He Who Lifts the Skies (9 page)

Neshar glared at his brothers and friends, willing them to obey. Mattan and Bachan agreed grudgingly, and Zehker nodded somberly. But Lawkham grinned, as if thoroughly amused, his teeth shining in the darkness. Neshar scowled at him.

His grin fading, Lawkham raised his hands in protest. “I agree! Trust me.”

But do I trust you?
Neshar wondered, staring at Lawkham.
Do I trust anyone these days? No, I’m not a fool. I’ll be watching you all
.

Five

IT SEEMED FRIGHTFUL to Keren that she was twenty-five years old. Particularly now, as she slouched self-consciously, standing beside I’ma-Annah, who was shorter.

“Usually, I would tell you to stand straight,” I’ma-Annah scolded gently. “But with working the gold, you’ll slouch anyway.” I’ma-Annah knelt and used blackened metal tongs to slowly nudge a small clay dish filled with beaten gold toward the ruddy, glowing center of her fire pit. When she was satisfied that the clay dish had heated evenly and would not crack in the fire, she said, “Now, Karan, your job is to force air onto the coals. Here are the foot bellows.”

“Thank you, I’ma-Annah.” Keren slipped her foot into the strap atop the leather bellows and went to work. This was the second year I’ma-Annah had allowed her to work the gold. In previous years she had learned to make baskets,
clay pots, garments of leather, garments of wool, powders for paints, and carvings of stone. But gold working was now Keren’s favorite task. Stomping vigorously, she had the coals burning in an eye-hurting glow when the Ancient Noakh came from a nearby field to sit, rest, and watch.

“Ah, little one,” Noakh teased—he loved calling her “little one” now that she was so tall—“where’s our Sharah? Isn’t this her gold that you’re working?”

“Here I am, Ancient One,” Sharah said, coming out of the lodge, carrying a clay basin of coarse river sand. Deferential, she knelt opposite I’ma-Annah. In the past few years, Sharah had trained herself to move and behave with a peculiar grace, which commanded the attention and esteem of everyone outside her own lodge. Sharah’s unique looks and deceptive charm had attracted numerous admirers. At the last encampment during the previous autumn, she had finally agreed to marry her most persistent suitor, Bezeq. Striking and powerful, Bezeq was a leader of one of the northern tribes and adored by all the unmarried women—a triumph for Sharah.

I pray Bezeq will provide the status you crave, my sister
, Keren thought, glancing at Sharah’s beautiful face. Her sister’s gray-blue eyes were fixed upon the gold—a gift from Bezeq.

“Perhaps it should be a band to wear about my throat,” Sharah said, looking at I’ma-Annah almost humbly, as if she were seeking her opinion.

I’ma-Annah nodded, sorting through a number of clay and stone molds at her side. “There should be enough gold for a band. Here’s the perfect mold.” She held up a graceful stone crescent for Sharah’s approval.

In silent agreement, Sharah took the crescent rim of
stone, pressed it into the dish of sand, then set it near the coals to warm. She would gradually turn the bowl and nudge it into the fire to heat the sand and the stone rim, so that the rim would not crack when exposed to the purified molten gold.

Glancing up at the clouded, end-of-winter sky, Noakh said, “We’ll have rain tonight. It’s a good thing that you’ve started this today.” Watching Sharah, he mused aloud, “In three weeks you’ll leave to join Bezeq and his people. Then, I suppose, our Karan will marry within a few years.”

“We pray she will, Ancient One,” Sharah answered politely, her gaze fixed on the gold. “But my sister behaves as if she doesn’t care for any of the young men.”

That’s because I haven’t met a man who would prefer to look at me rather than at you
, thought Keren, still working the bellows.
The men are all so fascinated with you that I don’t exist when you’re nearby. And the ones who do notice me are frightened by my no-color eyes
.

“The Most High will send your sister’s beloved to her in the proper time,” Noakh murmured. He patted the folds of his thick gray overtunic absently, finally producing a dark leather pouch containing his treasured and aged iron carving blade, and the piece of antler he had been shaping to use as a retouching tool. After a comfortable silence, Noakh spoke again, pausing on occasion to study his work. “The first time I saw you, Sharah, I knew you were a sign to us. The Most High is preparing to divide the tribes and scatter them over the entire earth.”

