He Who Lifts the Skies (42 page)

“Listen to me,” Shem interrupted quietly, halting Karan’s tirade. “You bound yourself to Nimr-Rada with your oaths.
Let your word stand.”

“What?” Karan gaped at him, clearly shaken. And Naomi stared at Shem as if he had lost his mind.

But Noakh straightened, grieving yet watchful. “Tell us your thoughts, my son.”

“She should honor her oaths,” Shem said, “until those oaths are openly judged to be against the will of the Most High.”

“And when might this ‘judging’ be?” Naomi demanded, releasing the squirming Achyow, who instantly darted outside.

“Midsummer, next year.” Shem held Karan with a steady gaze. “You should confront Nimr-Rada openly, honorably, on a day he surely considers most favorable—the longest day of Shemesh, his Sun. We will summon the leaders of all the tribes to hear your testimony. And we will hear his testimony, then judge the truth.”

Karan looked ill. Moved by her misery, Annah touched Shem’s arm. He looked at Annah, his eyes as dark and wonderful as when they first met.
I love you
, Annah thought.

Quietly she asked, “Shouldn’t our Karan-child stay with us until this judging?”

“She should stay with her mother, to honor her word,” Shem murmured. Smiling, he added, “But she should visit us whenever possible, as she has done today.” Then his smile disappeared as he spoke to Karan. “Remember your name,
Karan
. Push Nimr-Rada to confront you. Use your testimony to gore his soul until he cannot escape the truth.”

Weakly, Karan nodded. Annah wondered if she was about to faint, but Karan excused herself quietly and left the lodge, followed by Revakhaw, who seemed a mere shadow in Karan’s footsteps. Shutting her eyes, Annah
prayed for both women.

Aloud, Noakh said, “We should offer prayers and sacrifices to the Most High. For their protection, and for ours.”

Shem nodded, then paused. Very softly, he spoke to Annah. “Beloved, the children of our children are older than we were at these same ages.…”

Unwilling to hear what he was about to say, Annah raised a hand, shaking her head.
Don’t say it
, she pleaded in her thoughts.
It’s not true. They cannot be older than we were
.

Shem kissed her upraised hand quietly. Annah bit down her tears.

Keren felt the same quivering weakness she had felt when wading from the river after retrieving Lawkham’s body. Confront Nimr-Rada? How? He would kill her. He would kill them all. This tribal gathering and judging was not what she had anticipated from Shem. But what had she anticipated? Had she expected Shem or Noakh to say, “Certainly, Karan-child, go kill that Nimr-Rada”?

No. Being the elders, they wanted to negotiate with Nimr-Rada, bringing him peaceably to reason. But Nimr-Rada would never be peaceable. And he held such contempt for the Ancient Ones.

Beside her, Revakhaw said,
“Karan
suits you. After all, you’ve been pushing Nimr-Rada since the first day I met you. Truly, the Ancient Ones are right; you’re the only person alive capable of pushing him.”

Keren grimaced, feeling incapable of pushing Nimr-Rada into anything just now, particularly a tribal meeting intended to strip him of his spiritual pretensions. Quietly, she said, “Look. My brother is talking with Zehker.”

Like two guilty boys, Neshar and Zehker stepped apart as Keren and Revakhaw approached. Keren’s distress eased as she greeted Neshar. “How did you escape?”

“I’m dead,” he answered calmly, his face lean and handsome. “I went hunting alone, made a kill, then tore my garments, bloodied them, and scattered them about with some of my weapons. If the Most High blesses us, our Nimr-Rada will believe I’m in some predator’s gut.”

“Ugh.” Revakhaw winced.

Neshar stared at her. “Lady,” he said gently, formally acknowledging her as Nimr-Rada’s wife, “if I could do anything to compensate you for the sorrows Sharah and the others have inflicted upon you, I would.”

Revakhaw nodded and ducked her head, almost in tears. Grieving, Keren glanced from Revakhaw to Neshar, who seemed infinitely saddened … and infatuated.

Despondent, Keren thought,
They might have been happy together
.

Meeting Keren’s gaze, Neshar changed the subject. “I have returned to the Most High. I believe that our brothers—excluding Ra-Anan—will return to Him eventually. They realize Nimr-Rada is not the Promised One.”

Before Keren could exclaim her delight, Neshar nudged the silent Zehker. “We should wash. I’m sure the Ancient Ones will offer a sacrifice this evening—for all of us.”

Zehker nodded agreement, eyeing Keren. She gasped, suddenly realizing that he had joined Neshar in returning to the Most High. Exhilarated, she restrained herself from hugging Zehker. Instead she laughed at him, almost dancing.

He grinned, the first genuine smile he had dared to reveal; the sight of his wonderful dimples took her breath away.

She stepped back, sorely tempted by that grin. “Go,
before I touch you,” she warned him.

