He Who Lifts the Skies (45 page)

Zehker lay awake, fatigued, staring up at the glittering stars. Sleep would bring physical rest for him but stir emotional chaos. The nightmares of his childhood had returned in fragments throughout the winter, growing now as this journey progressed.

You destroyed everything I loved
, he thought to Nimr-Rada.
But the Most High has given me hope again. This past winter, I actually lived a normal life, which I treasured. And I’ve remembered peace. Now, I would rather die than return to your service
.

As Keren would rather die—though Zehker wanted her to live.

Turning on his side, Zehker watched Keren sleeping on the opposite side of the hearth. Her face was averted from the flames, and the smooth line of her cheek looked terrifyingly vulnerable.
Protect her
, he prayed. He dared not think beyond those words. Shutting his eyes, exhausted, he prepared to face his nightmares.

Accompanied by Revakhaw, Keren walked along the rushing torrent that led to the main river, which eventually flowed through the eastern territories now claimed by Nimr-Rada. Tents of wool and leather were scattered all along the banks of this torrent. Horses flanked some tents,
but many of the leaders had apparently traveled to these low, grassy hills on foot.

“Your nephews and their fellow messengers must have invited the whole earth,” Revakhaw told Keren. “But even with all these people, I’m afraid. Are you ready to face Nimr-Rada?”

“I will never be ready to face him,” Keren said, sickened by the thought.

Revakhaw sighed, not looking at Keren. “He will demand that I return to him. And I fear that if I bear him another child, he will kill it as he did his firstborn. I’ve been praying that the Most High will save me from that … or …”

“Or from death with me?” Keren asked, hugging herself.

Nodding reluctantly, Revakhaw said, “Something I’ve never told you … I heard talk while I was in his household.… When his tower is finished, He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies will declare himself to be more than a man—he will be like a god.”

“And I will be his most revered servant,” Keren agreed bitterly.

“I think he will make you his next wife … in his Tower of Shemesh.”

Keren shook her head at the thought, speechless.

“I don’t want us to die,” Revakhaw said, her voice breaking.

“Unless he lives.” They gripped hands for consolation; their fingers were cold.

As they returned to the women’s tent, Keren looked around, wondering if she would see her once-beloved Yithran, or his father, Ramah. Or worse, Bezeq himself. Thus far, she hadn’t seen them, and she was grateful for
this, it was safer for them to stay away. Nimr-Rada would almost certainly kill them.
Protect them
, she prayed to the Most High.
Please, protect us all
.

The huge, gauzy woven women’s tent was crowded and warm with laughter and chatter. To Keren, it seemed that every woman entering the tent immediately looked for I’ma-Annah, who kept Keren close at her side. I’ma-Annah happily introduced Keren to her daughters by marriage, daughters by blood, daughters of sons and of daughters: Chashum, Sansannah, Tekhinnah, Yishrah, Khemdaw … Their names blurred in Keren’s mind.

Suddenly I’ma-Annah cried, “Bekiyrah!”

A lovely woman with exquisite dark eyes and a sweetly curved mouth paused at the entrance of the tent, smiling at I’ma-Annah.

“Yes, Bekiyrah! And I’ma-Ghinnah, and I’ma-Tirtsah.…”

“Oh, Bekiyrah, move!” someone called behind the lovely Bekiyrah. “Ma’adannah, are you here?”

“Ghinnah!” I’ma-Annah jumped up and ran to hug a rosy, laughing woman swathed in a curiously fringed and beaded pale-blue headscarf that fluttered with her movements.

“Now,
you
move,” another woman said from the entrance, her voice husky and warm. “Ma’adannah, tell our selfish Ghinnah that she must make a scarf like this for me.”

“Tirtsah.…” I’ma-Annah embraced the complainer, who was tall and strikingly beautiful. As the three women laughed together and wiped each other’s tears, Keren
realized she was seeing the other two First Mothers, Ghinnah and Tirtsah.

“Come.” I’ma-Annah took I’ma-Ghinnah and I’ma-Tirtsah’s hands. “Meet the cause of our gathering. Karan, these are my sisters by marriage, Ghinnah and Tirtsah.”

The other women hushed and moved about silently, offering food and drinks as the three First Mothers knelt with Keren.

“I’ve heard about you,” Ghinnah said, leaning forward eagerly, the blue fringes dancing around her cheeks and throat. “You’re my granddaughter Chaciydah’s child. Look at your eyes!”

“They are amazing,” Tirtsah agreed, raising her perfectly arched eyebrows and staring at Keren.

