He bowed in silent agreement, then waited as she tied the sandals and headpiece safely within the piece of leather. When she was finished, Zehker lifted the bundle and secured it on a packhorse. Keren did not dare look at him again. Instead, she scolded herself silently for imagining that he might care for her more than any other dutiful servant in her household. Really, she was being ridiculous. And she could not be ridiculous now; somehow she had to climb into that formidable barge.
Taking a resolute breath, Keren waded into the blue-green river, gasping a little at its chill, then enjoying the sparkling, refreshing flow of the current at her toes, ankles, calves, and knees. She longed to douse herself in the water and swim, but she stifled the impulse. Nimr-Rada was lifting Sharah aboard. Sharah was laughing, but Keren knew that she was uneasy. Sharah detested water. Nimr-Rada half tossed her into the barge, clearly enjoying her discomfort. His smile vanished when he saw Keren.
“Where is your head ornament?”
“Where it will be safe,” she answered gently. “I feared I might lose my headpiece as my attendants help me into the barge. Also, my sandals would be ruined by the water, and that would be a terrible waste—they are still in good condition. But see …” She showed him her rings, necklace, and cuffs. “I’m wearing the other pieces.”
“You have an answer for everything, don’t you?” His voice lowered intimately. “Tell me—since you surely need my help now—should I withdraw the death order?”
Keren’s heart thudded hard in her chest. Why would he want to lift the death order unless he wanted to take her for himself? To cover her creeping sense of horror, she smiled. “Why should I cause you such trouble, Great King? Truly, I will be able to get into the barge—clumsily, stupidly, but eventually. Thank you for your concern.”
“Of course.” He drew back, his nostrils flaring, an eyebrow lifted. “Get in.”
Trying to ignore him, Keren waded toward the barge, calling out, “Lawkham, Erek, move away, please. Gebuwrah, Revakhaw, Tsinnah, come help me in.”
“Give us your hands, Lady,” Revakhaw urged, her eyes mischievous.
“Behave,” Keren warned her. “If you drop me, you’ll splash He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies.”
Revakhaw stopped smiling. She and Tsinnah gripped Keren’s wrists and elbows, bracing themselves against the side of the barge as they pulled Keren upward. Keren boosted herself as best she could and managed to hook an arm, then an ankle, over the edge of the barge as Gebuwrah grabbed her waist. They all tumbled together inside, to the bottom of the barge.
Keren laughed triumphantly but stopped when she saw Sharah’s flushed face. Her sister’s eyes glittered angrily, and Keren knew why: Sharah had heard every word Nimr-Rada had said to Keren. And Sharah had given his tone and words the worst possible meaning, which for once was probably accurate.
You can’t openly blame him for wanting me, so you’ll blame me, Keren thought to Sharah. Somehow I will convince you that I don’t welcome your husband’s attentions.
“Move, all of you!” Nimr-Rada commanded, his booming voice startling everyone. They moved. The Great King hoisted himself aboard unaided, carrying his flail, a longspear, and bow and arrows. His power and grace put them all to shame, though the barge swayed unnervingly with his movements.
Turning, he hauled Kuwsh aboard as easily as if his father had been a child. Kuwsh thanked him, then gave Keren a scathing look. He, too, was blaming her. Lowering her head politely, she moved forward in the barge, toward the high red prow. She did not want to be near the painted leather canopy that would serve as shelter for Nimr-Rada, Kuwsh, and Sharah. She sat near the front, with Revakhaw to her left and Gebuwrah and the others behind her, carefully spacing themselves here and there for the sake of balance.
Four of Nimr-Rada’s guards climbed in then, sturdy and grim. Bowing to Nimr-Rada, each guard picked up a long sturdy pole from inside the barge. One guardsman handed a pole to Lawkham, and another handed a pole to Erek, who looked frankly dismayed. Lawkham, however, was pleased. He stood not far behind Keren, chatting at the sullen guard to his left as they plied the long poles.
Allowing herself to relax, Keren listened to Lawkham’s cheerful banter as she leaned over to her right to stare down at the sparkling ripples in the water.
“Listen,” Lawkham said, “I see you’ve got some hooks and gores and nets over there. Later—to amuse the Lady and her companions—we might let them fish, am I right? Look at her companions: how beautiful they are, how sweetly they smile! How can you dare to disappoint them?”
