As they ate, Keren noticed that Neshar was frequently glancing just beyond her. Wondering, Keren looked over her shoulder. Revakhaw was there, eyeing Neshar, and she seemed unabashed that Keren had noticed their silent flirtation.
Leaning toward Keren, and shielding her face from Neshar’s view, Revakhaw whispered, “Lady, your brother there is as handsome as you are beautiful.”
“You insult my brother,” Keren said.
Revakhaw laughed and turned away, gathering emptied platters and bowls, while Neshar studied her every move. He was handsome, Keren decided, secretly proud of him—of all her brothers. It would please her if Neshar might someday request Revakhaw as his wife, for Revakhaw already seemed like a sister to Keren. But would Nimr-Rada allow Revakhaw—or any of Keren’s attendants—to leave her household to be married? Surely Nimr-Rada wouldn’t be so cruel as to deny this. She would have to ask Ra-Anan. Politely.
Too soon, the impromptu feast ended. The sun was setting, and Alatah and Tsinnah were bringing out the tallow-filled lamps of clay, trimming the plaited grass wicks, and lighting them carefully. Noticing that her brothers were becoming restless, Keren stood. Her legs and feet tingled uncomfortably, half numb from kneeling for such a long time.
“We leave before dawn, Lady,” Neshar said, apologizing for their departure.
“Tell me that I’ll see you again,” Keren begged, aware of Revakhaw lingering nearby.
“Perhaps you will.” Neshar’s expression was circumspect now, all thoughts of Revakhaw apparently, necessarily, disregarded. He stepped nearer, an arm’s length away. In a barely audible whisper, he said, “We may be parted for years. Listen, my sister: Learn to use your weapons. And judge everything coldly. I know you detest what I’m saying, but for your own sake you must protect yourself. Trust no one. And treasure your isolation. If you manage everything respectfully, I don’t believe Nimr-Rada would kill you. However, he and Ra-Anan will have you enmeshed in countless maddening plots.”
Suddenly, he looked very much like Eliyshama, young and worried. Keren watched him intently, trying to hear his every word. He hesitated, then said softly, “I don’t wish to see you enslaved here forever, but if our father arrives in the Great City, don’t let him try to take you away. Quiet as he is, you know he has a temper, and it won’t go well with him if he threatens He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies. You must make our father leave you here willingly. For his life, my own sister, I beg you to weigh every word you say in our father’s presence.”
Keren’s mouth went dry. She hadn’t considered this possibility. “Do you think our father would actually come here?”
“Yes.” Neshar’s face hardened, older now. “Remembering our father, he will try to save you from this place. And from He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies. Again, I beg you, if you cherish our father, you must make him leave you here. Reject him.”
If Neshar had beaten her, he could not have upset her so badly. She turned away, feeling ill. When her brothers finally left, Keren lingered in the darkening courtyard, desolate as an abandoned child. Reject her father?
“I can’t,” she whispered to no one. “I can’t.”
Twelve
“TELL ME WHAT my brothers say of me,” Ra-Anan commanded, as Keren knelt before him beneath a shading canopy in his courtyard.
Keren folded her hands in her lap, hoping she appeared tranquil, though she was sweating in the midday heat. Ra-Anan’s servants had brought her nothing to drink, which was good; today Ra-Anan would not detain her to point out all her failings in a long lesson of manners. He simply wanted information.
She refused politely. “What can I tell you about our brothers that you do not already know, O Master Ra-Anan?”
“Very little.” Ra-Anan leaned forward, aggravated, his deep-set eyes narrowing as he spoke. “And I am sure that is all you intend to tell me: very little.”
When she remained silent, merely staring down at her fingers plaited together in her lap, he said, “Neshar and the others have caused you nothing but trouble. Why should you protect them?”
“They are my own brothers—the sons of my father and mother. And whatever troubles they’ve unintentionally caused, at least I know they care for me.”
“Hence all their warnings against me,” Ra-Anan observed darkly.
She wondered at his tone. He sounded as if his brothers had—by their warnings—opened a festering wound. “Are you surprised by this?”
