Heavens Before

by Kacy Barnett-Gramckow

  Six

  “I’MA!” HABURAH called, entering the lodge. Silent, Annah retreated into the shadows, watching her sister prowl through the storage area, then the sleeping area, then Yerakh’s forbidden workroom. Unable to find Parah, Haburah sat down to wait in front of the fire. As she waited, she reached for one of the honey cakes that Annah had baked on the hearthstones.

  Seeing Annah, Haburah sniffed disdainfully. “It’s useless to ask you anything. I doubt if you know where you are.”

  Annah lowered her veiled head and picked the last bits of dough from her fingernails. Parah had not returned after the confrontation with Yerakh, nor had Yerakh or Iltani. Annah had eaten some dough to sustain herself, then finished making the honey cakes. She had also hidden her precious shell carving inside her grass bag, binding it into the same pouch that had held the gold amulet for so many years.

  Now she waited silently for her mother to return. Even the appearance of Yerakh and Iltani would be a relief. She wondered if they had killed each other. As Annah’s fears grew, even Haburah’s indifferent presence seemed comforting.

  But why should I care if you are here? Annah wondered, furtively studying Haburah’s elegant profile. You have never loved me, Haburah. Even before Yerakh murdered our father, you barely acknowledged my existence. I was a nuisance to you then, and now you detest me completely.

  Haburah ate another cake, then began to pace restlessly about the lodge, flexing her slender fingers. When Gammad entered the lodge, she snatched him by the arm, her black eyes glittering in the firelight. “Where are the others? No one is here!”

  “How should I know? I’ve just come in from the fields. They don’t answer to me.” Shrugging her off, Gammad sat by the hearth and helped himself to the cakes.

  “Ayalah’s not here—she went off to find K’nan after we penned the sheep,” Haburah said. “As for Chathath, he does as he pleases. But I’ma should be here. None of the other food has been cooked, just the cakes. It’s not like I’ma to leave her work tray out. Something has happened; I feel it.”

  “You worry too much,” Gammad told her brusquely, snatching another cake and breaking it between his fingers. “You also talk too much. They are probably all out visiting. Now leave me alone.”

  “Ox!” Haburah turned away from him, infuriated, and Annah stifled an impulse to smile. Gammad—broad, thick-muscled, and onerous—did resemble an ox.

  A sharp whistle outside made them all look to the front entry of the lodge. Only one person whistled in that pitch: Chathath. He leaned inside the lodge, his mouth twisting sardonically. “We’ve been summoned to the lodge of our dearest friend, Naham the Bone-breaker—or do I mean the Iron-breaker?”

  “Is I’ma there?” Haburah demanded.

  Chathath shrugged carelessly. “Come see for yourself. But our presence is commanded, along with everyone else in the settlement.”

  Gammad scowled and stood, snarling, “Who gave Naham the authority to order us to come to him?”

  “Are you going to fight him, brother-slave?” Chathath retorted. “He can beat you to dust with one fist.” Pausing significantly, he added, “Tseb-iy is there.”

  Gammad rose and followed Chathath, and Haburah accompanied them reluctantly. Still hiding in the shadows, Annah hesitated. She longed to be sure her mother was safe. She also wanted to hear the others at this gathering—particularly Tseb-iy. But the memory of Naham’s fingers creeping into her hair and caressing her neck made her shudder. What if he saw her and renewed his demand? Yerakh had no reason to protect her, apart from his own greed; perhaps he would give her as a peace offering.

  If Yerakh gives me to Naham, I’ll run away, Annah decided. But how will I know if he decides such a thing? I have to hear what is said at this meeting. Clutching her veil, Annah took her bag and some of the honey cakes, then slipped out the back of the lodge. The air was calm. The roseate daytime sky was giving way to the rich violet hues of night. The stars and the moon appeared now, glowing enchantingly, all whites, pinks, yellows, and blues. Annah paused to rest and look up at the stars, almost forgetting her physical pain and her fear for her mother.

  If I did believe in the Most High, Annah thought, I would believe because of the stars and the moon. How can they be so beautiful without the hand of a master craftsman? They are like jewels.