“Put your energy into your work,” the guard told him irritably. “If we have leisure time later, you can amuse those girls with your fishing.”
“Naturally,” Lawkham replied, unperturbed. “But you will want to help us with our fishing, I’m sure. I cannot possibly assist the Lady and her pretty companions by myself—though I do wish I could.”
That thought obviously stayed with the guard. Later, after a midday meal of soft flat bread, dates, nuts, dried fish, and cold water, the guard checked the assortment of nets, bone hooks, and cords. Apparently satisfied, he stepped away to request Nimr-Rada’s permission to allow “those girls” to fish.
Engrossed in a hunting conversation with Kuwsh and the yawning Sharah, Nimr-Rada waved his flail at the guard, nodding agreement. The guard returned and handed out nets, hooks, and cordage.
Delighted, Lawkham cajoled Gebuwrah, Revakhaw, and Tsinnah. “Watch. Mold a bit of bread on your hooks. And don’t throw the cordage over the side—you could drop it too easily. Look, tie it on the end of this pole. See how much easier it is to handle? You won’t lose it that way, and it will be stronger if you catch a large fish. Lady”—he smiled at Keren beguilingly—“won’t you fish with us?”
“I’m happy to watch you for now,” Keren answered, stretching. “I think the food has made me sleepy.”
“Later then?”
“Later,” Keren promised.
The previously sullen and tight-lipped guard was smiling, handing a cordage-and-hook-bound pole to Alatah, because Na’ah had refused to take it. At least he was being courteous. Keren yawned. She had awakened too early this morning, worried about practicing with the bow and arrows. Lulled, she drifted into a light sleep, interrupted now and then by Revakhaw’s laughter, Lawkham’s teasing, and Na’ah’s faint squeals of nervousness.
All at once, Na’ah’s squeals heightened, becoming an outright scream, joined by thuds and shrieks from Alatah. Keren jumped to her feet, blinking and trying to understand what was happening. An eel—huge, long, dark—was thrashing wildly on the bottom of the barge at Na’ah’s feet, while the guard beat its head with the thick pole. Na’ah was hopping about, screeching and flapping her hands like a crazed bird, while Alatah cried, “Ugh! Throw it back!”
Keren laughed; how she would tease Alatah and Na’ah later. Now, Revakhaw and the others were scurrying around laughing as they tried and failed to help. The barge rocked with their movements. Someone brushed past Keren, also laughing. Lawkham. Keren gasped quietly. He had touched her. But it was an accident. Surely no one had noticed in all the confusion. Lawkham certainly hadn’t noticed. She would behave as if nothing had happened—
A longspear thudded into Lawkham’s back, throwing him to the bottom of the boat. If he cried out, Keren didn’t hear him. She screamed.
Seventeen
“LAWKHAM!”
Keren knelt beside Lawkham, trembling. He was half turned on his side, his skin ashen, claylike. And he was bleeding, a dark stain slowly creeping downward from the center of his chest. The longspear had pierced him through. His eyelids fluttered open. He seemed bewildered, and in great pain. Keren lowered herself until she could look into his eyes. She heard his breath—weakened, hoarse, and uneven. He was dying. It wouldn’t matter if she touched him now. Tentatively, she caressed his clammy cheek as if he were a young child. His eyes met hers in a mute, agonized appeal.
“Lawkham,” she begged softly, trying not to cry, prayi
ng he could hear. “Call to the Most High. He hears you. Call to Him!”
His eyes were closing. His lips moved without words. Desperate to hear him, Keren whispered, “Lawkham?”
He caught his breath, then was still. Unable to hear his next breath, she touched his face and tried to feel the pulsing of blood in his throat. Nothing. She sobbed. “No, Lawkham …”
“He’s dead!” Nimr-Rada snarled. Approaching, he braced his bare foot against Lawkham’s body and wrenched his longspear free, checking it for damage—spattering Lawkham’s blood everywhere with his movements. Behind Nimr-Rada, someone cried out in horror. Revakhaw. And someone else hit the bottom of the barge with a thud. Na’ah. The others were wailing now.
Keren stared at Nimr-Rada, appalled. How could he behave as if Lawkham were just another kill in a hunt? Monster!
