He Who Lifts the Skies (5 page)

“The food’s all prepared,” Khuldah said, licking her lips. She was a sturdy girl, confident and unconcerned, the leader of all the maiden cousins her age. Even Sharah couldn’t intimidate her. Now Khuldah lowered her voice to Keren, her brown eyes roguish, “When I saw your brother, I almost couldn’t breathe! I’d forgotten how handsome he is. No wonder Tsereth has been gabbing on about him. There’s your no-color sister. Is she going to talk to us, or is she going to be a nose-in-the-air again?”

“She didn’t like the way you ordered her around the last time we were here,” Keren confided, remembering their previous visit two years past. Sharah had been furious with Khuldah throughout their stay. “Sharah hates being told what to do.”

“Oh,” Khuldah said, clearly unconcerned. “Poor Sharah. Well, if she doesn’t like playing our games by our rules, then she can play with the little ones and tell them
what to do.” She turned to Sharah. “Girl-of-No-Color! Are you going to sit and visit with us, or are you going to ignore us again? We’re sisters, after all.”

“As you say,” Sharah answered coolly. She frowned at Keren. “You were supposed to stay with me.”

“Father told me to stay with Tsereth’s sisters. Eliyshama said so too.”

“I heard no such thing,” Sharah snapped, looking away.

“Let’s go help set out the mats and dishes for the feast,” Khuldah said, grabbing Keren’s hand and pushing one of her cousins ahead of her. “The sooner we finish, the sooner we eat.”

Keren heard Sharah mutter very softly behind them, “Cow!”

Shocked, Keren held her breath fearfully, but Khuldah had either not heard Sharah or graciously chose to ignore the slur.

They followed Khuldah to another open area of the encampment, where the earth had been plowed and trampled to allow for an enormous cooking hearth. The scent of roasting meat made Keren swallow hard. She hadn’t realized that she was so hungry. Sharah was apparently hungry too; she unrolled the long woven grass mats without argument. But she stayed away from Khuldah when they ate, seeming too engrossed in her food to talk to anyone. Khuldah, meanwhile, knelt beside Keren, who gladly listened to her easy, friendly chatter.

Encouraged by Khuldah, Keren ate until she felt she was bursting. Chunks of roasted mutton, crisp flat breads, dried cherries, savory vegetables with barley, hard-boiled eggs, and most delicious of all, a tender roasted quail. “I think I won’t eat for a few days,” Keren sighed, tossing the quail bones into the crackling fire.

“Wait until we’ve finished dancing; you’ll be ready to eat by then,” Khuldah assured her. They stood by the fire, warming their hands against the early evening chill. Khuldah gave a full-throated chuckle. “When I get married, we’re going to feast and dance for two weeks!”

“You’ll have to find a husband first,” Sharah said airily, as she came to toss the remains of her quail into the fire.

Khuldah scowled, but before she could answer, Metiyl’s sons, Yeiysh and Khawrawsh, came running into the encampment, their eyes wide and tense, their voices roughened by alarm. “Horsemen! Coming straight toward us from the west! Horsemen of Nimr-Rada!”

Instantly the adults leaped to their feet, the men calling to each other, the women gasping, snatching up the youngest children, then hastily retreating to the edges of the open area, with the older children following.

Keren turned to search for her father, but Sharah grabbed her wrist. “We’ll hide in the tents!”

“As if that’ll do any good, fool!” Khuldah cried. “They have horses; we don’t. If they’ve come to demand tributes and aren’t satisfied, they’ll burn the tents with you inside. All you can do is wait with the others and try to stay out of their path.”

Another hand touched Keren’s arm now, making her jump and gasp, frightened. I’ma-Annah said, “Come with me, all of you. Quietly.”

Three

AS KHULDAH SCURRIED off to stand with her mother and sisters, I’ma-Annah guided Keren and Sharah through the encampment to stand with Shem, Meshek, Eliyshama, and the wide-eyed Tsereth. Metiyl, flanked by Yeiysh and Khawrawsh, stomped up to Shem and Meshek.

“Why are they so far from their own territories?” Metiyl demanded, furious, his broad nostrils flaring. “We come this way to escape them, and they follow us here. There are only a few of them. We should fight!”

I’ma-Annah spoke, quietly distressed. “Son of my son, why should we destroy our time of joy with rage and violence?”

Metiyl snorted.
“We
aren’t the violent ones, Ma’adannah; they are. And I say we shouldn’t allow them to just come in here as they please. We must resist them!”

