He Who Lifts the Skies (32 page)

Now Keren stared at her sister-in-law, who seemed too calm; Zeva’ah was standing, holding Demamah’s hand. “You know what’s happening, don’t you?” Keren accused. “Tell me what they’re planning! Ra-Anan knows, doesn’t he? But you didn’t even try to warn me. How dare you!”

Zeva’ah left quickly, pulling the reluctant, tearful Demamah after her.

Zehker commanded Keren to bar the gate after he left with Meherah. But to Keren, the bar was a futile gesture. The damage had been done. She sank to her knees, stunned, feeling as if she had been struck by a club blow to the heart.

“I should have gone alone, Lady,” Zehker told Keren, when he returned at dusk.

Keren paused, her hand on a rung of the ladder to her roof, Alatah standing beside her. “Would it have stopped him from taking Revakhaw?”

“No.”

“Then there is nothing we could have done. And now, we can only wait. I knew his tantrum was about more than the length of my hair. But tell me, did he snatch Revakhaw at random, or had he decided beforehand that she would be his victim?”

“Beforehand, I’m sure.”

“He’s punishing her for being my true friend,” Keren observed bitterly.

“Yes.”

“What does he want?”

“Your compliance, Lady.”

“My compliance in what? Ra-Anan is involved in this too. Why? And Zeva’ah knew this would happen. She knew! She
ate
in my household—she accepted our hospitality, and she never warned us of any trouble. I could shake her!”

By now, Alatah was crying softly, frightened. Keren looked at her and suddenly felt tired—completely beaten and ill. “Forgive me. I’m sure our spies have heard what I just said. And I suppose we will know everything when he sends for us tomorrow.” Desolate, she added, “It seems that his hunter’s patience is gone.”

Silent, Zehker nodded. Keren dismissed him with a limp imitation of Sharah’s petulant wave. Zehker bowed and departed, walking slowly.

Keren climbed to her roof, aggrieved, remembering Lawkham with every step upon every rung of the ladder. Alatah followed her, then knelt beside her, whimpering in terror, “He won’t hesitate to kill Revakhaw. Then he will kill us all, one by one.”

Resisting the fears wrought by Alatah’s premonitions, Keren stared up at the first stars of the night. But Nimr-Rada and Ra-Anan had even spoiled this pleasure for her.
The stars all had patterns and meanings now, with their shiftings in the darkness of the skies. The signs of the sun, the bull, the ruler, the lady, the lion, the child, the balance, the conquered eagle, the bow and arrow, the man within walls, the flowing water pitcher, and the fish.

The movements of these stars marked the passage of time—days, weeks, months of Keren’s life—all wasted and lost to Nimr-Rada’s endless schemes. And, of course, all these signs pointed to Nimr-Rada and his kingdom, by his will. According to Nimr-Rada, the stars revealed his inevitable dominance of the skies, the earth, and the waters.

Remembering all these things, Keren could no longer consider only the Most High and adore only Him when resting beneath His heavens. She put her hands to her face in frustration, blotting the stars from her sight.

Where are You?
she cried to the Most High.
Why don’t I feel You anymore? Why are You no longer with me—though I love You and have longed for You? Have I been wrong? Speak to me, and tell me I’ve been wrong—help me
.

There was no answering comfort. Nothing. Confronted with silence, Keren mourned.

Nineteen

“PERHAPS HE’S KILLED Revakhaw,” Tsinnah quavered as they walked toward the gate of Nimr-Rada’s sprawling residence.

Keren stopped and stared at Tsinnah. Her sweet oval face was haggard; she hadn’t slept last night. Nor had Keren, Alatah, or any of the others. They were all terrified. Pushing away her own fears, Keren confronted her attendants like a stern mother. “Revakhaw is alive. And if she’s in danger, I’ll do whatever I must do to save her—as I would for each of you.”

Her attitude seemed to hearten them, though Alatah was dabbing at tears that threatened to spoil her face paints. And Na’ah was sniffling. Keren gave Na’ah’s arm an encouraging squeeze, then patted Alatah’s hand as she smiled at the trembling Tsinnah and the hushed Gebuwrah. “You won’t die today. Nor tomorrow. Now, think of
Revakhaw and compose yourselves.”

As she turned to lead them into Nimr-Rada’s ceremonial courtyard, Keren found the new guard, Qaydawr, standing directly in her way. He had been listening. Nimr-Rada’s faithful spy. He smiled at Keren politely and bowed with all the grace of a man who realizes he is attractive—tall, handsome, and openly appreciative of the sight of any woman. Resisting him, Keren said, “Tell the Great King everything you’ve heard—I command you. Tell him
that
too.”

“As you say, Lady,” he answered smoothly, clearly determined to charm her.

Keren waited, silently compelling him to step aside. He did so, bowing again, fascinating her attendants. Beyond him was Zehker, his dark eyes alert, watching her continually.

You are—in every way—more honorable and more desirable than that Qaydawr will ever be
, Keren told Zehker inwardly, careful to keep her admiration hidden.
O Most High
, she prayed, following Zehker to the gate,
though I don’t feel Your presence, be with us today
.

They filed into the courtyard and went through their accustomed ritual of bowing and kneeling before Nimr-Rada. He sat on his fleece-draped dais with Revakhaw kneeling at his feet, his powerful right hand curved around the base of her bruised throat. Revakhaw was shaking, not looking at Keren.

“Please,” Keren began gently, scared by Revakhaw’s bruises and her obvious terror, “tell me what I’ve done; don’t punish Revakhaw.”

“She hasn’t been punished yet, Lady,” he said, smiling. “And she won’t be, if you behave.” He caressed Revakhaw’s cheek and hair now, as a man might caress his wife.

