He Who Lifts the Skies (23 page)

“It wouldn’t be complicated, Lady,” Tsinnah assured her eagerly. “And I hope you won’t be scandalized, but I think it should begin as if we were clothing you like a man but make the undergarments fuller. Then finish as if
you were actually wearing a long, open robe and a belt, which would be more practical for riding than a simple tunic.”

Keren listened, shocked but curious. Tsinnah and the others debated the design, while Tsinnah scratched a rough drawing on a clay platter with a piece of red ochre. They took one of Keren’s rejected tunics in the same pale fabric, cut off the skirt, then made Keren put on the top over her short undergarments. Without hesitation, Tsinnah took a longer rectangle of fabric and tied one of its narrow finished edges around Keren’s waist over the half tunic, knotting it at Keren’s back. Then, drawing the excess fabric between and behind Keren’s legs, Tsinnah tucked the remaining narrow edge firmly into, and completely around, the waistband formed by the first knot. Finishing, she folded another strip of fabric to form a wide belt, which she wrapped around Keren’s waist, tucking in the ends to cover the knots.

The effect was similar to the garb of a man, but much longer, flaring at her calves like a skirt, yet fitting closely to her waist and hips.
“This
will not flap about in the wind, Lady,” Tsinnah assured her, looking thoroughly pleased.

“Of course it won’t flap about in the wind; I’ve never worn anything so tight in my life! Tsinnah, this reveals everything.”

“Lady, by the heavens, you’re almost completely covered,” Revakhaw protested enthusiastically, her eyes sparkling. “Only your arms are bare, and from just above your ankles down to your feet. You are more beautiful than ever.”

“We’ll also make you a long open-fronted robe, Lady,” Gebuwrah decided. To Tsinnah, she said, “You were right; this is what she should wear.”

“I want clothing like this,” Alatah said. Instantly, they all agreed—except Keren.

A piercing whistle sounded in the courtyard. Lawkham.

“Our visitor is here.” Keren raised her voice to be heard—they were ignoring her again. “Go greet her while I put on a decent tunic.”

“No,” Gebuwrah insisted. “Lady, we must ask this Meherah’s opinion of your new attire.”

Gebuwrah, Revakhaw, and the others dragged Keren into the sunlit courtyard; someone pulled her hair, making her stumble. Recovering her balance, Keren shook off their hands, rubbed her scalp, and glared at them. Then, chin up, she greeted Meherah, who was tiny, lovely, and standing beside the speechless Lawkham.

“Please, Lawkham,” Keren prompted, embarrassed, “introduce me to your mother.”

Lawkham swallowed. “Lady, this is my own mother, Meherah. Mother, this is our Lady … Keren.”

“We are pleased to have you visit us today,” Keren murmured.

Clasping her hands politely, Meherah bowed her dark, braid-bound head, then sucked in her breath as she looked up at Keren. She was obviously fascinated by Keren’s attire. When she spoke, her voice was warm and musical. “Lady, I’m honored that you’ve agreed to meet me; thank you. I’ve brought you some gifts, and I won’t stay long.”

“But you must stay and eat with us,” Keren said, liking her at once. Meherah seemed as charming as Lawkham at his best. “As you noticed, we need you to settle a dispute. I disapprove of my new clothes, but my attendants seem to think they’re perfect.”

Turning to Lawkham and the other guardsmen, who
were all silent and gaping, she said, “Thank you, Lawkham. Now, please leave. All of you. Go eat.”

They all filed out meekly. Lawkham and Erek glanced back over their shoulders at her, then paused at the gate to whisper something to the guard on duty, Zehker. When all the guardsmen had departed through the gate, Zehker leaned in, looked around quietly, then gave Keren an enigmatic glance before closing her inside with her attendants.

Discomfited, Keren led Meherah to the shaded canopy and urged her to sit on the fleece-padded mats.

As Keren poured cups of cooled juice for her guest and herself, Meherah said, “You mustn’t worry about your appearance, Lady; the garments enhance your looks wonderfully. By the heavens, you will inspire every woman in the city. No doubt they will copy your new clothes as soon as they can lay hands on any sort of fabric. Then you won’t feel so conspicuous.”

“But I will be conspicuous,” Keren protested miserably. “The Great King has sent me a formidable collection of ornaments to wear whenever I step outside my gates. It’s bad enough that I’ll frighten everyone I meet, but now I’ll blind them as well.”

Meherah laughed—Lawkham’s mischievous laugh—and her eyes glistened. “I think you are simply not used to such attention, child. Please, I would enjoy seeing all these ‘formidable’ ornaments.”

