He Who Lifts the Skies (13 page)

Keren tried to see hatred in his glance or loathing or even mere indifference. But Zehker revealed nothing beyond a quiet sense of watching.
You are a confusing man
, she told him in her thoughts.
I don’t believe you hate me, as Sharah claims. And yet you behave so oddly. I don’t understand you at all
. Yithran’s boldness, as discomfiting as it could be, was
preferable to that Zehker’s unmoving, horseman-hunter’s face.

“Keren-child!” A woman’s voice called to her, high and shrill. Keren turned to see Merowm’s mother, the pretty, fragile-seeming Kebuwddah, scurrying to meet her. “What did he say to you?” Kebuwddah demanded. “Did he insult you? If he did, I’ll …”

Laughing, Keren shook her head and patted Kebuwddah’s slender arm, knowing that Lawkham and Zehker might still be within earshot. “No, I’ma-Kebuwddah. He simply warned me that I should sound less like an animal and more like a human if there are hunters about—which there apparently are.”

Obviously reassured, Kebuwddah sighed as if disgusted. “Even so, this whole situation is disgraceful; you’ve done nothing to deserve such wretched treatment from that Ramah. Which reminds me: I came looking for you because Sharah is waiting for you in the lodge of my son.”

Keren frowned. She hadn’t seen Sharah for the past three days. “Why would Sharah visit me and risk angering Ramah?”

“I don’t know, Keren-child.” Kebuwddah waved her small hands as if the whole matter were too much to consider. “But I do know that Sharah came visiting without her son. Which is another thing I don’t understand. Most new mothers are proud of their infants and refuse to be separated from them. It makes me wonder if she even loves her son.”

“Let me gather my things,” Keren murmured, wanting to avoid any discussion of Sharah’s shortcomings as a mother. “Is Khuldah still sleeping?”

“Can anyone sleep if Sharah is upset? No, when I left, Khuldah was feeding Meleah and listening to Sharah.
Perhaps you should listen to her too, Keren-child. If I were your mother, I would say that you should take her advice.”

But Sharah’s advice has never been in my own best interests
, Keren thought, darkly amused. She retrieved her bundle of willow cuttings, her stone knife, and her red-edged gray-blue shawl from the base of the willow tree. Frustrated at the prospect of facing Sharah, Keren thought,
I’ll return to the Ancient Ones
.

She hurried after Kebuwddah, who walked with amazing speed for one who seemed so fragile. Ignoring the curious glances of the Great King’s loitering guardsmen, Keren followed Kebuwddah through the tribal village and into the Lodge of Merowm. Sharah was seated near Khuldah, but she sprang to her feet the instant she saw her sister.

Sharah’s mouth was a colorless line, and veins showed blue in her forehead and throat. “Where have you been?” She snatched Keren’s arm, digging her fingers in hard, making Keren drop her bundle of willow cuttings.

Determined to be polite for Khuldah’s sake, Keren smiled at Sharah and—with her free arm—indicated the mats near the hearth. “Please, my sister, sit down and rest with me while we talk. Have you had something to eat?”

“Khuldah gave me a grain cake,” Sharah said dismissively. “Anyway, it’s taken you so long to return that I don’t have much time. I wanted to warn you that Ramah won’t accept you as Yithran’s wife.”

“And what if Yithran manages to persuade his father to accept me? You know he won’t give up easily.”

“Yithran will listen to his father,” Sharah insisted. “Especially now. Listen to me: the Great King has asked about you. Stupid as you are, he’s
interested
in you. Ramah knows
this and will reject your marriage to Yithran for that reason. Now, this is our chance to have all that we deserve! I say you must marry the Great King.”

Incredulous, Keren rocked back on her heels. “You’re insane. Marry that Nimr-Rada? The same Nimr-Rada who has caused our father and mother such pain?” She shook her head. “No, Sharah. I’d never marry him, even if I were free of Yithran.”

“Forget Yithran! He’s lost to you. Your best choice now—the most incredible choice—is to marry the Great King.”

Leaning forward, putting her face directly in front of Sharah’s, Keren deliberately emphasized each barely controlled word. “I don’t want to marry that Great-and-Mighty-He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies-King! Our father would never accept him, Sharah. Never.”

