Heavens Before

by Kacy Barnett-Gramckow

  She eyed the river doubtfully. Had she been able to cast a stone that far? To be certain, she set the amulet down, picked up a stone half the size of her fist, and backed up to throw it. His eyes widened as Annah hurled the stone toward him. Alarmed, he swiftly lunged aside, almost toppling over before recovering his balance. They both watched the stone fall into the water, raising a froth of sparkling droplets. Yes, Annah decided, it was within his reach.

  In obvious agreement, he nodded, lifting his hands meaningfully: Throw it.

  Slowly, she picked up the amulet again and clutched it, working up her courage. Please, she thought—closing her eyes, the thought was so intense—let this reach him. Aiming as best she could, she threw the leather-padded amulet across the water. She threw it too far to his right. He surged through the water for it, and fell. Annah sucked in her breath, horrified. He was gone. The amulet was gone. She had lost them both to the current. She sank to her knees on the riverbank and waited, trembling with apprehension. It seemed an eternity until she saw him again.

  His left hand emerged from the water first, clutching the leather pouch. It was empty. As she watched in despair, he reappeared, gasping for breath. Wiping his eyes, he smiled at her mischievously, lifting his right hand. The leather-corded amulet dangled from his fingertips.

  Melting with relief, Annah lowered her face into her hands. She felt as if she had been saved from some unknown danger. When she recovered, she looked over at him again. He was studying the amulet carefully, obviously fascinated by its leaf-patterned surface. Sensing her scrutiny, he gestured to the amulet, questioning: Yours?

  Annah nodded and put a hand to her face, stroking downward on an imaginary beard: From my father.

  The young man repeated her gesture, asking: Your father’s?

  She nodded again, then slowly drew her hand along a dry patch of the riverbank, gathering the tawny sand in her fist. Raising her arm so he could see, she let the sand drift down from her fingers to rejoin the sand on the bank—the customary gesture indicating death: My father is dead.

  It was the first time that she had ever communicated the news of her father’s death to anyone. In twenty-five years, no one in her family or in the settlement had ever spoken to Annah of her father. Not a breath of condolence, regret, or even a vague interest in justice. Nothing. Their lack of emotion had formed the most agonizing portion of her grief.

  Now, the simple act of releasing the sand back to the earth was more than she could bear. The pain caught hard in her throat, and she tried to choke it down. Stinging, blurring tears filled her eyes and slid down her cheeks. Gathering another handful of sand, she flung it away. Dead! she thought, anguished. And I’ll go mad if I don’t calm myself. He’s watching.

  He had retreated to the opposite bank and crouched down, dripping wet, watching her, waiting. She could feel his gaze upon her. His mood was heavy now; she could sense that too. He must think I’m mad. Mournfully, she scooped some water from the river and dashed it over her face. As she dried her eyes, she heard the quiet plop of a stone in the water before her. He was beckoning her. Annah looked over at him reluctantly.

  His eyes expressed no ridicule, only gentle sympathy and compassion. He repeated her gestures, imitating the beard of her father, and scattering the dust of death, but then he added his own thoughts. Pointing to her, he traced the path of a tear from his right eye down his cheek: You mourn the death of your father. Then, he tapped his chest, indicating himself, then drew the path of another tear down his cheek, and lowered his head: I’m sorry.

  He did not lift his head immediately, and Annah realized he felt defeated by his inability to help her. Quickly, she snatched a small stone and threw it into the water before him. As he looked up, she managed a half smile and a shrug, then clasped both of her hands to herself briefly and extended them toward him: Thank you, she thought. You are the first person to express any sympathy for my father’s death. And you’re not even from my own settlement.

  Now the young man lifted the amulet toward her, worried: Are you sure you want to give this to me?

  She nodded emphatically: Yes!

  Reverently, with his eyes fixed on hers, he kissed the amulet gently and pulled it over his shining, dark curls. After shaking his hair loose from the cord, he threw a questioning look at Annah.

  Confused, she tipped her head and gave him a questioning look of her own: What do you want to know?

  He pursed his lips, obviously pondering how to ask his question. Apparently coming to a decision, he took a deep breath, extended his left hand toward her, pointed his right hand toward himself, and held the gesture. Watching her steadily, he clasped his hands together formally, in the manner of a man and woman pledging themselves to each other in a marriage ceremony.

