He Who Lifts the Skies (46 page)

Slowly, following I’ma-Annah, I’ma-Ghinnah, and I’ma-Tirtsah, Keren advanced to her designated place, making sure that not even the edges of her ceremonial robes brushed anyone. Whispers and muttered comments arose in her wake.

While the First Mothers went to sit beside their husbands, Keren hesitated at the edge of her mat. Revakhaw knelt to unfasten Keren’s ceremonial sandals, then scooted away, holding them carefully. Keren knelt, facing Nimr-Rada, her decorative bow resting in her lap. He studied the bow and lifted a dark eyebrow.

“A new toy, Lady?”

She compelled herself to smile, noticing that he was wearing the ornately carved bone-and-ivory sword she had given him. Had he worn it to please her? He stared at
her now as if he would memorize every detail of her face, her hair, her eyes.… She felt blood rise to her cheeks.

He smiled. “You have recovered from your illness.”

She had to clear her throat. “Yes.”

“Welcome,” Shem said, raising his voice, making everyone turn to him. He introduced his brothers, the solemn Yepheth and the vividly expressive Khawm, who blinked when Keren looked at him.

Shem lifted his hands, praying, “O Most High, be with us today.…”

Keren noticed Nimr-Rada shifting impatiently. She glanced at him; he was watching her closely, his eyes impenetrable. She felt like prey. Was he wondering why she hadn’t bowed? Or if she had returned to the ways of the Most High? Well, let him wonder. Throughout the prayers, she watched him steadily, quietly, thinking,
Lawkham … Meherah … Yabal … Revakhaw … her son
…

He continued to stare. When Shem’s prayer ended, Nimr-Rada said, “No one has declared the purpose of this gathering. I ask that it be declared now.”

“Above all, this is a peaceful gathering,” Yepheth said firmly. “Everyone who speaks will be heard. No one will be denied.”

Disdainful, Nimr-Rada looked around. “Then let all my enemies speak, and I will answer them.” He waited, clearly enjoying the silence.

At last, Shem spoke calmly. “Whom do you consider to be an enemy? My son, your Uncle Asshur, here?” Shem indicated a handsome, solidly muscled man clad in plain gray wool and a wide fringe-tied leather belt. “What did he do to offend you?”

Another man—fine skinned with a long, thin beard said, “Asshur refused to pay tributes.”

“Do you say this for me or against me, O Mitzrayim, brother of my own father?” Nimr-Rada asked testily.

Mitzrayim raised a thin eyebrow at him. “It’s the truth, nephew. Nothing more. That’s why you took his lands.”

“Look to your own lands,” Nimr-Rada warned.

“Why should you threaten Mitzrayim?” the First Father Khawm asked Nimr-Rada, incredulous. “If it’s the truth, then let him speak. It’s well known that you’ve demanded tributes from all the other tribes—and punished them for refusing.” As Nimr-Rada stared coldly, Khawm said, “You are entirely too proud, son of my son.”

Stolidly Yepheth asked, “What other truths do you hate, O Nimr-Rada?”

“The Most High,” Keren answered.

Instantly, Nimr-Rada turned on her.
“You
pledged your loyalty to me—with your life!”

“And you extracted my pledge with your knife,” Keren said, gripping her decorative bow. “This scar is proof of that!” She touched the ridge of paled flesh on her throat.

“You threatened this young woman’s life?” Yepheth sounded shocked. “You cut at her throat?”

“She is a rebellious woman.” Nimr-Rada lowered his chin at Keren menacingly.

“Tell everyone why I rebelled,” Keren insisted. “Tell everyone how you’ve tried to turn me from loving the Most High to make me worship your god, Shemesh.”

Nimr-Rada glared at her, his obsidian-dark eyes unblinking.

He’s deciding how he will kill me
, Keren thought, sweat prickling over her body. She forced herself to return his stare. “Tell them how you killed your own son.”

Now Nimr-Rada eyed Revakhaw, who burst into frightened tears.

“You don’t deny these things?” Shem asked quietly. Nimr-Rada ignored him.

