Heavens Before (3 page)

“You and your belly,” Parah sighed, her radiance fading as her irritation grew. “I spend all my time preparing your meals. One day you’ll have to cook for yourself.”

“If you’re so tired of playing the mother, then speak to Yerakh for me,” Chathath urged, his smile fading to a grim line in his handsome, angular face. “Tell him it’s time for me to wed, then arrange a match for me.”

Parah averted her eyes. “You know I can’t do that. Yerakh would—”

“I know,” Chathath interrupted. “Yerakh would refuse. He’d never allow one of his brother-slaves to marry and attain freedom. Where else would he find such cheap labor?” Chathath flung himself down on a mat near the fire. Snatching a grain cake from a basket, he bit into it savagely, talking as he chewed. “I’ll have to run away without my inheritance, or fight him.”

“And we know who’d win, dear brother,” Iltani said, her round face smug as she entered the main room bearing
a wooden bowl filled with steaming spiced red beans.

“Oh, Yerakh would win,” Chathath agreed sardonically. “Unless I were to learn deceit from you, elder sister.” Chathath pushed the entire grain cake into his mouth and glared up at Iltani.

Chathath’s hatred of Yerakh spilled over into his dealings with Iltani, who encouraged Yerakh’s unscrupulous treatment of his family. Chathath ridiculed Iltani’s looks and her age, calling her elder even though they were both almost sixty years old.

Iltani scowled at him. “Be careful, dear brother. Another word and I’ll pour these hot beans into your lap and put an end to your children before they’re conceived.”

Before their quarrel could endanger the food, Parah took the beans from Iltani and set them on the woven-grass mat beside the grain cakes.

Obviously feeling safer, Chathath taunted his sister-in-law. “Is that why you’ve had no children, Iltani? Did someone pour beans over you? I’ve thought it was because Yerakh despised you.”

Enraged, Iltani swung an open hand at Chathath. He swiftly deflected the blow, then grabbed Iltani’s arm and twisted it viciously, bringing her to her knees. “You won’t win, elder sister.”

“Ahahh!” Iltani shrieked, pain and rage contorting her features. “Let go!”

Watching from the darkness, Annah held her breath, fearing Chathath would push Iltani into the fire.

“Enough!” Parah cried, slapping her palms together. “Chathath, if you wish to eat here tonight, you’ll let her go. Now.”

“Certainly, I’ma.”

Annah frowned suspiciously as Chathath’s submissive
tone—and even as she did, Chathath gave Iltani a shove that sent her sprawling awkwardly over the grass mats.

“Tan-neem!
A monster!” Iltani cried. “That’s what you are!”

“Curse me, then,” Chathath challenged her. “Go to the Nachash. Ask her and all the other Serpent-Lovers to call up spells from the deep to curse me.”

Iltani looked aghast. Moving away from Chathath, she lowered her eyes.

Shocked, Annah huddled into herself. Had Iltani gone to the Nachash, who whispered ancient secrets and pronounced curses of darkness? By Iltani’s yielding attitude and Chathath’s triumphant smirk, Annah realized it was true.

Yerakh would beat Iltani if he learned of her actions. Yerakh had no use for legends or omens but, oddly, he feared the Nachash, and wanted nothing to do with her or her followers.

“Did you really go to the whisperers?” Parah asked, eyeing Iltani with distaste.

Iltani lifted her chin, her natural defiance returning. “Only once. I was curious. Your son must have followed me. Perhaps he was going to see them for himself.”

“Liar,” Chathath snorted. “I followed you to find out what you’ve been doing; and you’ve gone more than once.”

Iltani’s voice rose to a piercing shriek. “Monster! When do you work, if you spend all your time following me?”

“Hush!” Parah commanded sharply. “I’d like one evening of peace. Just one.” Sighing her disgust, she knelt between the two quarrelers and spoke sharply to Chathath. “Where are your sisters and Gammad?”

Snatching another grain cake from the basket, Chathath shrugged. “They should be here soon, I’ma, don’t worry. When I left, they were fastening the pens.”

“You should have stayed with them until they’d finished,” Parah scolded.

Chathath grinned. “They don’t need me to protect them. I pity anyone who meets them in the dark.”

As Parah fumed, a young woman’s voice lifted in complaint from the entry of the lodge. “He’s talking about us again, I’ma. Someone should cut out his tongue.”

Haburah entered the lodge, proudly tossing back her flowing dark hair. Haburah was one full moon short of fifty, graceful, finely muscled, and peevish.

Behind her trudged their brother Gammad, forty-one years old, sullen, dark, and hostile toward everyone. He was followed by Ayalah, a lovely, sly-faced, bright-eyed woman of thirty-two—the only member of Yerakh’s household younger than Annah. In Annah’s opinion, Ayalah was also Parah’s favorite—if Parah was capable of true fondness for any of her children.

Ayalah immediately settled between Parah and Iltani, nudging Iltani to the outermost edge of the woven-grass mat. Iltani’s mouth went down in resentment.

Sitting next to my I’ma means nothing to you, Iltani
, Annah thought indignantly.
You simply hate Ayalah more
.

As Parah began to serve the spiced red beans, using a deep, broad wooden spoon, Ayalah raised her voice. “I’ma, have you asked Yerakh’s permission for my marriage to K’nan?”

Before Parah could answer, Haburah cried, “Why should I’ma say anything to Yerakh of
you
being married? She hasn’t spoken to him for the rest of us! She’s refused at least seven men who’ve asked for me. And she’s never
once spoken for Chathath or Gammad. Why should you be different?”

Parah continued to scoop the hot beans from the large wooden bowl into the wooden dishes, answering Ayalah without looking up. “As I told Chathath, Ayalah, I’ve said nothing to Yerakh. I know before asking him; he will refuse.”

