Voices woke her. Opening her eyes, she recognized Parah’s feet and those of Iltani, Haburah, and Ayalah. They were standing behind Parah, the water barely edging their brown toes. Annah didn’t have to see their faces to know they were angry with her. Their annoyance showed in their crossed arms, or their hands on their hips, and she felt them watching her.
Why are you angry with me? Naham’s the one who provoked Yerakh! And obviously, you’ve all escaped beatings. You don’t have bruises. You aren’t struggling to breathe. But you’re just waiting for me to prove I can stand and walk, so you won’t feel guilty for abandoning me.
Annah sat up, catching her breath at the pain. She wondered if she could stand at all. She felt shaky. Her ribs, her legs, her arms, and her jaw all ached and pounded miserably.
“Well, she’s alive,” said Iltani, her voice scornful.
“Ugh, look at her jaw.” Ayalah sounded squeamish. “It’s puffed out like a frog’s. Almost the same color too. If we hadn’t run, Yerakh would’ve beaten us the same way.”
“He will catch us eventually,” Haburah said, shifting from foot to foot. She was restless, angry. Her voice lowered conspiratorially. “We should find Yerakh before he finds us, and we should kill him.”
Annah listened, appalled. Would Haburah really kill him? Could any of them—including herself—actually lift weapons against Yerakh? To cover her fear, Annah practiced her vacant stare, gazing at the sparkling, swift-flowing water.
“How?” Ayalah asked. Her lilting voice dared Haburah to act on her brave, impulsive words. “How would you kill him?”
“I said we!” Haburah retorted. “We will kill Yerakh. If you’re too frightened, child, we could get Chathath and Gammad to help us.”
“You sound as if you would actually do it!” Iltani burst out shrilly. “This is my husband you want to kill! Why do you say these things in front of me?”
“You should hear them,” Haburah answered coldly. “You’ve been married to him for five years now, and you’ve given not one hint of bearing him a child. I’d wager every hair on my head that he’s going to discard you soon and marry someone else. No man will have you after that. I say you should strike him first.”
“Why aren’t you saying anything, O mother of my husband!” Iltani demanded of Parah. “Are you too frightened to stand with me? Or do you really want your son to die so you’ll be free to marry that seducer, Tseb-iy?”
“Tseb-iy has nothing to do with this,” Parah answered, unmoving. “Yerakh is a tyrant, and it’s only a matter of time before his family rebels. I warned your husband, Iltani; he chose a dangerous path by enslaving his own brothers and sisters. And he threatened to kill me for telling him so.”
“He nearly killed Annah today,” Ayalah added.
Hearing this, Iltani squealed indignantly. “So he nearly killed the creature! What would it matter?”
Annah stared into the water, feeling darkness rise within her against Iltani. She longed to scream, I’ve never hurt you, Iltani! But if your husband did kill me, you would shrug and never think of me again. Why do you hate me so?
Suddenly her thoughts were interrupted by a violent shudder beneath her. The trees lurched, groaning above her, while the river dashed cold water onto her chest and face, like a living thing subduing her. Gasping, Annah struggled to pull herself higher onto the riverbank. Her mother and sisters were screaming and falling to their knees beside her. Iltani fell with them, wailing in terror, clawing at her, then at Parah.
Wave after wave of river water rushed upon them as the terrible shaking of the earth continued. Annah tried to brace herself, feeling the sand seeping away from beneath her, fearing the force of the water would pull them into the river. But then the shaking subsided. Annah felt herself trembling helplessly. This was more frightful than being beaten by Yerakh.
Ayalah was sobbing like a child, and Iltani’s wails faded to wretched groans. Haburah was the first to speak, all her courage apparently gone, crushed into a whisper of horror. “I’ma, has the earth ever shaken before?”
“No,” Parah said, hushed. “I’ve never seen such a thing. And none of the stories of old tell of the earth moving.”
“Will it shake again?” Ayalah whimpered. “Don’t let it shake again.”
As if we could prevent it, Annah thought, still in shock. But how did it shake? What is strong enough to shake the earth?