Keren persisted, trembling. “Tell them how you murdered Lawkham—one of your near kinsmen—for accidentally touching me as he went to help someone else.”

“That was no murder; he disobeyed my orders.” Nimr-Rada was tensed, gripping his ornate sword.

“What of your newborn son, whose body I saw you burn on your altar of Shemesh!”

“Did you see me kill him?” Nimr-Rada sneered. “No.”

“But I saw you kill my father,” another man said, furious. Zehker emerged from the crowd, weaponless.

Keren shivered at his words and his rage. As Nimr-Rada turned, she slipped an arrow from her quiver, praying she could protect Zehker.

He confronted Nimr-Rada. “You had no reason to kill my father.”

“He threatened me with his ax,” Nimr-Rada said. “You were a boy. You remember nothing.”

“He never lifted his ax against you—he only rejected your demand for a tribute!” Zehker cried. “You killed him for the joy of killing—then you wounded my mother, though I begged you for mercy! You left her on the steppes to die with my little sisters.”

“I spared you.”

“You took me as a tribute—a remembrance of your first murders!
Zehker
—a memento.” Zehker spat toward Nimr-Rada. “That’s for the name you gave me!”

Wielding the bone sword, Nimr-Rada leaped to his feet.

Keren raised her bow and cried, “Nimr-Rada!” He flashed a look at her, then froze. Keren aimed for his heart.

“Lower your weapons!” Shem commanded. “Karan, put down the bow.”

“No,” Keren said through clenched teeth, aware of Metiyl to Nimr-Rada’s left, raising an ax.

“Metiyl, sit down. Lower your weapons,” Shem repeated. “Nimr-Rada, give me your sword. Karan, put down your bow.”

“No.” Sweat glided down her cheeks like tears. She held her aim.

Softly persuasive, he urged, “Metiyl, Zehker, sit down.”

They retreated reluctantly.

Again Shem said, “Nimr-Rada, give me your sword so Karan will put down her weapon.”

Nimr-Rada scornfully handed his sword to Shem, then sat down again, sliding his hand into his leopard-skin wrap
—for a knife
, Keren thought, still aiming her bow and arrow.

Contemptuous, Nimr-Rada sneered, “You have made yourself my enemy,
woman
. Pray your Most High protects you.”

“Unlike your Shemesh,” Keren replied, holding his gaze. She focused on him completely now—as he had trained her to kill.

Before she could release the arrow, a blade slashed Nimr-Rada’s throat, erupting in blood. Nimr-Rada’s eyes widened, disbelieving, as he lifted his hands to his throat in a futile effort to save himself from his own sword. He toppled.

Amid sudden screams, curses, and the chaos of others fleeing, Keren lowered her bow and stared at Nimr-Rada’s executioner: Shem.

Twenty-Five

UNABLE TO BELIEVE what she had seen, Keren said, “Father of my Fathers …”

Shem shook his head at her gently and said, “Child, you didn’t obey me. But I forgive you.…”

Forcefully he pulled out Nimr-Rada’s bloodied sword. His brothers joined him, standing guard over Nimr-Rada’s bleeding corpse, watching his guardsmen flee in panic. Behind Shem, I’ma-Annah burst into tears, while I’ma-Ghinnah and I’ma-Tirtsah reached for her, dazed.

“Lady!” Her guardsman Ethniy rushed toward Keren; his eyes almost rolled in alarm. “Where are Na’ah and the others?”

Metiyl’s son Khawrawsh joined them swiftly, his new ax flashing as he motioned Keren and the weeping Revakhaw outside. “My father says you must leave the meeting area. I’ll guard you. Where are your attendants?”

“Outside; we’ll find them.” Gripping her bow, Keren stood, looking across the mats at Zehker.

He brandished an ax, calling urgently, “Go! Keep watch; let us know if his guardsmen return.”

His
guardsmen. Keren glanced at Nimr-Rada’s body, disbelieving. His eyes stared at nothingness. He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies had truly rejoined the dust of the earth.

Neshar emerged from his hiding place behind the tent, carrying an ax.

