He Who Lifts the Skies (15 page)

“Straighten up,” Sharah hissed, thumping Keren’s back with her fist. “Don’t be such a coward. Really, as fearful as you are, I should be sitting ahead of you now.”

“You wanted me to sit in front so you could rest,” Keren reminded Sharah, her fear negated by a fresh surge of anger. “Don’t worry, O Woman-of-No-Color. Those horsemen will see you wherever you are.” As she spoke, Keren heard the disdain and rage in her own voice.
I sound like Sharah
, she realized, hating the thought.
O Most High, help me; I do not wish to become like my sister
.

Lifting her chin, Keren studied Nimr-Rada’s broad, leopard-skin-cloaked back. The instant she looked at him, Keren was unable to look away; now Nimr-Rada radiated a boundless charisma that commanded the admiration of his followers.

The Great King’s horsemen were stopping, dividing
their ranks so he could ride in among them. Lifting the lead reins of Keren and Sharah’s horse, Nimr-Rada called out to his men, “I have done what I said I would do! I have brought my sisters—who are like no others—to dwell among my people!”

Hearing this, Keren longed to shrink down into nothingness so she would not have to endure the scrutiny of countless avid eyes. But she kept her gaze fixed on Nimr-Rada. They were riding in among the horsemen, who responded in a high, unified, tongue-rattling cry of triumph. The piercing sound chilled Keren, making the hair tingle and crawl in her scalp. Sharah seemed equally affected and tightened her arms about Keren until Keren couldn’t draw in a full breath.

Using his free arm, Nimr-Rada lifted his elaborately carved flail, silencing his men. “Tonight, we celebrate the arrival of my two sisters. Go ahead of us to prepare our places!” Grandly he waved his flail toward their encampment, which was already set up in the distance amid the flowing, flowering grasses of the plains.

Yowling enthusiastically, Nimr-Rada’s horsemen broke their formations and kicked their horses into a full gallop. Unnerved, feeling her own horse start to move after them, Keren dug her knees hard into the creature’s sides, while pulling on its mane, causing it to balk. Ahead of them, still holding the reins, Nimr-Rada was jolted backward by Keren’s action but swiftly released his hold on the reins of Keren’s horse to prevent himself from falling off his own horse.

“Why did you do that?” Sharah screeched in Keren’s ear. “You’re mindless!”

Before Keren could stammer a response, Nimr-Rada turned his horse about and faced her. His dark eyes glittered,
and his voice was scathing. “I will choose to believe that you acted in pure ignorance, my sister. This time. Next time, I will beat you bloody.”

Without waiting for Keren to reply, Nimr-Rada snatched the lead reins once more and urged his own horse ahead. Glancing to her left, Keren caught a tight-lipped, sidelong look from Zehker, while Lawkham—at her right—said, “If you had been anyone else, He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies would have knocked you senseless and left you for the vultures.”

“You must learn,” Zehker muttered, his tone as cryptic as his words.

Their words wounded Keren more than Sharah’s furious pinches and digs to her ribs. No one spoke to her as they rode into the huge encampment—a series of smaller leather-tented camps, all encircling the most spectacular painted-leather tent, which obviously belonged to Nimr-Rada.

As Nimr-Rada’s horsemen were tending their horses and building small hearths for their evening fires, Keren noticed his guardsmen scurrying throughout the encampment, whispering to their newly met companions, gesturing toward Keren emphatically.

These new horsemen are learning that I’m like death to them
, Keren realized, feeling ill.
They’re telling each other that I must be managed like the most poisonous creature alive
.

“You will sleep here tonight,” Nimr-Rada told Keren and Sharah, as he drew their horse to a standstill in front of a circular leather tent, set up within a stone’s throw of his own. He dismounted and helped Sharah down, ignoring Keren completely. “This tent will be your dwelling until we reach the Great City. There, you will each have your own household.”

“Will I be separated from you?” Sharah asked, seeming alarmed, touching Nimr-Rada’s leopard-skin-clad chest to make him answer her. Smiling, he enfolded Sharah’s colorless hand with one large, brown fist.