Instantly, Alatah and Revakhaw scrambled up from their mats and ran inside to gather the ornaments.

Keren reluctantly smiled at Meherah. “Mother of Lawkham, it’s good to be called
child
again. Sometimes I think there are no true elders in this Great City. If so, then they are too quiet.”

Meherah’s expression softened. “Lady, forgive me. I should not have called you that. But I know something of your situation, and I wish to help you in whatever way I can. Above all, if I could say anything to you, it would be that you should be at rest in your thoughts. From what I’ve heard, you are much admired in this Great City—though, if I may say so, your eyes do cause an impulse of fear. You amaze everyone.

“Now, here come your attendants with these ornaments. Please, later, I beg you to try them on for my sake. But first, let me give you these few tokens of regard from my family.”

Meherah went to the gate and retrieved a large, heavy basket, refusing assistance from anyone. “Use these as you wish, Lady,” she said, kneeling before Keren once more.

Her gift, carelessly presented, was a beautifully matched set of clay serving dishes. Keren lifted one of the pitchers reverently. It revealed an extraordinary mastery of clay—so thin, smooth, and strong that it produced a marvelous ringing tone in her hands. And it was adorned with meticulously incised lines and dots—a more subtle and restful pattern than the heavy, boldly painted black dishes most people used.

“Mother of Lawkham, these are wonderful—thank you! We must use them now, for our little feast.”

“No-no-no, why should you give me such an honor?” Meherah protested. But Keren could see that she was justifiably proud of her family’s craftsmanship.

Throughout their feast, Meherah talked easily, laughingly, her small work-hardened hands fluttering at the height of every story or joke. She praised the food, the spiced grains, the roasted venison, the vegetables—seasoned with herbs, olive oil, and garlic—accompanied by
the usual flat grain cakes, and an immense platter of fresh and dried fruits, artfully arranged by Na’ah.

Meherah told of seeing He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies for the first time at a hunt where he killed his first leopard, and of how he had encouraged the other young men of various tribes to follow him and subdue all the wild creatures that were terrorizing the tribal settlements. Then she described two of the First Fathers—Yepheth and the famed Khawm, who was supposedly the most rebellious son of the patriarch Noakh, but so captivating that the stories of his defiance were difficult to believe. She also told Keren that she had met two of the First Mothers, the revered fabric maker, Ghinnah, and the exquisitely beautiful Tirzah. They both looked so young. How could anyone believe they had lived through the Great Destruction? It was almost too incredible to believe.

The afternoon passed quickly. In Meherah’s refreshing company, Keren felt better than she had at any time since her arrival in the Great City.

When she had finished her food, Meherah sighed contentedly. “That was a wonderful meal. Your mothers taught you well. Now, let’s persuade our Lady Keren to wear her dreadful ornaments.”

They all laughed and relaxed, passing the ornaments one by one to Meherah, who praised them and insisted that Keren must wear each piece. To humor her guest, Keren donned the heavy gold necklace garnished with bloodred stones, the wide symbol-engraved gold cuffs for her wrists, the matching gold cuffs for her ankles, the thick gold rings, and her headpiece—a slender rim of hammered gold, mounted with three small, beautifully fashioned, rippling points of gold. Ra-Anan insisted that these points of gold gave the effect of rays of sunlight—
to honor Keren’s name. But Keren didn’t see this headpiece as an honor. It was a burden, as were all the other ornaments.

Meherah thought they were delightful. She gazed at Keren, enthralled as a child, clasping her hands beneath her chin. “Who could compare to you?” she asked. Without waiting for an answer, she said, “I know what’s needed! Listen; I think you should darken your eyes.”

“Darken my eyes?” Keren leaned forward, fascinated, wondering if she had heard Meherah clearly—it sounded like a dream. “How could I possibly darken my eyes?”

“Easily, Lady. You won’t believe the effect when you see it; your entire face will change.” Meherah dispatched Tsinnah and Alatah to retrieve clay and sandstone lamps from inside Keren’s house, pleading with them to also bring red ochre and purified oils.

“Now, I’ll tell you, Lady, to the south and west of this great city is the tribe of Mitzrayim, an uncle of He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies. The women of Mitzrayim’s tribe darken their eyes with lampblack to protect themselves against the glare of the sun. The effect is wonderful. I’ve seen it done, and I’ll show you. First, I must wash my hands and dip them in some oil to make the lampblack like an ointment.”

