He Who Lifts the Skies (11 page)

You are perfect
, Keren thought, gazing down at Gibbawr, Sharah’s dark-haired infant son. He was sleeping, nestled against her chest in a carrying pouch of supple leather.
You’ve been the brightest part of this winter for me. If you’d only sleep during the night as you do during the daytime. Your mother would be so much happier
.

Keren grimaced. At least Sharah was sleeping now. Perhaps she would be less irritable when she awoke. Overwhelmed by the fatigue of caring for an infant, Sharah regarded her tiny son as mere work to be handed off to the nearest woman—usually Keren.

But I don’t mind
, Keren thought, smiling at her sleeping nephew’s chubby face.

Shivering in an errant draft, Keren pulled an untrimmed deerskin coverlet around her shoulders, then settled down near the fire to pick through some pounded barley. As she worked, she rocked Gibbawr.
I wish you were mine
, she thought, admiring the dark forelock of his feather-soft hair.
Whenever I hold you, I desperately want a child of my own. I want many children. Perhaps I should marry Yithran after all
.

Nihyah hurried in just then, her arms full of coarsely split pieces of dried wood. Her narrow brown face was alight, smiling. “Bezeq and Yithran have returned from their hunting trip; they’ll be coming in soon. What can we give them to eat?”

“Soup,” Keren answered, hastily looking down to prevent Nihyah from noticing her embarrassment at the mention of Yithran. “And wheat cakes and dried olives.” As she spoke, she donned a leather mitt and uncovered a wide-shouldered clay pot, steaming at the hearth. Bits of venison in the broth would enhance the barley, and she would add dried herbs and some salt to season it. That would satisfy the hungry Bezeq and Yithran for a while. Shielding Gibbawr with one arm, Keren dumped the barley into the pot, stirred it, and recovered the pot.

“I’ll tend this,” Nihyah told Keren, edging her away from the hearth. “You take Gibbawr to his mother. He will be hungry soon.”

“Thank you. I’m sure you’re right.” Keren stood, then hesitated. Bezeq was coming into the lodge, heavily clad in furs. His angular, handsomely bearded face brightened as he caught sight of her holding Gibbawr.

Lifting one big, sinewy hand, he beckoned eagerly. “Let me see my son. Has he grown while I’ve been away?”

“You’ve been gone for only two days, my brother,” Keren reminded him, smiling. Gibbawr was stretching within the confines of his carrying pouch, apparently recognizing his father’s deep voice. Keren eased the strap of the pouch off her shoulders and presented the now-awake Gibbawr to his father.

“Aha!” Bezeq lifted his infant son, holding him face-to-face. “Have you missed me, my son? Well, when you’re old enough, you’ll come hunting with me. Then you’ll miss your mother instead. Am I right?”

Gibbawr squawked plaintively—his usual prelude to a full-throated wail. Bezeq grinned and quickly handed him to Keren. “I’ll let you hold him again, my sister. When he’s happy, bring him to me.”

“As you say.” Keren started to turn from Bezeq, but he lifted one hand, silently asking her to wait. Wondering, she glanced up at him. Bezeq’s smile was gone.

Emphatically, he said, “Stay with us, Keren. Marry my brother. He desires you as his wife—more than he has ever desired any other woman.”

How like you
, Keren thought, watching her brother-in-law steadily.
You are so bold, you and Yithran; you aren’t even trying to enlist your mother to speak to me as proper men should. And yet, that’s part of your charm
.

Gibbawr was crying now. Keren lifted him to her shoulder and patted his small, sturdy back soothingly. “Give me a while to consider your request. I’ll make my reply to your mother; it would be terrible if this should take her by surprise.”

“I’ll speak to her,” Bezeq assured Keren, not the least bit shamed by her indirect rebuke. “Will you tell my Sharah that I’ve returned?”

“I’ll tell her.”
He looks so happy
, Keren thought, turning from Bezeq.
Despite all of Sharah’s tantrums, he’s still infatuated with her
.

Her heart thudding in an odd mixture of distress and elation, Keren hurried into the small sleeping area to face Sharah. Gibbawr was squalling, frantic for nourishment.

Even as she entered the dimly lit sleeping area, Keren heard Sharah’s sleep-roughened voice. “He’s crying already? It seems I just fell asleep. Did I hear Bezeq talking?”

“He’s returned from his hunting trip,” Keren answered above the baby’s angry wail. She crouched beside the low bed, handing Gibbawr to Sharah. Sighing heavily, Sharah took the infant in her arms.

As Gibbawr hushed and settled in to nurse, Sharah
grumbled, “I’m so tired, and this child is always hungry. Now Bezeq will want my attention as well. I suppose he’s brought us venison again?”

“I suppose,” Keren murmured, not daring to say more.

Sharah exhaled her disgust. “I’m sick of venison. I’m sick of everything. Nothing is as I expected it would be. I had more freedom in the lodge of our father. Though I despised that place too.

“Listen, Keren, you must help me to persuade my husband to lead us out of these hills this year. I want to visit the plains and see the cities where our brothers live.”

“Why should you care to visit our brothers? You’ve always been so rude to them that they’d hardly welcome our company.”

“It would be a change!” Suddenly ferocious, Sharah snatched Keren’s hair. “Say that you’ll help me. Bezeq will listen to us if we’re united in this.”

“You’re presuming I’ll stay,” Keren answered through gritted teeth. She didn’t dare to pull away. The roots of her scalp were tingling, burning as Sharah twisted her hair even tighter. “But yes, Sharah, you have my word. I’ll speak to Bezeq for your sake—and for his. Now, let me go before we fight and upset your son.”