“Not at all. I expected that they would disown me. But you, my sister, have you disowned me as well?”
Keren hesitated, then decided to be blunt. “If I disown you as my brother, Ra-Anan, it will be a decision you have made for me by your own actions.”
“And, likewise, my sister, if I turn against you, it will be a decision you have made for me by your own actions.”
Trading him stare for stare, Keren said, “I don’t pretend to understand you, Master Ra-Anan, but I don’t consider myself your enemy.”
“Indeed?” He was contemptuous, making Keren grit her teeth as he sneered. “You resist my every suggestion. You ignore my advice. You listen to those who hate me. Dear sister, I am glad you are not my enemy.”
Infuriated, she burst out, “I resist your advice because you give it in your own best interests, not mine! You’re just like Sharah!” To her satisfaction, he looked shocked by the comparison. “I wish you would tell me why you’ve brought me to the Great City. Why should you endure me when I’m unwilling to be here? It’s not because you feel any sense of duty or loyalty or love toward me—because I know you don’t. So it can only be that I’m useful to you somehow, being such an oddity.”
“You are right, of course,” he agreed, his face settling into its usual cold mask. “Why else would I trouble myself with such a boring, rebellious child such as yourself? Whether you like it or not, you are useful to me, so I will keep you here and you will accept that fact. Sadly, you are not as intelligent as I thought; I am amazed that it took you weeks to reach such an obvious conclusion.”
“Weeks? I’ve known the truth since our first meeting!” She almost screamed the words. She longed to shove him, to beat him. Brother or not, she wanted to repay his insults with her own hands.
A movement to her right caught her attention. Zehker. By his silent approach, he warned her to control her fatal impulse. Curling her hands into hard fists upon her knees, Keren exhaled before trusting herself to speak again. Ra-Anan was watching her carefully, his dark eyes reflecting a secretive enjoyment of the situation.
Keren spoke to Zehker first. “Thank you, Zehker. Please, bring me my bow but not an arrow. I need to hold something to remind myself that I must not touch my brother; he’s not immune to the death order.”
“Very good,” Ra-Anan approved, lowering his voice as Zehker went to get her bow. “I deserved that threat. But if you ever touch me, my sister, I will kill you with my bare hands. I will be put to death, but you will die first—and in great pain.”
Calmer now, she endured his warning, but she couldn’t help retorting, “A brother and a sister die tragically by an order from He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies—because the sister scorned the Great King. That story would be worthy of an endless chant to be composed by one of your devoted pupils.”
“Among whom you are numbered.”
“Not that it does any good.” Keren grimaced, remembering her music lessons. Ra-Anan’s ideas of music were droning, monotonous, mournful chants, usually without the softening touch of flutes, chimes, or strings. She couldn’t believe that he wanted her to learn such horrible music. Another thought occurred to her then. She lifted her chin, challenging him. “If I am your pupil, Master Ra-Anan, then isn’t it your duty to answer my questions?”
“Only if your questions apply to the lesson at hand.”
“Because you haven’t declared my lesson for the day, then I will ask you an all-encompassing question.”
He smiled a thin, waiting smile. “Ask.”
Zehker approached, offering Keren a yew bow. She th
anked him and set the bow on her knees, smiling grimly because the ever cautious Zehker had cut the bowstring, leaving her only the stave. Did he think she had arrows in her robes?
Looking at Ra-Anan once more, she said, “Master Ra-Anan: During all my weeks in the Great City and among the surrounding tribes, no one has spoken of the Most High. The nearest reference to Him is ‘by the heavens,’ which isn’t a reference to Him at all. And no one offers Him sacrifices. Why does everyone despise Him?”
Inclining his head slightly, his thin smile still evident, Ra-Anan said, “There are other ways of expressing our devotion.”
“But not to the Most High,” Keren persisted. “You—all of you—express your devotion to the heavens only. You give no reverence toward the Most High.”
Ra-Anan’s tight smile eased, and he lifted his hands, the sudden embodiment of a reasonable teacher. “Beneath the freedom of these heavens, and ruled by our protector, He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies, how can we not be glad and praise our liberty?”