“It doesn’t matter if our father won’t accept him!” Sharah retorted. Her eyes glittered like a wild creature’s. “Our father has no authority over him. Think of it, Keren—you’d have power over all other women—and over all men but one.”

“I don’t want such power, Sharah, and I won’t discuss this matter any further, except to say this: For any man to have such authority—to have all the mighty names held by Nimr-Rada—it should frighten you, Sharah. It frightens me. Nimr-Rada’s power and his names are like a challenge against the Most High.”

“Despite that, he lives,” Sharah pointed out, smugly. “And his power grows. Perhaps you should consider that the Most High has chosen to bless the Great King. Perhaps you should—”

“I’ve given you my answer,” Keren said, digging her fingers clawlike into the woven mats between them. “I
will
never
marry that Nimr-Rada.”

“You are quite certain?” Sharah asked, suddenly cool, dispassionate.

“Quite certain.”

“As you say, my sister.”

Sharah stood, turned on her leather-clad heel, and stomped out of the lodge without taking proper leave of Khuldah and her mother-in-law, Kebuwddah.

Keren lowered her head into her hands and shuddered, heartsick, almost crying. “She won’t give up! O Most High, how do I manage such a sister?”

“You’re quite sure this is what you want to do, Keren-child?” Kebuwddah asked, her shrill voice actually timid. “If Yithran is lost to you …”

“Don’t say it, please!” Keren cried. “I won’t marry that Nimr-Rada. He’s torn my family apart with his ambition.” Softening her tone, she said, “I’m sorry, Kebuwddah. I shouldn’t have raised my voice to you.”

“I understand, Keren-child,” Kebuwddah assured her. “I only pray you’ve made the right choice.”

Khuldah shifted the tiny, sleeping Meleah in her arms, chuckling softly. “Well, I’ll say that I’ve never seen you so angry as you were with Sharah. I was so amazed I couldn’t speak! And now I can say that I have a kinswoman who refused the Great Nimr-Rada. I’m honored.”

Torn between frustration and mirth, Keren chose to laugh.

“We have to talk, Keren,” Sharah insisted, stubbornly planting her feet just outside the doorway of the Lodge of Merowm. “You can’t ignore me forever.”

Keren shut her eyes, wearied. Sharah was a pain that would not go away. “Come inside then, and eat with us. Merowm should be here soon for his midday meal. Where is Bezeq?”

“Finishing his meal. Then he said he would take a nap with Gibbawr. It’s good to be rid of all those horsemen and to have the lodge to ourselves again—except for that Ramah and his Nihyah.” Glancing inside the lodge at the staring Khuldah and Kebuwddah, Sharah muttered, “Actually, I’d rather stay outside. Come walk with me. No one can listen to us that way, and I need some time away from the others. I’m sick of all the quarrelling.”

“Then you don’t plan to quarrel with me?” Keren couldn’t believe it was the truth.

“As I said, I’m sick of quarrelling. Will you walk with me or not?” Sharah sounded almost dejected.

Thinking of what it must be like to live in the same lodge as Ramah, day after day, Keren felt pity for her sister. Ramah’s displays of temper had increased with the departure of Nimr-Rada two days before. Keren had actually heard him screaming at Nihyah this morning.

“I’ll get my shawl,” she agreed, her reluctance fading. She retrieved her shawl from beside the basket she had been working for Meleah. “I’m going for a walk with Sharah,” she told Khuldah.

“We’ll save some food for you,” Khuldah promised, as Kebuwddah nodded from her sleeping pallet. She was rocking Meleah, hoping to get her to sleep before the mealtime so they could eat in peace.

“Why did you bring your shawl?” Sharah asked as they walked through the village toward the warm, green meadows. “It’s a beautiful day. You won’t need it.”

Keren shrugged, glancing down at her treasured gray-blue,
red-edged woolen shawl, the work of her mother’s hands. “I suppose it’s a habit to take it with me. Anyway, I can use it to gather shoots or herbs.”

Sharah sniffed contemptuously. “I let Nihyah do the gathering.”

“You let Nihyah do everything. I’m amazed that she and Bezeq let you get away with your laziness.”

“I gave Bezeq his son. That’s enough for him, and for Nihyah. But Ramah is becoming too arrogant. I can’t endure him much longer, Keren. The thought of dealing with him for five years is too much. Nothing is as I expected it would be here. Nothing! I hate it, I hate it!”