“Thank you.” Sharah released Keren’s hair, polite now, as if they’d just finished a peaceable visit. “And I think you should stay and marry Yithran.”

“The way you behave toward me, my sister, I’m sure I’ll refuse.”

“It’s the lack of sleep.” Sharah actually sounded remorseful, exhausted. “I’m so tired I can’t even think clearly. Sometimes I think I’ll go mad. You must forgive me.”

“I forgive you,” Keren muttered, willing the obligatory words past her lips. “But I won’t stay here if you continue
to treat me so rudely, Sharah. I don’t care if I have to walk all the way back to our father’s lodge by myself.”

“Yithran will follow you. He won’t give up, Keren.” Disgusted again, Sharah said, “He’s just like his brother.”

Keren stared at her sister’s exquisite profile, which was barely discernable in the dim light filtering in from the hearth of the main room.
You don’t love your husband
, she thought to Sharah.
But he does love you. How I pity you both
.

Nihyah had left the doorway of the lodge open, and the fresh spring air and the clear sunlight made Keren long to run outside.
Later
, she told herself.
When my work is done
. She had promised Nihyah that she would finish the grain cakes for their evening meal, so Nihyah could mend a leather tunic.

“Yithran hopes you will consider him as a husband,” Nihyah told Keren, as she seated herself nearby and began to pick through an assortment of bone needles. “So I’m asking, Keren: What do you say to my Yithran?”

Keren put a small log on the lowering hearth flames, then spoke reluctantly. “If you don’t approve, Mother of Bezeq, then I’ll refuse to marry Yithran. I won’t be the cause of distress between you and your second son.” As she waited for Nihyah’s answer, Keren pinched a lump of dough from the wooden kneading trough and pressed it between her fingers, working it into a small cake, praying her nervousness didn’t show.

Do I want to marry Yithran?
If she didn’t, then how could she refuse him without offending his entire tribe? But if Nihyah was against the match, then her own fears meant nothing either way.

“I approve,” Nihyah said, allowing Keren a smile. “But you hesitate, Keren. And I don’t want you to marry my son if you aren’t sure of your feelings for him. Don’t let Yithran—or Bezeq—coerce you into this marriage.”

“Thank you for understanding.” Keren sighed, deeply relieved. She frowned at the dough; it was sticking to her fingers because she had forgotten to grease her hands. “I’ll give you my answer in a few weeks.”

Kneeling in the grass beside Keren, Yithran spoke quietly, “It’s been a month now. I’ve allowed you more time than you requested.”

Keren smiled and picked through the basket of crisp green shoots she had gathered to extend their evening meal. “I’ve noticed. And I didn’t think you could ever be so patient.” Yithran’s behavior these past few weeks had been a source of wonder to Keren, and to everyone in the tribe. He was thoughtful now, guarding his temper, seeking advice from the older men, working hard in the lower fields, then doing endless chores for his mother, and behaving with perfect courtesy toward Keren. Even as Yithran spoke to her, Nihyah and the hugely pregnant Khuldah were watching them from the nearby stream, for Yithran was careful never to approach Keren when she was alone.

He sighed gustily. “I’ve been thinking that you won’t want to live so close to your sister for all your life. And you’d miss your parents and the Ancient Ones. I’ve been thinking, too, that if you become my wife, eventually we might lead our own tribe nearer to your parents.”

“You don’t need to say these things to please me.”

Keren stripped the tough outer layer off a shoot. “I don’t long to be the matriarch of a tribe.”

“All the more reason for you to be one,” Yithran answered, urging her to reconsider. “You’d never use your status to please yourself. You would think of others instead. Look how you’ve been able to strike a balance between my mother and your sister. Some of the older women tried to negotiate peace between them before you arrived, and they failed. But you’ve managed them both without offending either one.”

“I happen to understand Sharah and your mother,” Keren pointed out. “Perhaps the other women simply weren’t close enough to either of them to have any real effect on their opinions.” She reached for another shoot, but Yithran covered the basket with one wide brown hand, making her look at him.

“Marry me,” he pleaded, actually humble.

You love me
, Keren thought, secretly admiring his smooth, even features.
And if I don’t love you now, I will eventually. I know we’d be happy together, and have children together
. She looked away, trying to compose herself. “When I left the Lodge of the Ancient Ones, I gave my word to my father that I would not pledge myself to any young man, unless I first sent that young man to speak with him. So I’m asking that you honor my father’s request: Go to my father. Tell him that I’ve sent you and ask for his blessing on our marriage. If he agrees, then I’ll agree.”

“I’m leaving now!” His eyes shining, full of fire, Yithran jumped to his feet, started back toward the stone-and-timber lodges, then stopped, as if he had forgotten something. He returned quickly and knelt beside her again. “If your father agrees, then should we plan to meet him at an encampment after the harvest?”

“Will you actually return before then?” Keren asked, unable to resist teasing him.

Yithran grinned. “I’ll run all the way. Here … I almost forgot to give you this. I found the stone years ago. And I traded other stones like it to have this made on my last hunting trip.” Reaching into the leather pouch slung at his waist, Yithran produced a slender cuff bracelet of gold, hardened and tinted pink by the addition of copper. A clear oval crystal gleamed from the band’s smooth, polished center. Keren gasped at the sight of it but immediately shook her head. “It’s beautiful, Yithran, but I can’t accept it. Not yet.”

“It’s not a token of betrothal,” Yithran argued. “Only a remembrance. I don’t want you to forget me while I’m gone.” He set the bracelet on the pile of shoots and stood, leaving her no choice but to accept his gift. Slowly Keren took the bracelet and slipped it onto her wrist. It fit perfectly.