  Annah blinked. Surely he wasn’t asking her to be his wife? But even as this wave of disbelief arose within her, she knew: He was asking her to accept him. He repeated the motions, his gaze compelling her to answer: Can you pledge yourself to me?

  She managed to respond with a faint, questioning flick of her hand: You and me?

  He nodded, echoing her gesture firmly: You and me. How? Annah wondered. Yerakh would refuse anyway. And I would have to speak to him, using words. The thought was frightening. Yerakh would kill her for deceiving him for so many years. But she couldn’t refuse this young man. Instead, she raised her hands and shrugged to indicate her uncertainty. She did not have to express her fear, she knew; it was obvious.

  He nodded and smiled comfortingly: I understand. Glancing up at the warm, pink sky, he indicated the mid-morning sun.

  He has to go, Annah realized. He’s probably stayed longer than he intended.

  As she perceived this, he gestured to her, then to the riverbank on which she sat. He wants to know if I’ll be here tomorrow. She nodded.

  His answering smile was radiant. To bid her farewell, he lifted the amulet to his lips and kissed it.

  Dazed, Annah mimicked his gesture, kissing her treasured shell carving. Still unable to move, she watched him leave. He looked back at her once, smiled his enchanting smile, then vanished into the trees lining his side of the river. Annah had to remind herself to tuck the precious shell carving beneath her tunic once more. How can I ever marry him? It’ll never happen, she thought despondently. Not even if we live a thousand years.

  Annah sat on the riverbank, still too dazed to move. Lifting her eyes to the tranquil sky, she sighed, cherishing the sensation: He desired her. He wanted her to be his wife. Then she grimaced. If he truly understood me, he’d never return to the riverbank. Why should he want me? I am a nothing.

  Despite her attempt to prepare herself for disappointment, the morning took on a new sweetness. The sparkling water seemed to reflect her elation, flowing before her, teeming with long, plump, many-colored fish. The fish slipped toward her, then away and back again, as if they were playing, coaxing her to join them.

  How different the river looks today, Annah thought, gazing at the clear, swift-flowing water, enraptured. How different everything is now, compared to the day when I first saw him. Has it really been only two days?

  She felt that nothing could touch her now. She felt only her joy; even if she never married, she could tell herself that he had desired her. To share her happiness, she gathered some seeds, berries, and snippets from nearby plants, and cast them into the river. The fish, obedient to her whims, sped after her offerings to nibble them; their unending curiosity and appetites served to cleanse the river of debris. Pleased that the fish had accepted her offerings, Annah retrieved her bag, swept her veil over her head, and turned toward the settlement. Her stomach was growling uncomfortably. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt such hunger.

  You can eat as soon as you get to the lodge, she promised herself. But the thought of fruit, particularly the sweet, thin-skinned afals planted behind Yerakh’s lodge, broke her resistance. Almost skipping, she cut through the field to the afal trees.

  Choosing a honey-sw
eet golden-fleshed variety her father had always loved, she tossed her veil back against her shoulders, plucked one of the fat, soft-skinned fruits, and ate it quickly. Discarding the large, ruddy brown pit, she wiped the juice off her fingers, then picked more. She filled her woven-grass bag with the fruit, covered her head with her veil again, and started back to the lodge.

  To her horror, Annah saw Yerakh and the formidable Naham at the entrance. Had they feasted all night without sleeping? They sensed her presence and turned immediately, staring at her.

  I’ll go to the back entry, Annah thought, ducking her head to appear as meek as possible. Her heart thumped uncomfortably. Edging away, she cast a wary, sidelong glance toward them through her veil.

  Naham gave her a jeering, nasty look and approached her, swaggering arrogantly. If she ran from him, Annah knew both men would take offense. She stood still, her head bowed.

  “Little veiled one,” Naham crooned, maliciously sociable. “Out so early? Have you been visiting your lover?”

  As he laughed at his own wit, Annah began to sweat beneath her veil. His tone, his nearness, and his questions were unnerving her. Yerakh ambled up, his footsteps reluctant, like a man who wanted nothing more than sleep.