  Annah walked slowly between the lodges of the settlement. All of them were similar: woven split-reed lattice and grass walls, with wooden uprights framing the doors and grass-covered roofs open at the top to release the smoke of the evening fires. However, the lodge of Naham was the largest, to accommodate his imposing height.

  Annah crept around the side of Naham’s lodge and knelt on the hard earth near a lattice window. She could see the inhabitants of the settlement crowded into the main room. Naham sat on a thick heap of grass mats and hides in front of the carefully banked evening fire, his fearfully large body slouching, relaxed and comfortable. His two wives, remarkably alike, sat to his right. Both were slender, silent, and unmoving, their dark hair braided down their backs, fastened with only a few miserly gold talismans each.

  Glancing behind them, Annah caught her breath. Parah was there, looking tired but uninjured. She was staring into the crowd gathered before Naham. Annah followed her mother’s gaze across the crackling fire to Tseb-iy. He was completely at ease, laughing in the firelight, his teeth gleaming, his thick black hair falling over his shoulders.

  He was surrounded by the other smooth-shaven, unmarried men of the settlement. Seated among them was K’nan, Ayalah’s beloved, a well-built young man with deep-set eyes and a petulant lower lip. He looked bored, rolling his eyes upward as his companions talked and joked with Tseb-iy.

  Look at all of you, so proud and pleased with yourselves, Anna thought. Not one of you is as honorable and handsome as the man who loves me. Not even you, Tseb-iy. Her gaze narrowing, Annah watched Tseb-iy. He never once looked at Parah. He doesn’t love her, Annah realized, feeling a sudden pang. He loves no one but himself. And, I think he and all his friends are hoping to make Yerakh angry—they’re mocking him.

  Yerakh was seated nearby, glaring at them when he was not grimacing at Naham. Iltani sat beside him, her eyes downcast, her face swollen and marked as if Yerakh had slapped her again. Annah almost felt sorry for her.

  As Annah watched, Ayalah slipped through the crowd, her eyes shining, her pretty mouth curving with a secretive joy. She knelt beside Yerakh, then turned and motioned to Taphaph, Tseb-iy’s younger sister.

  As attractive as her brother, Taphaph shook her lustrous black hair off her shoulders and delicately picked her way through the crowd, swaying as she walked. Her large dark eyes sparkled, and her smile was dazzling as she knelt beside Ayalah. Most of the men were openly admiring her; Yerakh actually licked his lips. Iltani sat up straight, clearly outraged.

  Watching this interplay, Annah felt a reluctant stab of compassion for Iltani, mingled with a growing disgust at Ayalah, who was now giggling and whispering with Taphaph. The two young women were perfectly aware of the interest and tension their actions had created. The conversations of the other members of the settlement increased in volume. Tseb-iy scowled at his sister. K’nan frowned at Ayalah. Yerakh watched Taphaph from the corner of his eye, obviously distracted by her nearness.

  And none of this escaped Naham’s attention. Watching Yerakh’s covetous expression, Naham leaned back on his pile of mats and whispered something to Parah. In response, Parah allowed Naham a hint of a smile. Seeming pleased, Naham straightened and spoke to his wives. At his command they passed baskets of grain cakes through the crowd—a reminder to all present that this was a peaceful gathering. Anyone with something to say would be allowed to speak. Naham lifted his hands and raised his voice over the chatter of his neighbors.

  “Listen! Listen to me.” Smiling as everyone hushed, Naham continued, his voice rumbling. “You are all welcome here tonight. Some have concerns they wish to share openly, so that everyone understands their w
orries. We must listen and agree on these matters. Also, there will be no fighting in my lodge tonight. I know you don’t want me to break up anything … or anyone.” He raised his huge fists, and the other members of the settlement were respectfully quiet.

  Obviously satisfied with their reaction, Naham slapped his now-opened hands on his thighs. “Good. Let’s enjoy each other’s company, then part in peace. I’ll begin with a matter that concerns more than one lodge.” Pausing, Naham grinned wickedly. “Tseb-iy, some of the men believe you’re too much of a distraction to their wives and daughters.”

  Everyone laughed, and Tseb-iy smiled and shrugged, lifting his hands as if to plead his helplessness against the attentions of the women of the settlement. “Do any of these women have complaints against me?” he asked. “Did I seek them? No, they sought me.” His defense provoked sniggers from some of the men and murmurs of disbelief from the women.