Alarmed, Keren stared at her sister. Sharah’s face had a bright, fevered flush. There were even tears in her eyes—and Sharah never cried. Feeling wretched, Keren said, “I’m sorry you’re so unhappy. Perhaps Ramah will take Nihyah and go visiting elsewhere for a while. Then you and Bezeq and Gibbawr could have some peace.”

“Even that wouldn’t help.” Sharah swiped her tears angrily. “I want to leave these hills. I’m sick of them. I want to go visiting and see our brothers and escape this place. If you had married the Great King, you could have taken me with you for a while. But it’s too late for that now.”

Keren sighed, exasperated. “Will you never forgive me for refusing that Nimr-Rada?”

“I should have known you’d refuse, you coward. Let’s talk about something else, or I’ll become furious with you again.” Sniffling delicately, Sharah asked, “Did Merowm really say that his Meleah should marry my Gibbawr?”

“I never heard him say so,” Keren answered truthfully. “But who can say what will happen? And Meleah is a pretty baby.”

“Unlike her mother,” Sharah said, with a dry, humorless
laugh.

“You exaggerate, as always,” Keren murmured. “Khuldah is attractive in her own way.”

They were beyond the limits of the village now, moving through densely shaded woods, then into an open field. Her face bathed by sunlight, Keren shut her eyes and listened to the multitudes of birds singing, quarrelling, and fluttering about in the trees. A beautiful day. She glanced over the field, spying a sprouting mound of earth. “Tubers!”

Ignoring Sharah’s scornful glance, Keren found a stick, knelt down, and began to loosen the earth around the tubers. She was just lifting a clump of damp soil away from the tubers when a horseman rode out of the trees on the opposite side of the clearing. Another horseman followed him. Then another. Nimr-Rada’s men. Startled, Keren looked up at Sharah. “They’ve come back. Why?”

“They never left,” Sharah said, perfectly calm, her eyes gleaming.

“What do you mean? They left two days ago.” Keren stood, clutching a tuber. Nimr-Rada’s horsemen were forming an efficient, orderly line. Now Nimr-Rada himself came riding out of the trees, his eyes fixed on Keren and Sharah, his powerful, broad-boned face actually reflecting pleasure.

“They’ve returned for us,” Sharah informed Keren. “I told him we’d be here.”

“Sharah, how could you? I told you I’ll never marry that Nimr-Rada!”

“You won’t,” Sharah answered, flinging Keren a proud, defiant look. “But I will. And you’re coming with me.”

“No.” Keren started to retreat, shaking, appalled. Sharah snatched her arm. Keren wrenched herself free, then ran,
dropping her digging stick, the tuber, and her shawl.

“Keren!” Sharah screeched. Keren glanced back, just in time to see Nimr-Rada motion for the guardsmen to follow Keren. Terrified, she ran into the dense, sheltering woods, praying for the protection of the Most High.

Eight

KEREN CHARGED INTO the woods, scraped past some coarse shrubs, then scrambled up the nearest tree. As she huddled in the crook of a branch, she fought hysteria, thinking,
This is a fruit tree. I can’t hide here; it’s too small. But if I get down now, I’ll be seen. I hear them searching for me
.…

She could also hear her own breathing, ragged and harsh. Trying to muffle the sound, she covered her face with her hands. But her fingers and palms were coated with damp soil; the taste of the dirt filled her mouth and her nostrils, gagging her, making her eyes water.

Be calm
, she told herself, hearing a rustling noise.
This tree may be small compared to some, but it’s leafed, and it’s surrounded by shrubs and evergreens. If I keep still, then I’m only a shadow, if those guardsmen don’t look too hard
.

Even as she thought this, a young guardsman—on foot—neared her tree. Lowering his dark-braided head,
he poked through the shrubs with a flint-tipped arrow. Keren trembled as he passed. He didn’t look up. She drooped, relieved. A memory arose in her mind, I’ma-Annah saying, “I hid in a tree that night, terrified. And yet, I felt the presence of the Most High surrounding me.…”

O Most High, please save me now, as You saved I’ma-Annah
. Tearful, Keren wiped her eyes against her arms, then stiffened. Another man was passing the shrubs surrounding her tree. Lawkham. He was looking upward, but in the wrong direction. No doubt he remembered seeing her jump out of the willow tree when she was gathering cuttings for Meleah’s basket.