“I wish they weren’t, I’ma-Tirtsah,” Keren murmured. “My freakish eyes have caused me such grief.”

“Tell us about your grief,” Tirtsah commanded, kind and imperious.

Keren looked over at Revakhaw, who took a deep, visible breath, and nodded.

As they were preparing for sleep that night, I’ma-Ghinnah approached Keren, quiet, unsmiling, but tender. “Karan-child, I don’t want to distress you, but … I have news from the tribe of Bezeq, and of his father, Ramah.”

Bezeq?
Apprehensive, Keren whispered, “What is it?”

Softly, I’ma-Ghinnah explained, “Ramah and Bezeq are sons of my sons, and so we stayed with them during our journey. They did not dare come with us; Nimr-Rada would surely kill them.… But Bezeq’s mother, Nihyah, asked me to bring you word of her regard, and of her son
Yithran. You were almost betrothed to him, weren’t you?”

“Yes.” Keren felt a stab of fear. Had Nimr-Rada killed Yithran after all? “What of Yithran? Is he well?”

Gently I’ma-Ghinnah said, “Yithran has married someone else. I saw her; she’s a lovely young girl from another tribe; they have a daughter.”

Keren sighed. “He’s alive then. I’m glad, I’ma-Ghinnah, truly. It’s for the best that I didn’t marry Yithran. If you see Nihyah again, please tell her I wish them blessings, with all my heart.”

I’ma-Ghinnah echoed Keren’s sigh, then laughed and gave her a warm hug. “I dreaded telling you this—I didn’t want to upset you. But I also wish you blessings, Karan-child!”

If I live
… “Thank you, I’ma-Ghinnah.”

Tsinnah’s hands were shaking as she tried to apply Keren’s face paints. Alatah had to take the paints from her. Self-conscious, Keren wiped her hands over and over on her fabric-draped knees, wishing the First Mothers and the other women weren’t staring. While Revakhaw combed Keren’s freshly scrubbed hair, Na’ah coaxed Tsinnah to help with Keren’s gold ornaments.

Tsinnah burst into tears. “He’s going to kill us!”

Murmurs of sympathy arose from the watching women. A man’s voice called into the tent’s entrance. “Where is the Lady Keren?”

Keren shut her eyes, recognizing her guardsman Erek’s voice. He had obviously arrived last night with Nimr-Rada and his household.

“I must speak to her personally,” Erek insisted, “for
He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies.”

Exhaling, Keren stood and crossed the woven grass mats to the entrance.

The instant he saw her, Erek bowed and presented Keren’s golden ceremonial sandal. “Lady, I return this to you from the Great King’s own hand.”

“Thank you, Erek.” Carefully polite, she took the gleaming sandal from his warily outstretched fingertips.

“He says that you and your household will leave with him today.”

Keren nodded toward him, courteous. Then, before Erek could say or notice anything else, she swiftly retreated into the tent, longing to throw the sandal away. He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies had touched it. Revolted, Keren gave the sandal to Na’ah, who dropped it as if it were poisoned.

While her attendants tied her gold-adorned leather chest covering, Keren looked over at I’ma-Annah, who was watching everything quietly, flanked by the equally somber I’ma-Ghinnah and I’ma-Tirtsah.

Controlling her fear, Keren said, “I’ma-Annah, please, if I die today, tell our I’ma-Naomi and my I’ma-Chaciydah that I love them.”

“Surely that won’t be necessary, Karan-child,” I’ma-Annah responded. But she sounded anxious.

Keren wiped her hands again, her terror rising.

Carrying her decorative bow and wearing its matching quiver of arrows across her back, Keren walked to the main gathering area. A series of leather canopies and tents had been erected in the largest field nearby and were
furnished with fine mats, thick furs, cushions, and trays and baskets of fruits, cakes, meats, juices, and watered wines. As she reached the gathering area, Keren slowed her pace, trying to compose herself.

Nimr-Rada’s guardsmen lingered here and there, disdainfully proud. The tribal leaders, meanwhile, were crowded beneath the open-fronted main tent, some jovial, but most tense, and all of them focused on Nimr-Rada.

He sat, arrogant and gold covered, on a leopard-skin-draped mat in the center of the tent, surrounded by the leaders and watched by Shem and two men who resembled him so strongly that she knew they must be his brothers. Shem saw Keren first and nodded to her, indicating a vacant fleece-covered mat.

Keren looked over her shoulder at her nervous attendants and the other women. “Stay here, please; it’s less crowded.” They all looked relieved, except Revakhaw, who would stay with Keren during their testimony.