Confounded, Keren stood on the bellows, unmoving. I’ma-Annah nudged her to work again.

Undisturbed, Noakh continued, “The children of my children have not been faithful to the will of the Most High. They do as they please. They huddle together and
ignore His presence instead of spreading out to subdue the earth. And although the Most High is patient, He won’t endure their rebellion forever.”

Keren glimpsed a flash of impatience in Sharah’s elegant, noncolor features.

“But the Most High won’t destroy the earth again,” Sharah protested.

“Not with water,” Noakh reminded her amiably. “But this earth—like the earth before the Great Destruction—could perish. I fear, as Shem does, that it might burn away like the impurities within your gold.”

Looking down at the now-molten gold, Sharah said, “I will remember the Most High, O Ancient One.”

But you’ve already forgotten Him
, Keren thought, watching her sister’s face, undeceived.
You’re thinking of the gold you will wear. And when you’ve forgotten the gold, you’ll think of some other object or desire. How I pray you’ll be happy with Bezeq. You’ve never been truly satisfied in life, and that has affected us all
.

Pondering Sharah’s situation, Keren continued to force air against the coals until I’ma-Annah motioned for her to stop. Sounding pleased, I’ma-Annah said, “See how the gold is like a mirror? And the stone form is ready. Step back now, Karan-child.”

Keren watched, admiring I’ma-Annah’s skill as she grasped the tongs, seized the dish of molten gold, and poured it smoothly into the crescent stone mold, which rested securely in the dish of heated sand. The gold flowed throughout the graceful rim, glowing, warm, and beautiful. Even Sharah looked pleased by the results. She smiled as I’ma-Annah said, “We’ll let it cool until evening, then we will incise a pattern and—”

A man’s echoing call of greeting stopped I’ma-Annah’s plans. Wondering, Keren looked down the slopes, toward
the woods. Eliyshama, Neshar, and Bachan were climbing the slope, leading two well-laden horses. Eliyshama looked grim, Neshar stoic, and Bachan amused.

Seeing them, Keren’s heart thudded uncomfortably. Obviously, her horseman brothers had been visiting their family again, after an absence of three years. “Mattan didn’t come this time,” Keren thought aloud. “Perhaps they’ve quarreled again. I hope our I’ma isn’t upset.”

“I suppose we’ll go to our own lodge in the morning,” Sharah muttered, one pale eyebrow lifted in poorly concealed disgust. She only wanted to stay in the lodge of the Ancient Ones, Keren knew, because I’ma-Annah was working the gold for her wedding.

“We’ll finish your gold this evening,” I’ma-Annah told her. “Unless you want it to be very elaborate.”

“I want it to be beautiful, Ma’adannah. I will wait the three weeks if need be.”

Eliyshama bent to greet Noakh, then turned to kiss I’ma-Annah.

After binding his horse’s reins to an aged, battered stump, Neshar also formally greeted Noakh and I’ma-Annah, bowing his head slightly as he spoke. “Ancient One. Ma’adannah. It’s good to see you both.”

“Welcome,” I’ma-Annah murmured, her beautiful eyes shining. “If you will excuse me, I’ll go tell your I’ma-Naomi that you’re here. Karan, Sharah, be sure no one jostles the gold while it’s cooling.” I’ma-Annah hurried into the lodge, her steps swift and eager as a young girl’s.

“My sisters,” Bachan greeted Keren and Sharah, forgetting to acknowledge the ancient Noakh first, “I expect you to cry when I tell you that we cannot stay. Neshar and I have been commanded to return to the Great City before summer.”

“I weep,” said Sharah, clearly unmoved.

“I’m sorry we missed your visit,” Keren told her brothers, meaning every word. “How is our I’ma?”

“Probably still crying,” Eliyshama answered quietly, as Neshar nodded in mute agreement and Bachan rolled his eyes. “Tsereth and the children are with her.”

“They’ll cheer her up; they always do.” Keren smiled, thinking of her energetic, bright-eyed young nephews, Meysha and Darak, and their toddler-sister, Yelalah.

“At least stay until my son Shem returns with our herd,” Noakh urged. “What’s one more evening?”