Keren gazed at him, shocked, trying to understand his intentions. “You’re keeping her here?”

“Do you not trust me with your little friend?”

Not when you’re behaving as if she’s your wife
. Had he taken Revakhaw as a second “wife”? The thought stunned Keren. No man beneath these blue heavens had taken two wives for himself. Indeed, according to the Ancient Noakh, only evil men who lived in the times before the Great Destruction had taken two wives. But wasn’t Nimr-Rada just that sort of man? He looked so self-satisfied, so above ordinary men—and not one person in this courtyard was brave enough to speak against him.
You are evil! I wish I could destroy you
.…

“Say what you are thinking, Lady,” he said.

Keren forced herself to speak softly. “I am thinking that my dear friend is in pain. I long to help her.”

“You long to kill me,” he said.

She stiffened and looked him straight in the eyes, knowing he wouldn’t believe her if she denied his statement. “Death is a natural thought under these circumstances. If you are offended, Great King, then you may punish
me
for my own stupid impulses.”

“You have chosen.” He released Revakhaw and stood. Revakhaw sagged like a dying creature, as if she couldn’t bear to watch what was about to happen. Pulling the gleaming shell-adorned knife from a fold in his leopard-skin wrap, Nimr-Rada left the dais and planted his dark, gold-cuffed feet directly in front of Keren. “Stand up!”

Keren stood, looking up at him, resigned to whatever punishment she had brought upon herself. To her surprise, he offered her the knife. “Take it, Lady.”

Now
, she thought, clasping the warm handle.
I could kill him now
. He leaned toward her, seeming to invite the blow.
She would have only one chance, she knew. A vein pulsed in his dark throat; she watched it, contemplating his death. A thought came to her then; she shut her eyes against it, because it wasn’t her own thought.

No
.

No? Aggrieved, she sensed that the Most High was against her murderous impulse. And truly, she would fail to kill Nimr-Rada—he was ready for her blow. He expected her to turn against him. Indeed, he probably expected everyone to turn against him. How could he trust anyone on this earth? His cruelty and ambition poisoned all his relationships; he was trapped by his own power. As she pondered this, Keren felt reluctant compassion for the undeserving Nimr-Rada—the last thing he would desire. Opening her eyes, she deliberately kissed the stone blade in submission to the will of the Most High. To Nimr-Rada alone, she whispered regretfully, “If only you could be like any other man.”

He actually flinched. His reaction, Keren thought, was almost as if she had wounded him. Then he took a breath, and his broad, muscled jaw hardened. Keren held out the knife, and he snatched it away. Before she could so much as twitch, he thrust the blade toward her throat, startling her. Controlling her instinct to retreat, Keren swallowed as Nimr-Rada snarled, “Swear on your life that you will never try to kill me!”

“I swear on my life.”
Forgive me this lie, O Most High
.

“Swear on your life that you will submit yourself to my authority!”

“On my life.”

“Swear that you will reveal any plots against me.”

“I swear.”

“Swear as you live that you are my protectoress, who
will live in the temple of my Tower of Shemesh—the Sun.”

Keren stared at him, faltering. Live in that monstrous tower he was building? Wasn’t she enough of a freak already? And what did he mean—that she would be his protectoress? What would that imply? This was what Ra-Anan had been planning all along, she realized. She was being trained for their precious temple.

Nimr-Rada turned the blade against her throat, stinging her, making every pore of her body prickle with sweat. Someone gasped, then stifled a sob.

Sickened, remembering what she had promised her attendants just before walking through the gate, Keren said, “I swear.”

“On your life?”

“On my life.”

Lowering the blade, Nimr-Rada said, “On
my
life, if you fail to keep these oaths, I will slit your throat, cut out your heart, and spill your blood down the steps of my tower for all to see. And everyone in your household will follow you in death.”

“I will obey you.”

But Keren knew he didn’t believe her. Drawing himself up proudly, Nimr-Rada said, “Go tell your sister everything you have sworn. Tell her that she, too, is bound by your oaths.”

He returned to the dais, still clutching the knife. Keren bowed to him, glancing at Revakhaw, hoping to catch her eye. But Revakhaw remained limp, almost lifeless, her joy replaced by desolation.

And if I do one thing wrong … he will kill her
. Keren left the courtyard, nauseated, half faint. If only she could have killed Nimr-Rada. When she trusted herself to speak, she
asked the others, “Did I make the right decision?”

“You didn’t notice his guards, Lady,” Gebuwrah told her. “When you took the knife, they all stepped nearer. They had weapons. If you had turned that knife against our Great King, they would have slaughtered us like sheep.”

Her voice shaking, her eyes red, Alatah said, “Forgive me for crying out as I did, Lady, but I thought he gave you a fatal wound—your neck is bleeding.”

Keren pressed her fingertips to her throat, then pulled them away, staring at the smears of blood in surprise. “I felt only a stinging.” Bleakly amused, she added, “Perhaps my sister will be soothed by the sight of my blood.”

“Is there no way we can help Revakhaw?” Na’ah pleaded softly, her dimpled chin quivering as she looked around at all of them.

Though she was touched by Na’ah’s timorous longing for action, Keren shook her head despondently. “No. There’s nothing we can do. I feel as if I’ve failed her. We can only pray that the Most High will protect her.”

While Alatah, Na’ah, and Tsinnah nodded miserable agreement, Gebuwrah shook her head stubbornly. “For all our sakes, Lady, as I’ve told you all along, you
must
obey him.”

“Do you see how I’m treated?” Sharah raged, storming through her own lush, plant-filled courtyard, her fingers all outspread and curving like pale gold-decked talons. “I could kill him!”