“The earth is alive,” Iltani moaned. “The earth is angry because we were planning to kill Yerakh.”
Haburah grabbed Iltani’s arm and shook her, screaming, “Shut up about Yerakh! Shut up! If you tell him what we’ve said, we’ll kill you before we kill him.”
Haburah, Annah thought in despair, you sound like Yerakh. Kill, then kill again.
“Let’s go back to the lodge,” Parah said distractedly. “If the earth shakes again, I want to be away from the river.”
They left quickly, without looking back. Biting her lip against the pain, Annah pulled herself to her feet, grabbed her sodden grass bag, and wobbled after them, dripping wet and weak with hunger.
Forcing herself to be alert, Annah searched for food as they tramped through the lush green undergrowth and trees lining the river. Soon, a soft humming and the scent of sweetness fell upon her. Seeing a graceful, broad-leafed tree covered with delicate white flowers, Annah sighed, thankful. She had found a resin tree with a colony of honeybees nested inside its trunk. Reaching painfully into the undergrowth, Annah plucked a broad, heart-shaped leaf from its fuzzy stem. She rolled the leaf into a cone and pinched the base together to form a hand-sized cup.
Gently, she slipped her free hand into the hollow of the resin tree, reaching down until she found a bit of honeycomb. The bees hummed around her lightly, scenting her, identifying her.
I am a human nothing, she thought to them wearily. She dropped the glistening chunk of honeycomb into her leaf cup and broke it apart. The bees inspected her work, then dismissed her, returning to the delectable white flowers of their sheltering resin tree. Grateful for the nourishing honeycomb, Annah ate it slowly, working the tiny pieces between her teeth, forcing her swollen jaw to move. She could hear her mother and sisters in the trees ahead of her, squabbling.
They were gathering stomach-soothing rhizomes and edible flowers in glorious shades of red, violet, yellow, and cream, but they disagreed loudly over which foods would appease Yerakh. As if mere food would soothe his rage, Annah thought. But perhaps the shaking of the earth has quieted him more than a meal ever could.
Seeing Annah, Parah snatched the limp grass bag from her daughter’s shoulder. “We need this,” she said, not to Annah, but to herself.
Too wounded to struggle, Annah let her mother take the bag. But it grieved her to watch Parah snatch the still-wet veil from the bag and drop it disdainfully to the ground. Wincing at the effort, Annah crouched and retrieved the veil one-handed, guarding her leaf cup with its one last nip of honeycomb.
Iltani noticed Annah’s leaf cup and snatched it. Gleeful, she ate the piece of honeycomb, smacking her lips.
“The creature found honey,” she told the others. “We should gather some later.”
“You do it,” Haburah answered rudely. “Last time we found honey, you ate it all.”
“You made yourself sick, too,” Ayalah added, turning away from Iltani contemptuously.
“If anything makes me sick, it’s you!” Iltani screamed. “I hate you all! Food is my one comfort. And if I ate all the honey myself, it’s because you’re all so heartless!”
Annah pulled the damp veil over her head. She wished she could find something to plug her ears against Iltani’s complaints. Even the birds stopped singing at the sound of her loud shrieking. Walking away quietly, Annah began to gather herbs and her mother’s favorite spicy golden-red cooking bark.
Will I’ma even notice I’ve gathered this for her? Annah wondered. I doubt it. I’m sure she’s too busy worrying about Yerakh, or Tseb-iy. I wish I could run away. I don’t want t
o return to the lodge. Yerakh won’t go feasting with Naham tonight, and everyone will be angry with each other, and with me.
Yerakh was indeed in the lodge when they returned. His earlier rage was gone, replaced by anxiety. “Where were you?” he asked Parah. “Did the earth move there too?”
Keeping her eyes lowered beneath her veil, Annah dropped her collection of herbs and bark into a storage basket. She was trembling again, weak and in pain. She needed to hide and calm herself. Even so, one persistent thought gnawed at the edge of her mind: What is strong enough to shake the earth?
When the tremors stopped shaking the walls of their lodge, Shem looked at his brothers. They sat beside him speechless and awed, their midday meal forgotten. Their parents, too, remained silent. Noakh’s eyes were dark and reflective, staring at the latticed walls of the lodge without seeing them. Naomi touched her husband’s arm.