  Liar, Annah thought, shocked, glaring at Tseb-iy from behind the protective lattice. My I’ma would never give her attentions to a man who did not encourage her. Shifting her gaze to her mother, Annah became even more distressed. Parah’s eyes were closed, as if in pain.

  Everyone whispered and hissed until Naham raised his hands again, addressing Tseb-iy. “You are not of my lodge, Tseb-iy, but you are my cousin, and I’m tired of hearing complaints against you. We have decided that you should choose a wife or two, and stop causing problems for the families of other lodges. If you don’t confine your attentions to your own women, you’ll have to leave the settlement.”

  Again Tseb-iy smiled and shrugged, noncommittal.

  “Do you agree?” Naham demanded, leaning forward.

  Tseb-iy’s smile thinned. Straightening, he said heavily, “I agree. I’ll choose a wife soon. But she must have a proper marriage portion.”

  He knows Yerakh won’t part with any of his fields, Annah thought, infuriated. Tell the truth, Tseb-iy; you just don’t want Parah of the Lodge of Yerakh.

  Chathath and Gammad pushed through the crowd. They stepped in among the young men surrounding Tseb-iy, forcing them to move so they could sit beside Tseb-iy, threatening him without words.

  By now, Parah had recovered her composure. In silent dignity, she shook her head at her sons, but they did not look at her.

  Apparently trying to distract Chathath and Gammad, Tseb-iy called out, “Now, I want to ask the opinion of everyone in this settlement: What should be done to a man who won’t part with the fields and wealth his mother brought to the lodge of the Tsaraph? These possessions were for the use of Zahar of the Tsaraph, not for his son. Is it right for the son to deny his mother her own properties now that she is a widow?”

  Yerakh leaned forward, his dark eyes kindled with rage. “You have no understanding of these matters, Tseb-iy! They’re not your concern!”

  Tseb-iy smiled maliciously. “Then who is concerned with these matters? What about your sisters? You have withheld their marriage portions, saying they have none. Now K’nan is concerned! And Naham was concerned years ago when he asked for Haburah. And what about your brothers? Why don’t you give them their share of the inheritance your father planned for them? Do you think we’re fools, Yerakh?”

  “Answer him, Yerakh,” K’nan yelled. “Then answer my question: If you, Yerakh, should desire another woman as a wife—such as Tseb-iy’s sister, there beside you—would you believe her parents if they say she has no marriage portion? You would say that they’re trying to cheat you!”

  Yerakh turned to Naham accusingly. “You’ve told them to say these things! This whole meeting is planned to force me to agree with you!”

  “This meeting was called to discuss problems brought to me by members of your own lodge, Yerakh!” Naham lashed back. “But now that the matter has been brought up, remember: I warned you yesterday that the other men in the settlement were becoming impatient with your excuses. Now you will have to answer them before everyone.” Ominously he added, “Later, you will answer me again: I haven’t given up my earlier requests.”

  Naham stared at Yerakh until Yerakh looked away—in the direction of Taphaph. When Yerakh finally spoke again, he was subdued. “I’m not required to answer everyone here tonight. But I agree to consider these matters later.” Before anyone could react to this, he straightened and called out, “Now I have something to say.”

  Pointing to Iltani, he said, “Everyone, look at this woman beside me. She’s supposed to be my wife. But we’ve been married for five years and she has given me no children. Not even daughters. She’s barren! She’s lazy! She’s bad-tempered and a liar! Today I found her wearing an ornament from another man! She would not reveal the name of this man, but it doesn’t matter. I say to this man—whoever you are—if she doesn’t bear a child of mine within the next year, then you may have her. I won’t stop you, because I’ll no longer consider her to be my wife.”

  Iltani burst into tears, doubling over, burying her face in her hands. Sickened, Annah looked up at the stars, all glittering, pure, bright, far removed from her troubles.

  I’ll wait, she decided. I’m too weak to run away tonight. Perhaps Naham still wants Haburah, not me. But if Yerakh gives me to Naham, I will leave this settlement and never return.