“I wish to hear what these followers of Nimr-Rada
have to say,” Shem announced firmly, quelling the angry Metiyl. But Shem exchanged a cautioning look with I’ma-Annah, who pulled Keren closer, reaching for Sharah as well.

The horsemen were riding into the encampment now. Gaping, Keren clung to I’ma-Annah’s waist. To see men actually riding horses was almost an unimaginable thing. But they were real, and they were approaching. Five horsemen, their dusky coloring deepened by the sun, all similarly clad in leather tunics, broad leather bands on their forearms, and leather leggings, with short cloaks of rough-edged fleece. Each man wore his dark hair tightly bound into a severe plait at the nape of the neck. Keren stared at their backs, wondering about the odd narrow pouches of leather slung from their shoulders. Sticks of wood—straight, bare, polished, and notched and feathered at the ends—were sticking out of the pouches.

“See their weapons,” Metiyl growled to Shem, his rage still visible. “They’ve blades on the tips of those feathered sticks, and they propel them from a distance using those tight-strung wands of wood. Cowardly weapons!”

Shem stared at the horsemen, his expressive eyes widening in astonishment. And I’ma-Annah stiffened, clearly surprised. Trembling, Keren glanced over at her father. Meshek looked like a figure of clay, unmoving, glaring at the horsemen. From her left, Keren heard Eliyshama mutter to Tsereth, “My brothers, three of them at least, have come to our wedding.”

Three of my brothers
, Keren thought, dizzied by the realization.
Which three?
Names ran through her mind. Names that had always been whispered by Chaciydah in tones of mourning:
Miyka, Ra-Anan, Mattan, Kana, Bachan
.… There was another, but she couldn’t remember his name
now.
Who are you?
She stared at the horsemen, trying to choose her brothers from among them.

The lead horseman swung one long leg over the neck of his black-and-tawny horse and dropped lightly to the ground, a swift, showy movement. The other four horsemen followed his example silently. Now, the lead horseman approached Shem and Meshek, stopping a short distance before them, folding his brown hands respectfully and lowering his head in a reverent nod. “Father of my Fathers, I hoped you would be here. Your son Aram, the father of my own father, sends you his greetings.” Glancing at Meshek, the young horseman said, “He also sends you greetings, Father.”

Meshek answered with a tight, hard-eyed nod, and one curt word. “Neshar.”

Neshar
, Keren thought, gazing at the lead horseman, remembering his name, and seeing his resemblance to Eliyshama.
You’re my brother Neshar
. As she was thinking this, Keren felt I’ma-Annah take a quick breath.

“My Aram is well?”

Neshar seemed grateful to I’ma-Annah for her question. “Your Aram thrives, Ma’adannah. Truly, he heard of my brother’s wedding and sent us to convey his love to you.” Almost too quickly, Neshar added, “He regrets that he can’t come here himself.”

“My youngest son is too busy,” I’ma-Annah said, her tone a stiff mingling of disapproval and disappointment.

Shem spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Do you intend to stay here for the night?”

“Are we welcomed, O Father of my Fathers?” Neshar’s question was clearly directed at everyone in the encampment. “If not, then we’ll continue our journey.”

“To where?” Metiyl challenged him harshly. “These
lands haven’t been claimed by your Nimr-Rada.”

Neshar remained calm. “My brothers and I promised to take our friends into the mountains to hunt for a few days. Then we’ll go down to the steppes to rest until spring.”

“So you say.” Metiyl turned away, showing his scorn and disbelief. A hum of discontented voices arose throughout the encampment. Keren shivered, feeling the animosity of the others toward the horsemen. Moving forward, Shem lifted his hands. Everyone hushed, restrained by their love and respect for their First Father.

“Listen to me,” Shem called out. “You are all the children of my children. And the sons and daughters of my brothers, whom I love. We have come here—in peace—to share our joy at the marriage of Eliyshama and Tsereth.” He swept one arm toward the horsemen in an embracing, almost pleading gesture. “These are also the children of my children, and the sons of my brothers. I wish to speak to them and hear what they have to say.” His eloquent face hardening, Shem said, “As I live, they will move among you in peace. You will not provoke them, and they will not provoke you! Do not bring the judgment of the Most High down upon yourselves with your anger; you cannot stand against Him.”

Hearing his undeniable authority, Keren’s anxiety diminished. Glancing around, she saw that the others would receive their visitors in reluctant peace. Even Metiyl lowered his wild-curled head.