“My dear one,” she began hesitantly, “I thought we had a year yet.”
Noakh released a pent-up breath, rubbing one broad, stained hand over his bearded face. “We do have a year,” he assured her. “This shaking of the earth was to warn the others. I pray they understand; soon, the Most High will lift the protection of His hand from the earth. Then the earth will turn upon itself. No one will survive.”
“Except us,” Khawm added, as if to reassure himself.
“Except us, by the mercy of the Most High,” Noakh agreed. Sighing, he stood, brushed the crumbs of grain cakes from his beard and tunic, and went to look behind the screen that sheltered Methuwshelakh. Shem followed, peeking around from the opposite end.
Methuwshelakh was still asleep, the faintest of snores bubbling in his throat. Shem blinked at his great-grandfather, then grinned at his father. “He never moved. How could he possibly sleep while the earth was shaking?”
“His thoughts are beyond the earth,” Noakh answered gently. “Soon he will leave us to sleep with his fathers.”
“He’s still asleep?” Naomi’s voice rose in disbelief as she approached.
“He won’t believe us when we tell him that the earth moved,” Shem said.
Naomi was silent. Her attention was obviously focused on the dark leather cord encircling Shem’s neck. “If you gave the sea carving to that young woman from across the river, my son, then what is this?” Suspicious, she pulled at the cord, raising the gold amulet from beneath his leather tunic.
Noakh eyed the gold amulet with interest. “From the young woman, my son?”
“I was going to speak with you after our meal,” Shem promised his parents, “but I was interrupted by the earth’s shaking.”
Noakh pursed his lips, barely hiding the twitch of a smile. “One day you will learn, my son: Not even the earth’s shaking will prevent your mother from spying some token of affection from a young woman.”
Pretending offense, Naomi huffed. “If I were as clever as that, dear one, I would have seen this cord the instant he sat down to eat. And, so,” she challenged Shem, “this is from the young woman?”
“Yes. Though it’s not a token of betrothal on her part. She knows my thoughts are with her, but I think she’s afraid of her family’s reaction.”
Naomi sniffed. “She should be afraid. I’ve not spoken to her mother, and her mother has not spoken to me. How can this be a proper match?”
By now, Noakh had come around the screen to study the gold amulet. Seeing the pattern of leaves, his graying eyebrows lifted in recognition. “I know this family.”
“And …” Naomi prodded eagerly, her eyes bright as a bird’s.
“The Lodge of Zahar of the Tsaraph. But now, it is the Lodge of Yerakh; Zahar, the goldsmith, was killed by that son-who-was-no-son, Yerakh.”
“But that was more than twenty years ago,” Shem said, amazed, remembering snatches of news from the settlement after the murder. His father had been angered, his mother shocked. “She still mourns for her father after all these years?”
“That is just how a good and dutiful daughter should behave,” Naomi said, nodding her head approvingly. But even as she approved, a shadow crossed her face.
By now, Yepheth and Khawm had finished their meal and were standing near Shem, fingering the gold amulet. Yepheth was stoic, but Khawm nudged Shem, enthused. “When do you marry this woman?”
“There’s no betrothal yet,” Shem replied, easing the precious amulet away from Khawm’s avid fingers.
“I am not welcomed at the Lodge of Yerakh,” Noakh told his sons gravely. “And you won’t be welcomed if this Yerakh realizes you are my sons. When I heard of the murder of Zahar, I went to the leaders of the settlement and reminded them that such a crime must be punished for fear of the Most High.” Noakh paused, sighing regretfully.
“Zahar was a kind, but foolish man. He was also the wealthiest man in the settlement. Yerakh claimed that wealth for his own. And with it, he claimed the loyalty of the settlement, including one of those giants—a Nephiyl. The leaders of the settlement scorned the Most High. As one, they escorted me down to the river, took possession of my reed-craft, returned me to this side of the river, and threatened me with death if I returned. And,” Noakh added, disgusted, “when they crossed again to go back to the settlement, they broke the reed-craft to pieces. Zahar’s death was never recognized, I’m sure. Now, I am an enemy to the Lodge of Yerakh.”