Before she could scream at him, Nimr-Rada bellowed, “Look what you’ve done, Lady! You’ve caused his death! I asked why you were not wearing your gold—did I not? But you rebelled as always! He would have noticed you if you had been wearing your headpiece. He would be alive now!”
Ranting, Nimr-Rada waved the longspear at her, scraping her jaw with it, marking her with the stickiness of Lawkham’s blood, making her cringe. “Your first kill, Lady! Perhaps one day you will listen to me. You should have agreed to lift the death order when I offered.”
Nimr-Rada was right. She should have agreed. Devastated, covering her face with her hands, Keren cried. Most High, let me live that instant again! Let Lawkham live!
“Get rid of the body,” Nimr-Rada commanded, so harshly that Keren looked up, still sobbing, her hands to her mouth. “And scrub away this blood.”
As commanded, one of the burly guardsmen and Erek—Erek!—grabbed the dead Lawkham by the shoulders and ankles and heaved him into the river.
Keren leaped to her feet. “No!”
Before they could stop her, she jumped over the side of the barge into the water.
Keren slipped downward until her toes just brushed against the thickness at the bottom of the river. Pushing hard, holding her breath, she opened her eyes and gazed upward through the clear waters of the current, seeing the blue sky above. Pale, shimmering bubbles of air, expelled from her own garments, rose through the water above her. Keren followed them. She broke the surface, gasping for air, only to be splashed by someone else jumping into the river beside her.
Fearing that someone had been sent to stop her from retrieving Lawkham, Keren started to swim away. Revakhaw’s voice echoed to her across the surface of the water. “Lady, please, let me help you! Where is he? There …”
They swam together, reaching through the water for Lawkham, catching his tunic, struggling to turn him and to pull his face above the surface. As Revakhaw gazed into Lawkham’s sightless, half-opened eyes and blue-tinged face, she began to sob. “Who in this terrible place … will make us laugh now?”
“Stop,” Keren pleaded, treading water, catching her breath. “Don’t cry; save your strength.” She was frightened. The river was deeper here, and they were drifting. The shore was farther away than she had thought. And Nimr-Rada’s barge was blocking their way, giving them no choice but to swim around it. Keren prayed Nimr-Rada would not stop them from saving Lawkham’s body. All at once she heard screams and cries from Gebuwrah, Alatah, and Tsinnah.
Revakhaw panicked. “He’s killing them too!”
Keren almost cried, praying Revakhaw was wrong. But there was nothing they could do from this distance. And neither of them could bear the thought of abandoning Lawkham. They swam awkwardly, pulling him through the water, stopping now and then to tread in place, change their handholds, and encourage each other. Soon, their difficulties were somewhat lessened: Nimr-Rada was directing his barge downriver. But even with the obstacle of the barge removed, Keren and Revakhaw still had to swim across the current, which was stronger than Keren had expected. She had learned to swim in comparatively sedate mountain lakes—this river was completely different. It seemed to fight Keren, willfully dragging at her arms, legs, and garments like a living creature.
As Keren and Revakhaw paused again to shift Lawkham between them, a man’s dark head suddenly emerged from beneath the surface of the river, just beside Revakhaw. Shrieking, Revakhaw dodged away.
Keren gasped in fright. “Zehker!”
Wiping the water from his eyes, Zehker took a quick breath and tugged a plaited leather rein from his neck. Silent, he pulled Lawkham from their grasp, staring hard at his adoptive brother’s unmoving face as if searching for signs of life. For a brief instant, Zehker turned his head down and away. Then, without looking at them, he looped the rein around Lawkham’s chest. “Go. I’ll bring him, Lady.”
Revakhaw quavered, “We didn’t see you coming.”
“Get to shore.”
They obeyed him, though Keren looked back frequently to monitor Zehker’s progress. He was swimming in measured strokes, pulling Lawkham with him. Once, Keren saw him look at Nimr-Rada’s barge, which was now far enough away that Nimr-Rada was not an immediate threat.
“There are the others,” Revakhaw said, her voice catching. “They’re alive.” They were indeed alive but dripping wet and huddled together on the riverbank, almost in hysterics. Erek was standing nearby, just as bedraggled as the others, but definitely more composed. Keren glared at him. Conniving, sneaking traitor. She had her footing now in the riverbed. Her legs were shaking, and she felt as if she might collapse. Still, she glared at Erek, thankful to have a reason to push away the worst of her anguish.