  Sneering, Naham spoke to Yerakh. “Could she possibly have lovers, as the other women of your lodge do?”

  “She’s like a piece of wood,” Yerakh muttered, obviously choosing to ignore Naham’s gibe. “How can she have lovers?”

  Naham grunted. “True. You know, this veil she wears outdoors has always disturbed me. Will she go mad if I remove it?”

  “See for yourself,” Yerakh answered.

  Hearing his careless reply, Annah trembled inwardly. He would not speak for her or defend her in any way. Naham pulled at her veil, laughing softly. Annah kept her eyes lowered. Trying to control her fear, she concentrated on slowing her breathing. Naham dropped the veil; Annah felt it swish past her legs to the ground.

  “She hasn’t gone mad yet,” Naham said. He was staring hard at her, Annah could tell. All her senses were screaming in alarm.

  I’m going to run, she told herself. I don’t care if Yerakh beats me later. But even as she thought this, she felt the pull of Naham’s huge hand gliding down her hair, then edging in until his powerful fingers stroked the back of her neck.

  “You know, Yerakh,” Naham said, thoughtful now, “I’ve always wondered how you endure the women of your household. Troublemakers, all of them. But this one’s different. Give her to me.”

  Yerakh snorted in disbelief. “To marry? She has no marriage portion. And you wouldn’t want her after the first night anyway. I doubt your wives would want her around either.”

  Naham had taken three wives during his two kentums of life. His first wife was dead by his own hands. His two remaining wives were barren, embittered women.

  “Oh, I’m not asking you to give her a marriage portion,” Naham replied, still stroking Annah’s hair, making her shudder in uncontrolled loathing. “It’s well known how wretched your women are, Yerakh; you’ve kept them all without marriage portions or property of their own. I’m just asking you, as your friend—your only true friend—to give me this creature for a night. Just one night.”

  Annah stomach churned. She would vomit if she couldn’t escape soon. Naham’s touch repulsed her; his huge, brutish fingers, now clasping the back of her neck and her head, terrified her. She was barely half Naham’s height. He could kill her with a swat of his hand. She would die if he took her for one night—or for any time at all.

  Please, Yerakh, she thought desperately, tell him no!

  When he finally spoke, Yerakh sounded exasperated. “Why do you want her? You know she has no spirit; as I said, she’s like a piece of wood. Even so … I agree … for one night. But if she dies, or returns to my household unable to do her work—or if she’s bearing a child—then you’ll pay me half a flock, or one whole field.”

  Naham sputtered, clearly offended. “What? Half a flock? Or one of my good fields! For this no-wit creature? She’s not worth that!”

  “She works with the gold—” Yerakh began, but Naham interrupted him, his voice booming as he flung Annah toward her brother.

  “This is insulting! I’m your friend, and you demand things of me that you don’t require of others. You should be fair, Yerakh. You should speak to K’nan before he gives Ayalah a full belly. Then you should beat Tseb-iy for everything he’s done with your mother. As for Haburah—I asked your mother ten years ago to give Haburah to me as my second wife. Parah refused because she knew you would refuse.

  “You don’t want to part with any of your father’s lands—not even for your sisters. And you’re the richest man in the settlement! I didn’t challenge you then because we’ve been friends, but if you reject any more men who ask for the women of your household, Yerakh, they’ll all turn against you! Remember, I’ve warned you!”

  Yerakh did not respond. If goaded beyond endurance, Naham could easily crush even Yerakh to death.

  Thrusting one broad finger at Annah to emphasize his words, Naham added, “The only reason I asked for this creature is because I thought you wouldn’t care. She has no value. No other man in the settlement will have her.” Naham was leaving now, but he bellowed so loudly that the entire settlement could hear. “She’s afflicted! You should have strangled her too, Yerakh!”

  Keeping her face blank, her eyes lowered, Annah reached down carefully, trying not to spill the afals from her grass bag as she rescued her veil. She could hear Yerakh’s breathing, harsh, deep, and fast. The sound frightened her. All over her body, inside and out, her skin seemed to be crawling, tingling with fear. Just as the urge to run seized her, Yerakh snatched a large handful of her hair and hauled her inside the lodge.