Chatting agreeably, Meherah dabbed purified oils on her clean hands, then ran her fingertips over the darkened interiors of the lamps until she had created an impromptu black paste. Then she knelt before Keren. “Look upward, Lady, without moving.” Meherah ran her fingertips along the innermost edges of Keren’s eyelids, a movement so efficient and quick that Keren was certain Meherah had practiced this before. “Now, some red ochre,” Meherah announced. After washing her hands again, she rubbed
Tsinnah’s bit of red ochre on the flat, unglazed edge of a clay lamp. The rasping sound made Keren shiver. “Hold still once more, then you may look in your mirror, Lady.”

Keren submitted to Meherah’s ministrations uneasily now, for Meherah was dabbing a concoction of red ochre and pure, solidified oils on Keren’s lips. Gebuwrah, silent and watchful, handed Keren her small, heavy, rough-backed obsidian mirror. Shifting her position to catch the late afternoon sunlight, Keren gazed into the polished surface of the dark mirror. The rims of her eyelids were indeed very black, but this only heightened the startling effect of her pale eyes—not at all what she had anticipated or wanted. And the red ochre paste exaggerated her lips flagrantly, making her seem harder, older, and completely unlike herself.

“You don’t like it,” Meherah said, exhaling the words in a dramatic, mourning sigh, as Lawkham often did when trying to coax Keren to agree with him.

“I look very different,” Keren began, not wishing to offend her guest.

“But, Lady, you look wonderful, not terrible,” Revakhaw added, obviously delighted. “I want to try this on my own eyes.”

“If you all darkened your eyes this way—and wore the new attire and ornaments—you would be amazing,” Meherah told them. Gebuwrah, Revakhaw, and Tsinnah agreed, but Na’ah and Alatah looked nervous. Before they could argue, the gate opened. Zehker stepped inside, admitting Ra-Anan’s rude guard, Perek.

After gawking at Keren, Perek remembered his few manners and bowed his head respectfully. The instant he lifted his head, however, all courtesy was gone. He strode forward, angrily brandishing his longspear. “You’ve kept
our Master Ra-Anan waiting, Lady,” he said accusingly. “And He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies is waiting with him—in the company of his lady, your sister. You are commanded to come at once.”

“I—have to go to my privy,” Keren told him, almost stammering, she was so taken aback. “I can’t show myself to them yet.”

Swiftly the guard positioned himself between Keren and the doorway to her house. “I don’t wish to die, Lady,” he said, holding out his longspear to fend her off. “But I must fulfill my orders; you will leave now.”

“We are all with you, Lady,” Tsinnah promised beneath her breath, though Gebuwrah was shaking her head. “Whatever you say, we will do.” Revakhaw and the others were gathering around her now, in a show of silent support.

Keren shook her head, for once agreeing with Gebuwrah. “Let’s not invite disaster. I’ll walk there right now, barefoot and looking ridiculous.”

“I’m sorry to cause you such trouble.” Meherah sounded anxious. “I’ll go with you and explain that I’m at fault for detaining you.”

“Perhaps He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies will be pleased to see you again,” Keren agreed. “But I doubt that my brother and my sister will care to know why I’m late.”

Led by Zehker, and followed by the obdurate Perek, they walked through the hardened clay streets. Keren braced herself against the feel of the dirt on her bare feet, and against the shocked stares of the citizens who happened to see her pass. She wouldn’t have blamed them if they laughed at her outrageous appearance. Perhaps later she might be amused, remembering this scene she was creating. At the moment, however, she was angry. When
they reached Ra-Anan’s residence, she stalked inside the gate. Instantly, she stopped, all the breath leaving her body.

Her father was seated stiffly on a mat before Nimr-Rada, Sharah, and Ra-Anan. Meshek was flushed, obviously enraged. And Sharah and Ra-Anan were both tightlipped, staring at him. They had been arguing, Keren was sure. Only Nimr-Rada seemed to be self-possessed, occupying the uppermost seat on a makeshift dais, fingering his ever-present flail, the languid Tselem at his feet. When he saw Keren, Nimr-Rada sat back, his endlessly dark eyes gleaming in undisguised pleasure.

“Come, my sister.” His deep, rich voice turned everyone in the crowded courtyard toward Keren. “Come visit with your father.”

Dazed, Keren slowly wiped her dusty feet on a mat provided by a servant. As she knelt and glimpsed her father’s disbelieving face, Keren remembered Neshar’s warning.
I beg you, if you cherish our father, you must make him leave you here. Reject him
.