Neshar motioned to his fellow horsemen. Immediately, they removed their fleece cloaks and draped them over the black-and-tawny backs of their horses. By unspoken agreement, two of the young men gathered the dangling leather straps fastened about the horses’ heads and guided
the animals to an open field just outside the encampment. Neshar and the two remaining horsemen looked expectantly at Eliyshama and Tsereth, who were obligated to welcome them formally.

Clearing his throat, Eliyshama said, “Beloved, you may remember my own brothers Neshar, Mattan, and Bachan.”

“Welcome.” Tsereth said nothing more.

Breaking the awkward silence, I’ma-Annah said, “Come, let’s sit and finish our meal. Sons of my son, we will bring you water and food.”

They returned to their feast, rearranging the grass mats to accommodate the newcomers. Shem sat on the mat with Keren’s three horsemen-brothers, watching them. As her horsemen-brothers rinsed their hands and faces in water grudgingly provided by Tsereth’s sisters, Keren noticed the others in the encampment watching them as well. Feeling anxious again, she knelt between I’ma-Annah and Sharah, keeping her eyes lowered to hide her distress. I’ma-Annah nudged Sharah and Keren, gently urging them to pass food to their brothers.

Neshar stared at Sharah. “Child-of-No-Color, you lived. We were sure you would die.”

Frowning, Sharah pushed a wheat cake at Neshar. “Well, the way our I’ma has been mourning for you, my brothers, you all should have died.”

Keren marveled at Sharah’s audacity, but no one scolded her; Meshek was actually nodding in agreement.

“Our I’ma isn’t here?” Mattan looked around, seeming genuinely concerned.

Seated across from him, Meshek straightened. “Your mother is ill. She stayed in the mountains with the Ancient Ones.” Eyeing his sons severely, Meshek said, “Her
ill health was caused by her mourning for you since you abandoned us.”

Neshar, Mattan, and Bachan ducked their heads and picked at their food, accepting their father’s reprimand. When Meshek said nothing more, I’ma-Annah took Keren’s hand. “Now, you three, you haven’t met your second sister. This is Karan.”

But our mother calls me Keren
, Keren thought to her brothers.

Startled, Bachan gulped and swatted Neshar’s chest with the back of his callused brown hand. “Look at her eyes! They’re the color of pale metal! Who will believe us when we speak of her?”

Pausing between bites of bread, Neshar stared at Keren, then at Sharah. “We shouldn’t speak of either of them.”

“He’s right,” Mattan agreed, watching Sharah. “No one will believe us. They’ll say we’ve gone mad.” He grimaced, his slim brown face amazingly like Chaciydah’s. Keren was fascinated by the resemblance. Neshar looked very much like Meshek and Eliyshama, while Bachan had hints of both his parents: Chaciydah’s dark brown curls, her big brown eyes, and Meshek’s long limbs.

“Will you continue to serve that Nimr-Rada?” Meshek demanded suddenly.

Neshar cleared his throat uneasily. “The Great King will send others to search for us if we don’t return at the appointed time. And if we don’t return, he will require compensation from our families.”

Enraged, Meshek snarled, “Compensation from me for
my
sons, who should have never gone with him at all? I owe Nimr-Rada nothing for taking my wayward, thankless sons! You’ve brought me nothing but grief!”

“Father.” Neshar passed a hand over his face, as if wearied. Then, looking straight into Meshek’s eyes, he pleaded, “We regret your suffering, believe us. Listen, I beg you. We were glad to hear of Eliyshama and Tsereth’s wedding. We’ve looked forward to seeing all of you, including our I’ma. But you know that if we hadn’t agreed to go with the Great King, he would have considered us—and you—his enemies.”

“But you went with him gladly,” Meshek said, thrusting his outspread fingers toward his sons to emphasize his point. “All six of you! You were so eager for adventure and gain! Now, you three, tell me, where are your other brothers? Where’s Miyka? And Ra-Anan? And Kana? Are they too ashamed to present themselves here today?”

Neshar answered, subdued, “The Great King wouldn’t excuse them from their duties. They also feared you’d be angry.”

“But you three don’t care that I’m angry?” Meshek cried. Keren saw veins pulsing in her father’s forehead. His rage was so horrible that she longed to run away.

Mattan leaned forward, his face—so like Chaciydah’s—intense. “Father, whether you believe us or not, we care. Otherwise we wouldn’t have been willing to endure the hatred of everyone in this encampment.”

“They have reason to hate you!”

Defensive, Bachan said, “We’ve taken no tributes or compensation from our own tribes, Father. No one in this encampment has a claim against us.”