He had not answered her question directly, and yet he had told her everything. Her heart sank. Slowly, she rephrased his answer aloud, faltering. “You—and everyone in your Great City—perceive the loving care and wisdom of the Most High as oppressive. And the remoteness of these uncaring heavens is … a blessing to you.”
Still reasonable, he said, “Here on the plains, we have the warmth of our guiding sun. The rains come when our fields must be flooded in the spring, and the cruel storms of winter are withheld from us—unlike those who live in the mountains. How can we consider ourselves anything but blessed if all these good things come to us from the heavens?”
Ignoring his veiled slur against those who lived in the mountains, Keren matched his reasoning tone as she argued, “The gifts of these heavens are provided by the Most High. And He created the sun—Shemesh—to be our servant. Shouldn’t we worship Him for granting us such undeserved mercy?”
“Mercy in what?” Ra-Anan asked, unusually gentle. “Look around you, my sister. We are not afflicted in any way. Why should we cry for mercy if we are not afflicted?”
“You have truly rejected Him,” Keren murmured, clutching the bow stave on her knees. She was frightened by the extent of the spiritual rebellion in this Great City. How could these people not perceive the love of the Most High? How could they reject Him when He simply desired them to live in harmony with Him in expectation of the Promised One? She shook her head. “I’ll never understand.…”
“When you are older, my sister, when you have seen more of life beneath these heavens, you will understand. For now, however, don’t trouble yourself with these difficult thoughts. Are you not blessed as we are blessed? Be content; enjoy the freedoms that He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies has given us in his Great City.”
Freedoms? Keren almost sniffed aloud at the idea. Why couldn’t anyone see the restraints Nimr-Rada had cast over all their lives for the sake of his own personal gain, and his insatiable desire for power? How could they possibly believe that they were free?
As she was considering this, Ra-Anan said, “Neshar warned you that our father might attempt to take you from our Great City. Neshar is right to be concerned. What will you tell our father when he comes here?”
Keren stared at Ra-Anan, speechless. How had he heard of Neshar’s quiet warning? Had one of the servants or guardsmen been able to listen unnoticed? Or could one of her own attendants be an informant—Gebuwrah, perhaps? Another possibility occurred to her then. She narrowed her eyes at Ra-Anan. “Did you truly release our brothers? Or have you enslaved them again?”
“They are all free and riding off in separate directions,” Ra-Anan said, though the smoothness of his voice was not reassuring. “And if you behave yourself, they will continue to enjoy their freedoms. Tell me what you will say to our father.”
“You questioned our brothers again before sending them away, didn’t you?” Keren accused, refusing to be distracted. “Which brother did you torment into revealing what Neshar said? Kana? Miyka? Or was it Mattan? You’re disgusting.”
“I am merely careful,” Ra-Anan countered. “How can I prevent you from behaving foolishly if I do not know what rebellious ideas have been poured into your receptive little mind? Now tell me: What will you say to our father when he arrives?”
“I don’t know what I’ll say.” Keren rapped the stave against her knees, wishing Ra-Anan would actually become the snake he so strongly resembled. Then she could beat him to death. No, she scolded herself. Not to death. She prayed she would never become as hardened toward death as He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies. Or Ra-Anan.
Staring at Ra-Anan, she said, “Whatever I say, my brother, I will say it because I care for our father—which is more than you will do, I’m sure.”
“Believe me, I don’t wish to see our father die. Listen, my sister: Convince He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies of your devotion to him! Convince our father of the same thing. Then he will leave us alone, and our Great King won’t harm him.”
Keren leaned forward, shaking her head vehemently. “No. You just want me to bow to your Nimr-Rada. You want me to flatter him, praise him, and adore him—to make him my Lord of the Earth. I can’t do that, and you know it.”
“It would be easier than watching our father die.”
“It would be easier for me to die.”
“Perhaps it would.”
She glared at him. He was so venomous she could no longer endure his presence. “May I leave now, O Master Ra-Anan?”
He smiled again, the thin brittle smile. “I’ve said all I need to say. You may go.”