Shem felt a sick churning in his stomach. “How can I have been mistaken in seeing her? It doesn’t seem possible.”
“You were not mistaken,” Noakh told him. “She has been chosen for you. But the Most High must cause this young woman to come out of the Lodge of Yerakh according to His own plan. We must wait until the proper time.”
Naomi fingered the gold amulet again, then straightened briskly, speaking to Shem. “I will go to the river with you tomorrow. I should see this young woman. Now, however, we must tend our ancient one. See if he is ready to wake up and eat.”
Heartsick, Shem knelt beside Methuwshelakh, taking his hand and rubbing it gently. Stirring slightly, the old man opened his eyes. He recognized Shem and smiled. Lifting his thin, reedy voice, he said, “Son of my sons … am I dead? Your face looks like one of those who lament.” Squeezing Shem’s fingers kindly, Methuwshelakh rasped, “Smile.”
Unable to resist the appeal of the father of his fathers, Shem smiled and bent to kiss the old man’s withered cheek.
Methuwshelakh patted his shoulder. “It is a good day,” he murmured. “A good day.”
Five
HER WORKBASKET slung over one arm, Naomi emerged from the lodge, breathed in the soft midmorning air, and frowned. I pray I like this young woman, for Shem’s sake.
At that instant, Shem came around the corner of the lodge. Seeing his mother, he grinned. “I’ma, are you ready to go? Or have you changed your mind again?”
Pretending irritation, she said, “No, I haven’t changed my mind! Come here. Take these….” She grabbed a thick coil of vines and a bundle of long, dried bulb-leaves, and thrust them into her son’s arms. Then, deliberately taking her time, she picked up her workbasket and inspected its contents: wooden weaving needles, narrow iron cutting blades, tidy bunches of fiber threads. Still moving slowly, she gathered two more coils of dried vines from the storeroom inside the lodge.
All these supplies would let this young woman know that she was not the sole reason for Naomi’s visit to the river. Otherwise, she might infer too much and become proud, and later, unmanageable.
I will not live with a difficult woman, Naomi told herself. And my Shem should not have to live with a proud wife. She watched Shem lift the bundles to his shoulders.
His burdens settled, Shem gave her a wry, teasing look. “I’ma, when will you have enough baskets and ropes?”
“When I die,” she answered briskly.
Obviously amused, her son said, “Six kentums more.”
Naomi, halfway to her fifth kentum, feigned exasperation. “Humph! Since when does a person live for more than a thousand years? That would be t
oo much of a blessing!” Gripping her coils of vines and her basket, she marched away from the lodge to the narrow dirt path that led through the trees, down to the river.
If she looked at her son she would smile, and her dignity would fail. He was so much like his father—a good, kind man. Thinking of Noakh, Naomi sighed. She felt truly blessed—certainly far more than she deserved.
As she walked, Naomi felt one of the coils of dried vines being tugged from her left arm. Shem pulled it away, adding it to his own burden, then moved ahead of her. He was hurrying her along. He had been hurrying her since prayers at dawn.
“Slow down. I shouldn’t have to run to keep up with you. Why are you so eager to see some woman you’ve never spoken to before?”
“We’ve spoken, I’ma.” He turned, walking backwards. “We don’t need speech.”
“When you’ve married her, you’ll hear everything then,” Naomi warned.
He smiled at her in response, his tender, heart-clutching smile.
Naomi almost faltered, thinking, If this young girl does not love him, then she is incapable of love! But how can I let him marry? He’s still too young. She glared at her son. “Turn around. Watch where you’re going!”
Obedient as always, he turned, leading her down through the trees lining the riverbank.
Naomi made mental notes of various flowers, vines, fruits, and types of bark. She didn’t have enough of the tightly woven baskets that were best for storing grain. Nor did she have enough split-wood baskets to hold the various hard-shelled nuts that her husband and sons loved. She needed more time. No, she needed more help.
Heavens Before Page 5