“You, my Sharah, will not discard me as easily as you discarded that Bezeq.”

His words sounded more like a warning than an endearment.

Stiff and sore, Keren managed to slide off her horse. As she entered the tent with Sharah, she said, “Such possessiveness from any man would frighten me, Sharah. Aren’t you afraid?”

“No.” Pushing her hair back in an airy gesture, Sharah said, “I’ll have the most powerful man on earth as my husband. What more could I want? You, however, will never have a husband. You will never be touched by any man. And you have only yourself to blame.”

I blame you
, Keren thought, fuming. But it would be useless to say so. Yet it wasn’t just her fear of angering Sharah that restrained her. She realized that she did not mourn for Yithran as intensely as she should. Perhaps her regard for him would never have equaled the deeply rooted love she had recognized between her I’ma-Annah and the Father of her Fathers, Shem.

Keren’s thoughts of Yithran were dashed as two heavy bundles of furs hurtled through the tent’s entry flap.

Jumping up, Sharah screeched, “I won’t endure this! When we arrive in the Great City, no one will throw my belongings around like rubbish!”

“I’m grateful they’ve thought to give us sleeping furs at all,” Keren said. As she picked up the bundles and untied them, another bundle bounced through the entry flap, surprising Keren into a burst of laughter. Peering out the
entry, she saw Lawkham sauntering away, obviously pleased with himself.

You’re a rascal
, she thought, smiling. Her amusement faded when she saw Zehker. Armed with a spear, he stood just outside the tent. He gave her one impenetrable look, then deliberately turned the other way. Behind her, Sharah gave Keren a sharp nudge.

“See, he despises you. But forget him. Let’s prepare for the evening meal.”

One of the bundles, so rudely presented by Lawkham, contained a carved wooden comb, which Sharah immediately claimed for herself. Grudgingly, she shared the comb with Keren before the evening meal. Keren longed for a bath, but that was out of the question in this encampment of men. She used some drinking water to rinse her hands and face—a poor alternative to a refreshing scrub, or a swim in the river.

At dusk, they joined Nimr-Rada in a place of honor before the great hearth near his tent. Seated on the edge of the mat farthest from Nimr-Rada and Sharah, Keren gaped at the many foods offered for the evening meal. Tiny roasted birds—glazed and golden—presented on skewers, fragrant simmered grains, steaming root vegetables glistening with oil, pungent mixtures of fruit and wine, flat herb bread, and slices of venison so hotly spiced that she half choked.

Nimr-Rada laughed at her, obviously enjoying the sight of her sniffling and mopping her face. After their meal, however, he vanished into the darkness without a word.

Keren stood, planning to return to her tent, but Zehker detained her with a wave of his spear. “Stay,” he commanded, the word terse and toneless.

Beside Keren, Sharah sputtered contemptuously. “You, Zehker, are so …”

Her words were drowned out by the sudden thunder of drums and the blaring of horns, which instantly melded into a heartbeatlike rhythm accented by flutes and innumerable chimes. A herd of animals charged toward the fire from the fringes of darkness. No, not animals, Keren realized, but men clothed in the whole hides of a multitude of creatures: deer, lions, bulls, bears, and some creatures she had never seen.

The pulse of the music quickened, drawing Keren into the scene before her. A hunter, tall and powerfully muscled, burst in upon the portrayed herd with such speed that she pulled back, genuinely startled. The weapons in the hand of this hunter were more than mere weapons; they were instruments of balance, cadence, and astonishing grace. Keren had never seen such spectacular dancing before. This was not simply a celebration of joy before the Most High. It wasn’t a celebration for the Most High at all; it was a celebration of the power of one man—Nimr-Rada, the hunter.

As she recognized the hunter-dancer, he turned to her and to Sharah, his eyes fiery, his presence wholly captivating. Keren was so stunned that she couldn’t move, not even when he whipped his weapons toward her face, keeping time with the rhythm of his dancing. She swallowed hard, attracted despite her revulsion.

Now I understand why all the people of the earth long to follow you. I understand why they think you must be the Promised One sent by the Most High
.