  Flanked by his brothers, Shem stared into the evening fire, listening as his mother talked to his father, waving her hands in agitation. “I wish you could have seen her. The poor child! That other woman treated her as if she were less than an animal. It’s obvious the child is pretending to be mindless, but why? Noakh, my dear one, we must bring her out of that settlement!”

  Stirring, Yepheth spoke, his long, solemn face revealing an unaccustomed impatience. “Do we sit here and wait, Father? Or can we do something to help her?”

  “I was going to ask the same thing, Father,” Shem said. “But I feared such a question might be considered a lack of faith in the Most High.”

  Noakh answered them with the faintest of smiles “It will interest you, then, my impatient ones, when I tell you that I have also questioned the Most High concerning this matter.” He stared into the fire, seeming to ponder the matter again, his expression distant, full of wonderment.

  “And?” Shem questioned softly, “Can you tell us, Father? What is His answer?”

  Stroking his beard absently, Noakh said, “His answer is that we are to build a bridge across the river. We have all the ropes and necessary supplies; it won’t take long.”

  Naomi sighed, pleased. “Good! I’ll feel so much better when we get the poor child away from that woman and her family. But think of it: a bridge—that will be a task.”

  As Yepheth grunted in thoughtful agreement, Khawm nudged Shem in the ribs. Then, in mock seriousness, he asked, “Forgive me, Father, but why must we build a bridge to cross the river? Couldn’t we just build a little boat?”

  Startled, Noakh blinked at his youngest son, then laughed.

  Shem laughed with them, but his thoughts raced ahead. A bridge, for her—his wife.

  Iltani trembled as she trudged through the dark fields. She knew she was not being followed; Yerakh, Chathath, and the others were still at the lodge of Naham. But her heart continued to pound horribly. Rage and distress welled up like bile in her throat.

  “I hate you!” she cried to the absent Yerakh. “And I hate your family—all of you!” She choked down a sob. I wish I’d never left my family. Dull and backward as they were, they would never have shamed me the way you shamed me tonight.

  Stopping in the dark field, Iltani screamed, “You won’t discard me, Yerakh!” It was stupid and futile to scream at him while he could not hear her, but she didn’t care. He was a beast. He wanted to discard her because he was bored with her. And because Taphaph—the little boldfaced flirt—happened to sit beside him tonight, tempting him.

  You knew what you were doing, Ayalah, thought Iltani, seething. You wanted to distract Yerakh and humiliate me! As for my lack of children, that’s nothing more than Yerakh’s excuse for getting rid of me. If
he had children, he would have to share his precious gold and flocks and fields! But if I do have a child, then he must swallow his own words.

  Iltani paused in the darkness, wiping away tears of frustration. In her mind she could hear the low, hoarse, guttural song of the Nachash and the other, less exalted whisperers calling to her, drawing her to their evening fire. They never showed surprise when she appeared unexpectedly. But then, they rarely displayed any emotions, beyond their arrogance and contempt for her gifts in return for their words of promise for her future.

  Can they help me now? She hesitated. Sometimes I wonder if they’ve ever helped me at all. Chathath knows I’ve visited them, and it won’t be long before he tells Yerakh.

  The silent swoosh of an owl startled Iltani from her reverie. Instinctively, she stepped away from its flight path, toward the lodge of the Nachash. With this action, she felt that her course had been decided. She walked on, excited now, anticipating the alluring power surrounding the old whisperer and her companions.

  She approached the lodge of the Nachash and paused beside a large, flat disc of bronze suspended from a bar set between two reed posts. A slender club of polished wood dangled from a leather strap, also attached to the posts. Grasping the club, Iltani struck the bronze disc once to warn the Nachash of her visit. Then she entered the reed-and-grass lattice lodge.

  The Nachash and her five companions sat in a semicircle before their evening fire, their eyes closed. All six were thin to the point of emaciation, their heads bare, their silvered hair disheveled, their rough-edged hide tunics stained with sweat, oils, and dirt. The Nachash herself wore a distinctive circular leather cloak, tooled and painted in sinuous patterns resembling the flowing lines of the serpent—the source, they said, of their wisdom and counsel.

  They did not look up as Iltani entered the lodge, but the oldest of the companions croaked out, “Enter in peace and be seated.”