“You self-serving wretch! I saw you throw Lawkham into the river. Don’t plead to me that you merely obeyed your Great King; you were eager to follow that order. If you want to save your miserable life, you’ll stay away from me!”
His eyes wide in alarm, Erek scurried toward the horses, shielding himself with their bodies. Keren looked at Gebuwrah now; she seemed more self-possessed than the others, who were crying on the riverbank, holding the dazed Na’ah. “What happened? Why were you screaming?”
“He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies was so angered by your escape; he threw us over the side, Lady,” Gebuwrah replied, flinging Keren a look of accusation. “He just tossed us over into the water by turns, starting with Na’ah. She was unconscious; she nearly drowned before we could reach her.”
Animal, Keren thought to Nimr-Rada. But I’m also to blame. Pushing a hand over her face and back into her tangled, dripping hair, Keren tried to ignore Gebuwrah’s rebuke. “Get a fleece from one of the horses, please, and cover Na’ah. She’s shaking.”
Gebuwrah hurried to get a fleece, scowling at Erek, who shied away from her like a whipped horse. Keren turned from him, disgusted. Zehker was nearing the river-bank now, and he paused to lift Lawkham over his shoulders before wading to shore. As he laid Lawkham on the riverbank, Tsinnah burst into tears and ran to kneel beside him. Alatah and Revakhaw followed her, sobbing. Gebuwrah silently shoved the fleece at Keren and joined the others.
Desolate, Keren stayed with the shaking Na’ah, wrapping her in the fleece, not daring to look at Zehker. After catching his breath, he left Lawkham, passing Keren without a word. When he returned a short time later, he was carrying a bundle of leather and two of the reed poles Keren used for stepping up onto Dobe’s back. Methodically he unfolded the leather, pierced it at measured intervals, and bound it to the poles with a series of leather ties.
Keren watched while he worked, finally realizing that he was creating a makeshift litter to carry his adoptive brother’s body. Lawkham is dead. And it is my fault. She approached him, ready for his anger, his contempt. How he must hate her for causing Lawkham’s death. Bowing her head, she knelt a proper distance away from him and said, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” She began to cry.
Very softly he said, “Don’t.”
Keren lifted her head, surprised by his tone of reassurance. Meeting her gaze steadily, he said, “Don’t accept the blame.” He started to bind the leather to the poles. Wantin
g to do something, anything, Keren moved to help him, but he said, “Erek is watching, Lady. Stay with the others. Please.”
Unable to bear the sight of Lawkham’s death-stilled face, Keren returned to sit with Na’ah, holding the speechless girl, fearing Na’ah would go mad.
But Na’ah suddenly leaned into Keren, saying, “I’ll never forgive myself, Lady. Never. I wish I had your courage. If I hadn’t been so stupid, screaming, he’d still be alive. And I … I loved him so!” Her tremulous confession broke down into heavy, racking sobs.
“Oh, Na’ah …” Keren rested her cheek on Na’ah’s dark, wet head, sharing her grief. At last she whispered, “You can’t blame yourself. You didn’t throw that spear. Listen to me; we have to be brave now. We have to take Lawkham to his family.”
“How can we bear to face his mother?”
Thinking of Meherah, Keren swallowed. “I don’t know.”
Walking slowly, heavily, they carried Lawkham’s body through the streets of the Great City, ignoring the stares, gasps, and whispers of the citizens. Before they reached the fields south of the Great City, where Lawkham’s parents lived, Keren and the others paused to lower Lawkham’s body to the ground so they could rest and change places.
A number of citizens approached them, staring at Lawkham’s face, recognizing him and expressing their dismay. Following Zehker’s terse instructions, Keren and her attendants said nothing to the citizens. Whatever they said would undoubtedly be conveyed to Ra-Anan and Nimr-Rada. Then their own words might be turned against them, and they would be punished. But Na’ah, Tsinnah, Revakhaw, and Alatah cried quietly, evoking sympathy from everyone who saw them.
Keren also wept, numb beyond despair. As they approached Meherah and Yabal’s modestly squared and plastered brick home near the river, Keren’s stomach churned. How could she possibly tell these people why their son was dead?
He Who Lifts the Skies Page 21