  He had barely pulled her past the carved doorpost when Annah felt his first blow to her stomach. It knocked all the breath from her body and doubled her over, causing her to fall to the earthen floor, defenseless. The afals in her grass bag spilled and rolled everywhere.

  Yerakh continued to hammer her with his big fists, uttering incoherent, throaty cries of rage until Annah was aware of nothing but pain….

  Four

  UNABLE TO catch her breath long enough to scream, Annah curled up into a tight, quivering ball.

  When Yerakh stopped using his fists, he kicked her back and legs, striking the most vicious blows with his heel. Then abruptly he left her and stomped through the lodge, roaring, “Ayalah! Bring your mother to me, Ayalah! Iltani, where are you? If you’re hiding from me, I’ll kill you! Haburah, come here!”

  Terrified, Annah lay curled up on the earthen floor. It hurt to breathe. She could taste blood in her mouth, and she could feel her lips swelling. Her left jaw and cheekbone felt hot. And her precious shell carving had slipped out of its hiding place within her tunic. Furtively moving one hand, she tugged at it. The cord held.

  She almost sighed with relief, but her ribs hurt too badly to take a full breath. Slowly, painfully, she tucked the shell carving into the neckline of her leather tunic. Then, tears of hurt seeping out from beneath her eyelids, she waited, listening for Yerakh.

  He went out the back of the lodge, and she could hear him screaming, “Iltani! Haburah! Ayalah! Don’t make me come after you! If I find you, I’ll kill you!”

  They’ve all run away, Annah realized. And if he doesn’t find them, he will come back here to wait until they return. But if he beats me any more, I’ll probably die. I must get away.

  Moving weakly, she pushed herself to her feet, clutching her grass bag and veil as if they could save her from additional harm. Stumbling outside, she turned away from the settlement and headed for the river. She would hide in the lush leaf-shrouded trees and rest there. At nightfall, however, she would have to return to the lodge. Her fear of being caught outside in the dark was greater than her fear of another beating.

  Her fear was not due to the darkness or to the creatures of the night, but because of feast-goers such as Naham
and Yerakh—and because of the Serpent-Lovers, in particular, the Nachash. If any of them found her alone in the darkness, they would probably abuse her, then kill her.

  By the time she reached the trees near the river, Annah was shaking from pain and fright. Suppose Yerakh were to come after her? Or worse, what if Naham decided to ignore Yerakh’s demands and take her anyway? Fearfully, she watched the settlement. Perhaps Yerakh was still searching for her mother and sisters. I hope they’ve managed to escape.

  Intent on escape herself, Annah crept into the deep green vines, fronds, and cloak-sized leaves of the undergrowth. Feeling safer, she leaned against a tree trunk and slowly eased her way down into the sanctuary of the leaves. The very act of sitting brought tears to her eyes. I can’t stay here, she realized. Sitting on the ground hurts too much. But I have to rest. And I’m thirsty.

  Groping inside her woven bag, Annah found one of the afals. There were only two left out of the heap she had gathered, and they were sadly bruised and crushed. Like me, she told herself ruefully.

  Her jaw was so swollen that she had to break the fruit into tiny bits and push them between her teeth to swallow them. Slowly she ate them both, then pulled herself to her feet. She needed poultices for her wounds, but she was too weak to gather any herbs and pound them out.

  All I can do is to soak myself in the river. Was I really there this morning? Impossible. I must have dreamed that I was happy.

  She limped upriver to a sheltered, sandy inlet where the women of the settlement gathered occasionally to soak their garments and fleeces, and to bathe themselves and their children. Today, however, the inlet was deserted. Annah relaxed, grateful. She had feared some of the children might be playing in the water. The children were vicious, pampered creatures, preying on anyone they perceived as different, which she was. They usually threw rocks at her, forcing her away. She would not have been able to run from them today; the pain was too overwhelming.

  Moving stiffly, Annah settled onto the inclined bank, scooting far enough into the water to cover her body without submerging her head. The water did ease her pain. She crammed her veil into her grass bag to make a pillow for herself, then leaned back and shut her eyes. The sound and the feel of the lapping water soothed her. She also sensed the fish hovering gently nearby, not touching her, but lingering, as if they understood her misery. Comforted, Annah slipped out of consciousness.