From the shadows, Zehker watched Keren. She was
staring at Nimr-Rada, obviously captivated as a child in a dream.
I am responsible for placing her in such danger
, he thought, crushed by his sense of guilt.
I should have helped her to escape while there was time. But that chance is gone
.

The most he could do now would be to keep Nimr-Rada and his believers from destroying Keren with all their schemes.
You must learn to outwit Nimr-Rada and his fanatics
, he thought to Keren.
I will be sure you do
.

Nine

KEREN SHIFTED uncomfortably in her designated kneeling place on a mat shaded by a pale, rough-edged leather canopy. Sharah knelt at her right, and beyond Sharah sat Nimr-Rada, wearing all his gold and emanating power. They had arrived at this settlement only last night, but already Nimr-Rada was formally meeting settlement leaders and the leaders of nearby tribes.

The leaders sat on rough grass mats before the Great King, unprotected from the midday sun. The leaders’ families stood behind them, listening and staring at Keren, Sharah, and Nimr-Rada. Keren wondered how they could endure the heat. She was sweating and becoming parched. The rough-clothed men, however, talked endlessly with Nimr-Rada about harvests, gatherings, metalworking, water sources, and tribal disputes. And they begged Nimr-Rada’s permission to present some
gifts he had previously requested of them.

Gifts?
Keren stiffened, disgusted. Nimr-Rada had obviously demanded tributes from these people as protection against harassment from his horsemen. Even so, the people seemed glad to pay tributes—and to give Nimr-Rada authority over them.

As others retrieved the promised gifts, the energetic leader of the settlement crouched beside Nimr-Rada, murmuring explanations and descriptions.

Listening briefly, Nimr-Rada raised one dark eyebrow at Keren and spoke formally. “Lady, these are yours.”

Five leather-clad young women knelt before Keren. Eyes lowered, they presented her with a highly polished obsidian hand mirror; round gleaming copper trays; furs of fox, beaver, and marten; finely carved wooden bowls; and a lavish necklace of copper-hardened gold, set with striking bloodred stones.

The instant the necklace was presented, Keren felt her sister’s furious, jabbing nudges in her ribs.
You may have the necklace
, Keren thought, refusing to acknowledge the envious Sharah. Instead, she looked over at Nimr-Rada, who was staring at her hard.

“Why should I accept these gifts?” she demanded, suspicious.

Nimr-Rada seemed offended. “These young women will be your attendants,” he informed her coldly, ignoring her question. “They will be with you constantly from this time forward. Never come into my presence unless they are with you. Never go anywhere, or speak to anyone, unless they are with you.”

Appalled, Keren looked at the pretty young women, who were obviously terrified. Two trembled visibly; the other three bowed their dark heads, clasping their hands
tightly in their laps.

“They are as frightened and unwilling to leave their families as I was, O King,” Keren pointed out, too angry to be cowed by Nimr-Rada’s glare. “How can you justify taking them from their loved ones?”

“You will not question me!” Nimr-Rada snapped. “You will simply obey. As for you, my Sharah, these attendants will be yours.” Waving a broad hand, he indicated another group—some of them wearing their hair braided and bound in the manner of married women.

Sharah leaned forward eagerly, staring at the gifts in the hands of her would-be attendants: shimmering furs, trays of beaten copper, folds of light cloth, darkly glazed bowls and pitchers, gold necklaces and bracelets set with crystals, and a collection of gleaming stones as pale as the moon. She pouted coaxingly. “These stones are so pale, Mighty One; red stones would actually show best against my complexion.”

“The red stones are for your sister,” Nimr-Rada said, tapping his flail, plainly forbidding her to argue. “You will have the stones resembling the full moon. Later, you will have stones as golden as the sun and as blue as the sky—but those will be brought to you from other lands.”

Placated, Sharah gave Nimr-Rada a beguiling smile and avidly inspected the tribesmen’s gifts. Keren wondered how Sharah could possibly ignore the women themselves, who seemed so unhappy with their new roles. Determined to speak for the silent attendants, Keren asked loudly, “Will all these women be taken from their families to do nothing but wait upon us?”