“Did you tell her all that I commanded you to say?” Nimr-Rada asked, toying with an empty hammered-gold cup as they sat in the dim coolness of his spacious main room. He had just returned from his daily hunt and had sent for Ra-Anan without warning. “Did you tell her that she must behave during her father’s impending visit?”
Ra-Anan nodded. The question caught him midsip; he was thirsty, having just arrived. Swallowing neatly, he said, “I told her that for his own safety, she must convince our father of her devotion to you, my Lord.”
“And will she?”
Moistening his lips, Ra-Anan set down his black-glazed clay cup, then paused for added effect. “At this time, she says she would rather die. As young and stubborn as she is, I think she believes what she says. When the time comes, however, I am sure she will reconsider.”
“There are other ways to achieve the same result,” said Nimr-Rada, drawing his full lips together in a thoughtful bow. Raising one dark eyebrow, he asked, “What of her devotion to those Ancient Ones and their beliefs?”
“She is still loyal to them. But she has more to consider now; I pointed out to her that we are blessed, happy, and free here on the plains. Essentially, we do as we please, yet we have not been cursed by her Most High. And life is much easier for those who live here under your rule than it is for those who live in the mountains in the shadow of her Most High. I will allow those thoughts to gnaw into her mind for a while, then talk to her again. Time, separation from those Ancient Ones, and a life of comparative ease will certainly have an effect on her opinions.”
“Does she still refuse to wear the ornaments and garments I commanded for her?”
“Again, she is young and stubborn. She doesn’t like calling attention to herself.”
“Unlike her sister,” Nimr-Rada growled, leaning back and contemplating the dried skins, horns, and other hunting mementos that adorned the walls of his main room. “Let me consider the matter further. I have an idea, but it will take time to arrange everything. Meanwhile, I am counting on you to convince my foolish wife that she must discipline herself. Otherwise she will suffer unwelcome changes.”
Hearing this, Ra-Anan relaxed and took another sip of cooling watered wine. The mercenary Sharah would be far easier to deal with than the idealistic Keren. “Command me, my Lord. I will convince her of whatever she must do.”
“Why should I need lessons from you?” Sharah demanded, storm
ing into Ra-Anan’s dusk-and torchlit courtyard, her lovely, pale face antagonistic. “Is this another one of your little whims, Ra-Anan?”
“No, your lessons were commanded by the Great King, and you know it. Do not try to evade us in this, my sister. These lessons are necessary. And all the tantrums you could possibly subject me to will only heighten the seriousness of your situation.”
“You don’t command me!” she screeched, waving her gold-decked hands to emphasize her words.
Undisturbed by her fury, Ra-Anan relaxed on his mat and waited. As he expected, it took her more than an instant to perceive the threat he had implied.
At last she halted and frowned. “The seriousness of my situation?”
He nodded, then flicked a hand toward the mat Keren had occupied earlier that afternoon. The canopy that had shaded them was now replaced by a multitude of flaring, crackling torches anchored between the paving bricks. Ra-Anan wanted to see Sharah’s every expression, her every move. As she knelt on the mat before him, Ra-Anan said, “Our Great King is bored with you. More than bored. He is completely dissatisfied; he regrets making you his wife.”
“What?” She gawked at him, obviously unable to say more than that one word.
Knowing he had her attention now, Ra-Anan listed her faults, sparing her nothing. “Close your mouth and compose yourself; never allow your weakness to show. Obviously, that dignity you pretend to have is useless. Also, you are lazy. You have no discretion. Only trivial matters hold your attention. You have made no attempt to bring yourself into favor with the people of the Great City. You are cruel, untrustworthy, and have tantrums.…”
“Never in the presence of the Great King,” Sharah interrupted, justifying herself.
“You are evasive,” Ra-Anan continued. “And greedy. In short, you are worse than a child and must grow up. If you do not improve your character and make yourself deserving of your position, then the Great King will discard you. Those unique looks you are so proud of are the only praiseworthy trait you possess, and he is used to those now.”
He Who Lifts the Skies Page 15