“Get her out of here,” he begged Keren, nodding toward Revakhaw, who stood tearfully clutching Keren’s sandals.

Keren led Revakhaw from the meeting area. Outside, she scanned the encampment for Tsinnah and her other attendants. She didn’t see them. But Nimr-Rada’s guardsmen were scattering, mounting their horses, leaving their tents and many of their weapons. Apparently they feared retribution from the tribes they had oppressed for so long.

“Could Tsinnah be in the women’s tent?” Khawrawsh wondered aloud, sounding agitated. Eyeing him, Keren realized that his winter-long flirtation with Tsinnah had been serious; he was desperate to find her.

Keren hurried toward the tent; shaded figures lingered inside. Clutching her bow and arrow, she charged through the entrance, looked around, and sighed her relief. Alatah, Tsinnah, and Na’ah were huddled on a mat with Bekiyrah, all of them wet eyed and frightened.

Bekiyrah stood swiftly, crying, “Is my husband dead?”

“No,” Keren said. “Asshur is with the other men.” Reluctantly she added, “The Father of my Fathers put Nimr-Rada to death.”

“Shem …?” Bekiyrah faltered, stunned.

Still half shocked herself, Keren nodded.

Beside her now, Revakhaw tossed Keren’s sandals away, yelling, “He’s dead! He’s truly dead. And we’re alive!”

Annah lay in the women’s tent, praying she had finished weeping for a while. She hadn’t been this upset since the Great Destruction. Nimr-Rada was actually dead, and Shem—her own dear Shem—had struck him down. Annah shut her eyes against the horrible image. She pleaded with the Most High.
Take this memory from me, of my beloved shedding another man’s blood
.

Someone pressed a wet cloth to her face. Looking up, Annah saw Tirtsah and Ghinnah leaning over her. Tirtsah knelt.

“Ma’adannah, Shem had no choice. Nimr-Rada was corrupted; he would have destroyed us all.”

“He was your grandson,” Annah said brokenly. “I’m sorry.”

Tirtsah’s eyes brimmed. “I wish he hadn’t been.…” She wept as Ghinnah hugged her, silent and swollen faced.

Grieving, Annah pulled the wet cloth over her eyes.

Still holding her bow, Keren watched with Khawrawsh and Ethniy from their place before the women’s tent. A hush had settled over everything; men were quietly shifting their tents and gear and dividing the belongings of Nimr-Rada and his men.

Now Ashkenaz, her mother’s brother, approached, brawny and full bearded. Keren hadn’t seen him in years.

He beamed at her, his voice raspy but friendly. “The horsemen have all fled. I don’t believe they’ll come back. But I’ve told everyone here to bring their tents close in; we’ll keep watch tonight.”

They’re gone
, Keren thought. It seemed so unreal. She stared at her uncle blankly, too dazed to acknowledge him properly.

He frowned. “Have you forgotten me, Karan-child? I’m hurt.”

“Forgive me, Uncle Ashkenaz. I haven’t forgotten you; I’m just a little … scared.” Keren smiled now, trusting him. He looked half wild, like one who had lived his entire life in the highlands.

Her uncle’s brown eyes crinkled at the corners. “Well, don’t worry. When you’ve married that guardsman of yours, you should come live in my tribe. We’re close to the Ancient Ones, but far enough from those horsemen; if they want revenge, you’d be safe with us.”

“Thank you. I’ll remember your invitation.” Alerted by his reference to Zehker, Keren looked around, concerned. She hadn’t seen him yet. “Are the First Fathers still in their meeting place?”

Ashkenaz straightened, sober now. “Yes. And I think you should know: They’ve cut Nimr-Rada’s body into pieces—to be sent to the Great City and to other tribes as a warning. Nimr-Rada should never have rebelled against the Most High.”

Keren quelled her squeamishness, imagining Nimr-Rada hacked apart like some slaughtered bull. And Zehker, Metiyl, and Neshar all had axes.… She lowered her head. “I’m glad you told me, Uncle. Thank you.”

“Certainly.” He marched away, whistling and giving orders to others—a man in benevolent control of his tribe.