khawrawsh worked at the deep hearth near the Ancient Ones’ lodge. Khawrawsh was plying a pair of leather foot bellows, heating the stout clay firing pot that contained Meshek and Shem’s mangled copper ax heads.

As he worked, Khawrawsh furtively watched Tsinnah, who had accompanied Keren and Revakhaw today. Metiyl looked up from his side of the hearth and frowned.

“Khawrawsh!” he roared. “You’ll get burned, and you’ll deserve it too! Ignore that pretty girl and stomp those bellows.” Turning to Neshar and Zehker now, Metiyl sneered, “You’ve beaten those ax heads to shavings; I’d almost think you’ve been working like ordinary men.”

Keren suppressed a smile. Metiyl detested Neshar and Zehker for being horsemen-guards to Nimr-Rada.

Now that Metiyl had deigned to acknowledge him, Zehker approached him. “Your axes are exceptional.”

Metiyl grunted and shoved some thick clay molds into the outermost coals. “What do you want, horseman? I came to work for the Ancient Ones, not for you.”

“You have the wrong opinion of us, cousin,” Neshar said. He crouched at Metiyl’s right, while Zehker leaned toward Metiyl on the left.

Instantly Metiyl’s thick brows rushed together in a frown, and his broad nostrils flared. “Horsemen or not, I can crush you both!”

“Good,” Zehker replied quietly. “But first, we’ll talk.”

“Let’s leave them to argue,” Keren murmured to Revakhaw and Tsinnah, not wanting them to hear Zehker and Neshar’s plans—though Keren resolved to question Zehker later. As they went toward the lodge, she noticed
that both young women cast backward glances toward the men at the hearth—Revakhaw sadly, Tsinnah smiling.

Before Keren could enter the lodge, her small nephew Achyow darted out, skittering away from Keren to sit near Metiyl’s son Khawrawsh. Now Zehker, Neshar, and Metiyl stepped away from the hearth, talking quietly. Metiyl was listening intently, eyebrows raised, pleased.

You are discussing weapons
, Keren decided.
And the death of Nimr-Rada
.

Kneeling beside Keren’s I’ma-Annah, Revakhaw moistened her lips. “Ma’adannah … our Keren—I mean Karan—told me that you survived the loss of your family before the Great Destruction. How? I feel such grief for my son, I long to die.…”

Ma’adannah smiled at Revakhaw, her lovely, dark-lashed eyes warm and understanding. “You will grieve for years, child. But you are cherished by many people, including me. Survival …” She sighed, as if remembering ageless sorrows. “For me, knowing that just one person truly loved me and wanted me to live … it was enough. My Shem’s love—and the love of the Most High—persuaded me to survive.”

Their words always return to You!
Revakhaw cried silently to the Most High, rebellious, shutting her eyes hard.
But why do You want me to live with such pain?

In the midst of her unspoken outcry, Revakhaw felt Ma’adannah’s arms go around her comfortingly. “Our Revakhaw … never forget the child who was stolen from you by Nimr-Rada’s schemes and hatred! But remember that the Most High longs to console you; He grieves for you,
child … as you grieve for your son.”

Broken, Revakhaw wept.

Wrapped in the ceremonial splendor of his gold, linens, and a new fleece mantle, Kuwsh shivered in Nimr-Rada’s courtyard. He stared at the cause of his discomfort—a slender, sparkling golden sandal, which rested on the pavings where the Lady Keren once knelt.

Also fixated on the lovely sandal, Nimr-Rada waved his flail at everyone in the courtyard, from Keren’s wearied guardsmen to Kuwsh and the pale Sharah. “Leave!”

At once everyone began to file out, silent and afraid. Leaning toward Nimr-Rada, Kuwsh begged hoarsely, “Don’t go after her! She doesn’t love you! That sandal is meant to befuddle your reasoning, my son—not to convey any true message. Those Ancient Ones are using her to entrap you.”

Nimr-Rada straightened proudly. “You sound like a fearful child, my father. What are those Ancient Ones to me? Nothing! I will go to their midsummer gathering, listen to their foolish speeches, denounce their stupidity, then retrieve her. She promised me her devotion, and she will fulfill her promises.”

“Don’t go!” Kuwsh warned again.

“I can defeat any man who stands against me, and my guards can easily overcome their weak rebellion. Why are you so afraid?”

In despair, Kuwsh shook his head.

Nimr-Rada was still staring at the sandal as Sharah left
the courtyard.

Humiliated, she looked around, wondering if her servants were daring to gloat. Her gaze settled upon one of her horsemen, Qaydawr—an amazingly handsome man. He alone was watching her. She held his look deliberately, then lowered her lashes, suddenly pleased.

In her quiet home, Achlai looked at her husband sadly, knowing that Kuwsh was telling her of their son’s plans only because he could not speak so freely to anyone else. Achlai always kept her husband’s words close. And his fears. But he never admitted that he feared the Most High.

Achlai silently admitted her fear, then thought,
It is a terrible thing to have such a son as Nimr-Rada, while loving You, O Most High…
.

Twenty-Four

KNEELING BEFORE the crackling fire in Keren’s lodge, Tsereth’s youngest daughter, Nekokhah, shyly plucked at the sleeve of Keren’s leather tunic.

Keren paused in stitching a soft leather boot. “Yes, my Nekokhah?”

Casting a wary look at Yelahlah, who was kneading dough with Alatah, Nekokhah cupped a small hand to Keren’s ear, whispering, “Gebuwrah hates you.”

Keren nodded, watching Gebuwrah, who sat with Revakhaw and Tsinnah, sharpening bone needles against a filing stone. Gebuwrah’s hostility had grown with the deepening winter cold. And now that spring was almost here, her contempt was in full bloom, every word dripping with sarcasm, every glance suspecting mischief. She was thoroughly aggrieved at being removed from the Great City; she hated the mountains and seemed to hate
her mistress as well. Keren dreaded their daily confrontations.

Leaning over, Keren cupped a hand to her niece’s ear. “Don’t worry about her; let’s just enjoy our visit.” Aloud, she said, “Shall we go help Na’ah and Alatah with our food?”

Cautiously the little girl nodded and scooted toward Na’ah, whom she liked.

Keren took a dish of dried fruit. “Do you want us to sort these, Na’ah?”

“If you could, Lady,” Na’ah said, her eyes shining. “Ethniy said that he and Zehker are making stew for their meal today, but I think we’ll have enough fruitcakes to send some to them.”

“That’s the last of our dried fruit,” Gebuwrah said darkly.

Na’ah widened her gentle eyes, indignant. “Don’t you think I know it? But we can share, Gebuwrah. Do you think we would have stayed warm this past winter without all the firewood Ethniy and Zehker provided for us?”

“We won’t starve,” Keren told Gebuwrah, keeping her voice kind. “We’ll be able to gather new greens and shoots soon; until then, we have dried meat and grains.”

Gebuwrah opened and closed her mouth sulkily. “As you say. Forgive me.”

Yelahlah spoke now, waving a dough-coated finger at Na’ah. “You like Ethniy and he likes you. Are you going to marry him?”

While everyone gasped or laughed, Na’ah blushed. Keren smiled, delighted to have her suspicions confirmed; Gebuwrah’s hostility wasn’t the only emotion to blossom these past few months.

“Ethniy is a good man,” Keren told Na’ah. “But He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies will decide our futures this summer.”

Her stomach tightened at the thought.