Zehker bowed almost jauntily and went with Neshar to the stream that flowed down the lower hills near the lodge. Keren watched them go, sighing, enthralled.

A hand gripped her arm. Keren jumped, remembering Revakhaw. “You
love
him,” Revakhaw gasped, clearly stunned. “And he loves you.…”

“Yes,” Keren agreed simply. “Forgive us; we forgot ourselves. Now our lives depend upon your silence.”

“As if I would say anything to anyone,” Revakhaw protested indignantly, showing some of her former spirit.

Keren smiled, then sighed again, wishing Revakhaw were free to marry; she would have encouraged her to escape with Neshar.

“It was kind of your brother to speak to me,” Revakhaw said, mournful now.

Carefully neutral, Keren murmured, “He longs to protect you.”

“Oh.” Revakhaw hesitated, then shook her head. “No one can protect me.”

“Only the Most High.”

“Your Most High …”

“And Neshar’s Most High.”

Revakhaw stared at Keren, silent.

Sacrificial smoke drifted over them all as Noakh raised his hands in praise to the Most High. Keren watched Revakhaw carefully. She was crying again, no doubt remembering that her infant son’s body had been consumed in such a fire. But to a nonexistent god. Keren resolved to talk to her friend later, when Revakhaw was ready to listen.
Calm now, Keren lowered her face into her hands and closed her eyes, cherishing her time with the Most High. She felt forgiven. And loved.

When they had offered their last prayers, and the fire was dwindling, Shem approached Keren. “I know you are worried about this midsummer gathering, daughter. But don’t be afraid. The Most High guards you in this—as He has protected you thus far. As for Nimr-Rada, you must convince him to accept our summons.”

“How can I convince him from a distance?” Keren wondered aloud. Pondering this, she looked down at her bare feet, stripped of her scorned ceremonial sandals. Humbly bared feet were the only way to approach the Most High on His holy ground before His altar. A thought occurred to her, and she smiled, making Shem raise a dark eyebrow.

Answering his unspoken question, Keren said, “He will be convinced.”

Meysha and Darak, Eliyshama’s two older sons, agreed to act as messengers for the Ancient Ones. To verify that Noakh and Shem had truly instigated this formal midsummer gathering, Meysha wore Noakh’s distinctive gold-leaf pendant, while Shem had given Darak a gold medallion embossed with a tapering branch—the handiwork of Annah’s father before the Great Destruction.

“One more thing,” Annah murmured, before the two young men departed. She removed her cherished shell carving—made by Shem—and placed its dark cord around Meysha’s neck. “Take this to Yeiysh, son of your cousin Metiyl. Ask Yeiysh to accompany you and to wear this. If the three of you must separate to notify all the tribes, then
each of you will wear one of our tokens.”

“I’ma-Annah,” Meysha protested, stricken. “How can you give up your wonderful carving?”

“This is important,” Annah said gently, blinking down her tears. “Everyone will recognize it, and we know you will bring these things back to us again.”

“We will, Ma’adannah,” Darak promised, hugging her earnestly, then embracing Noakh and Shem.

As they watched the two young men leave, burdened with traveling packs and weapons, Noakh teased Annah. “They love you more!”

She laughed, fondly denying his words.

The two young men paused at the bottom of the slope, waved them a cheerful farewell, and headed off to the nearest tribe, the sprawling family of Metiyl.

“Most High, protect them,” Noakh sighed aloud.

“Metiyl will be visiting us soon,” Annah announced, delighted.

Returned from their successful hunting trip, Erek, Becay, Ethniy, and Abdiy all expected praise from Keren. They had brought her two deer, plus partridges, hares, and fox furs. Keren thanked them politely and said, “Now, you’ll need some of this meat for a journey: I must send a message to He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies.”

“But someone should stay to guard you, Lady,” Ethniy objected, frowning.

“My father is as strict as Zehker,” Keren pointed out. “And Zehker is staying. Though you may stay too, Ethniy. Three men traveling together will be safe enough.”

Ethniy clearly regretted his impulsiveness; he eyed
Zehker, who was stacking chopped wood near Meshek’s stable adjoining the lodge. Keren smiled, certain that Ethniy was correctly imagining that he would be chopping wood for the rest of the summer, into autumn. He would also be building two small lodges: one for Keren and her attendants, and another for himself and Zehker.

“Let it be as you say, Lady,” Becay said impatiently. “Tell us your message for He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies.”

“Tell him I will be fully recovered at the end of the year, as he said. Also tell him that the Ancient Ones wish to speak to him personally at a midsummer gathering of all the tribal leaders at the source of the eastern river. Here …” Keren handed her right ceremonial sandal to the bewildered Erek. Carefully expressionless, she said, “He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies will understand why I have sent him this.”

The guardsmen frowned, doubtful. Keren met their gazes steadily, knowing she looked frail because she had deliberately shunned meals in their absence. “Thank you,” she said. “I realize this is a burden for you.”