“Ancient One, we’re bound by our pledge to return,” said Neshar, glancing at Noakh, fond, but not wholly regretful. “Perhaps we’ll meet the Father of my Fathers on our way down through the hills.”

Eliyshama cleared his throat and smiled at Noakh. “I, however, will stay for the night, Ancient One, if you aren’t bored with me.”

“Who can be bored with you, son of my sons? You must tell us about your children—and give us your word that you will bring them to visit next time.” Noakh heaved himself to his feet and gestured toward Neshar and Bachan to follow him into the lodge.

Keren started after them, then changed her mind and returned to sit with Sharah, who was waiting for the gold to cool.

“Do you like it?” Keren asked, peeking down at the gleaming rivulet of gold.

“It will be the first of many gold ornaments.” Sharah sat back on her heels and studied Keren. “In spite of all our quarrels, my sister, it will be strange to not see you for years at a time.”

“You’ll miss me?” Keren blinked, surprised.

“Somewhat.” Sharah stared at the gold once more. “It’s just that you’ve always been so near to me—lurking like an irritating shadow.”

“Thank you,” Keren said, refusing to be stung.

Bachan was coming out of the lodge again, his dark eyes glittering, one corner of his mouth turning sardonically. “I’ve heard you’re to marry that Bezeq of the northern tribes, my sister.”

“Are you angry?” Sharah’s disdain was unmistakable.

Bachan stared at her, then smiled. “I pity Bezeq. Even so …” With amazing swiftness, he caught a long curling strand of Sharah’s hair, whipped it around his brown fingers, and lopped it off just below her jawline, wielding the sharp blade of his obsidian knife so unexpectedly that Keren gasped.

Sharah screeched. “Bachan! Why did you
do
that?”

“A token, my sister,” Bachan said, returning to the horses. “Proof that the unnatural exists.”

“I could beat him!” Sharah breathed to Keren, wrathful, as she clawed at her mutilated lock of hair. “How can I possibly hide this?”

Keren shrugged. “Why hide it if you can’t? Braid it and flaunt it as if you meant to wear it that way. The other young girls will imitate you.”

Sharah gaped at Keren, then laughed. “You’re right. That’s what I’ll do. My dear shadow-sister, I believe I will almost miss you after all.”

“Ra-Anan commands your presence,” the huge guardsman told Bachan, his silhouette dark against the moonlight, his stance fierce, compelling Bachan to obey.

“Why should the great Ra-Anan care to see me?” Bachan demanded, irritated at being roused from a sound sleep in the middle of the night. “Since when does he trouble himself with one of his unworthy brothers?”

“Come at once or I’ll bind you,” the guardsman answered, tensing.

Unnerved now, and wide-awake, Bachan left the cramped, clay-bricked soldiers’ quarters and followed his hostile escort through the midsummer night’s quiet of the slumbering Great City. Feeling the hardened clay of the main road beneath his feet, Bachan wished he had not been too intimidated to lace on his sandals. It galled him that he would appear before Ra-Anan disheveled and barefoot, like a mere farmer.

Ra-Anan’s residence was at the edge of the Great City, a low, sprawling, nondescript brick home, surrounded by a scrupulously tended, wall-enclosed courtyard garden. Despite his growing power, Ra-Anan was careful to cultivate the appearance of simplicity. Too great a display of influence and wealth would annoy He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies and jeopardize Ra-Anan’s position amid the growing hierarchy of the kingdom.

Thoroughly respectful of his brother’s abilities, Bachan felt his stomach tighten as he was led through a narrow gate that opened into the torchlit garden.

“There,” the guard muttered, pointing toward a pair of mats arranged near a glowing clay brazier. “Sit.”

Knowing his place, Bachan chose the less elaborate, thinly cushioned mat, and sat cross-legged upon it, contriving to appear at ease. A serving boy appeared, dressed in a simple leather tunic with a cord of leather at his throat bearing an amulet of pure white stone, marking him as one of the household of Ra-Anan. Furtively, the
boy cast a dishful of spices and fragrant wood into the brazier, then slipped away before Bachan could question him.

Sweet, sharp smoke arose from the brazier, a deterrent to the mosquitoes that flitted through the darkness seeking flesh.
And blood, like Ra-Anan
, Bachan thought, swiping a mosquito from his forearm.