“Then make him change his mind!” Ayalah burst out, her eyes flashing, wrathful. “You’re our mother; you should make matches for us and bargain for our futures. But you always give way to Yerakh. I want K’nan, and if I have to leave the settlement to marry him, I will.”

“But does he want you enough that he’s willing to leave the settlement?” Chathath asked, pleasantly sarcastic. “I think not.”

“Shut your mouth!” Ayalah snapped, clenching her hands into fists. “K’nan wants me enough to leave the settlement, I’m sure.”

“Chathath is right,” Haburah said, obviously glad to destroy Ayalah’s hopes. “If K’nan hears that he must give up trading here, trust me, he won’t look your way again.”

Ayalah nearly choked with fury. “You’re all wrong. And if I have to live in this lodge with all of you for the rest of my life, I’ll become like Annah … a mindless fool.”

Wounded, Annah steadied herself.
I cannot react. But why am I so miserable today? I’ve endured all this before
.

Through her pain, she heard Chathath laughing softly. “Have none of you ever wondered why Yerakh refuses our help with the gold? Once we learned all his secrets, we’d be a threat to him. But poor Annah, with no mind to think and no tongue to speak, can never be a threat. And if she were to become one … he could break her neck. Snap!” Chathath snapped his fingers for emphasis, laughing again.

Ayalah began to cry, accusing the impassive Parah of neglect, while Haburah gloated over Ayalah’s misery. Gammad and Iltani simply brooded, staring into the fire.

“We should kill Yerakh,” Gammad muttered.

The others, as usual, paid him no attention, but Annah shivered. Perhaps Gammad was more dangerous than Yerakh. She continued to stare vacantly into the fire.
If I wish to survive, it is better to be considered mad. But do I wish to survive?

She remembered the young man at the river this afternoon, shaking his head at her, his dark eyes telling her not to let the river take her.
Why were you there?
she wondered to him.
Did I imagine you? Am I mad after all?

Before the mists of dawn had cleared to reveal the rosy sky, Annah was already at work, gathering wildflowers to make more of the fragile threads for her veil.
These need to be rinsed
, she thought, making an excuse to go down to the river.
I don’t want to find dirt on them after they’ve dried
.

Reaching the river, she glanced at the other side. No one was there.
He was a vision. You have work to do before returning to Yerakh and the gold
. She settled into a patch of grass along the bank and sorted the flowers from the grass, rinsing the stems. Soothed by the simplicity of the work, Annah planned her day. She would sort the flowers, bind them, and hang them in the Tree of Havah. She would have to protect them somehow against the inquisitive birds and the morning mists. Suddenly she sensed a presence.
Someone is watching me
.

A rock plopped into the water beside her, and Annah looked up, her fingers still.
He
was watching her—the young man who had stopped her from taking her life.

Seeing him now, Annah caught her breath. In her misery the day before, she had not recognized the grace of his long, muscular body, the smooth tawny elegance of his features—unbearded because he was not yet married—and the wonder of his dark-curled hair flowing against his shoulders. He was real. She had not imagined him.

As she stared at him, he smiled—a pure, joyous smile reflecting his relief to see that she was still alive. Annah exhaled, grateful to be sitting; his smile made her weak. Feeling hot blood rush to her face, she reached for her veil to hide her embarrassment.

The young man raised his hands swiftly.
Wait
, his motion begged.
Not yet
.

He knelt, removing a leather-corded amulet from his neck. Curious, Annah watched. He untied a small leather pouch from his corded leather belt, emptied it, bound the amulet inside, and stood. Smiling, he lifted the pouch in a gesture of giving.
For you
, his eyes said,
if you’ll accept it
.

Annah bit her lip, stupefied. Why should he give her a treasured possession—something he had cherished enough to wear resting against his own heart? As she watched, the young man retreated a step, calculated the amount of force he would need, then threw his precious offering across the small river. His aim was sure; the tiny leather-clad object fell within an arm’s length in the grass to Annah’s right. She hesitated, unable to believe that a stranger would give her something freely, without hope of anything in return. Looking at him, she begged silently:
Are you certain?

Again, his hands moved lightly, urging her to take his gift. She could feel his eagerness. And his eyes entreated hers:
Open it
.

Opening the leather pouch, she pulled out a pale, highly polished oval of luminous shell, reflecting the tenderest rose hues of the midday sky mingled with the softest, most fragile blues of her favorite wildflowers. The edges were carved with intricate swirls, all flowing and curling like the waves of the river, and the center of each curl was pierced through, emphasizing the theme of water. It was a third the size of her palm, and slung from a leather cord, which meant it would be easy to hide from her mother and sisters. Most wonderful of all, it was real, cool and solid in her hand. Proof of her sanity. She looked at him, and her eyes filled with tears.

He lifted his dark eyebrows hopefully, eloquently:
Will you keep it?

In response, Annah kissed the cool oval of shell lightly before pulling its cord over her dark head. He grinned, watching as she pulled her long hair out of the loop of the cord, then settled the luminous carving in place. On him, it had hung near his heart. On Annah, it rested near her stomach. She closed her hands about it protectively. Then, for the first time in years, she smiled at another person—at him.

Instantly, she was frightened by her happiness and reached for her veil to hide herself. But before she covered her face, Annah looked at him one last time, expressing her silent gratitude. His eyes were shining tenderly. Flustered, Annah scooped up the leather pouch and fled. An instant later, she returned to collect her half-rinsed pile of flowers. Through the mists of the veil, she saw that he was still watching her, and grinning. Mortified, she fled for the shelter of the trees.