Nimr-Rada stared at Na’ah and pulled a decorative flask from beneath his mantle. “You! This was yours?”
Na’ah managed a timid nod. Nimr-Rada thrust the flask at her. “Drink it!” As the girl hesitated, Nimr-Rada growled, “It’s just as you left it; I’ve guarded it myself. Drink!”
Na’ah drained her flask.
As she drank, Nimr-Rada paced back and forth, glaring at Ra-Anan before pointing at Na’ah. “Do you know what this cowardly girl did, Master Ra-Anan?”
“No, Great King,” Ra-Anan murmured, subdued.
“She diluted the tributes with fruit juice and saved your sister’s life! Thank her!”
“Thank you.” Ra-Anan inclined his head to Na’ah without looking at her.
“How did you know?” Nimr-Rada demanded of Na’ah. “Who warned you?”
“I … saw no one,” Na’ah quavered. “I heard a whisper in the temple.”
Accepting Na’ah’s excuse, Nimr-Rada berated Ra-Anan. “I have decided that you stupidly misjudged those tributes, Master Ra-Anan! I should make you drink them!” Ra-Anan flinched. Nimr-Rada faced Kuwsh. “Tell me you had nothing to do with this.”
Kuwsh remained proudly silent. Nimr-Rada turned from him and lashed out at Ra-Anan’s trembling acolytes. “You three prepared those tribute offerings! To whom do you owe your loyalty? To me! Remember that while you suffer in the mud. And before you leave, I want to know everything you put into those flasks!”
So you can kill someone else, Keren thought wearily.
Nimr-Rada cursed the acolytes, dismissing everyone. Kuwsh stormed from the room, followed by Ra-Anan.
Now, Nimr-Rada leaned toward Keren, staring hard. “Your eyes are almost their usual pale again. You will live.” Ominously he added, “I have dealt with your sister.”
Sharah visited Keren the next evening; her face was swollen and bruised. She scowled at Revakhaw, who sat beside Keren’s pallet, keeping Keren company. Keren expected Sharah to order Revakhaw away, but Sharah looked at Keren instead.
“He beat me because of you, sister. And he smothered the child and put its body to the flames rather than have me as its mother; he hates me so. Because of you!”
Keren gasped, dimly recalling the oiled-linen bundle Nimr-Rada had burned in the temple fire. Revakhaw wailed.
Alone, staring up at the stars, Keren rested against the wall of her house, too weak to climb to the roof and pray. Let it be enough, she implored the Most High. Hasn’t Nimr-Rada caused enough destruction? Use me, I beg You, whatever the cost. I’m even ready to die, if that’s Your will. Anything to stop Nimr-Rada.
Revakhaw was almost unconscious from grief; Keren was frightened for her sake. And she longed for revenge. For Revakhaw. For the infant. For Lawkham. For everyone Nimr-Rada had destroyed.
I am Your servant, Keren promised the Most High.
Zehker approached her from the shadowed gate, watched by Erek. She could feel his distress, his longing for her to recover. “Be well, Lady,” he urged, his voice dangerously close to tenderness. To love.
At peace now, Keren smiled.
Twenty-Two
SUPPRESSING HIS agitation, Zehker stood inside the gate, watching Keren. She wasn’t recovering. She had crept into the courtyard, then suddenly doubled over, coughing so violently that she hugged her sides and dropped to her knees on the paving bricks. Zehker winced inwardly, watching Alatah and Tsinnah lift Keren to her feet and help her inside. She didn’t protest; she seemed resigned, ready to die. Her lack of spirit terrified him. He longed to steal her away and hide her in a safe place—a place that didn’t exist in Nimr-Rada’s kingdom.
“She’s not getting better,” Erek said, leaning inside the gate, his narrow ferret face actually puckered in concern.
“She’s dying,” Zehker replied, amazed at his own calm voice. Wholeheartedly, he wished endless death upon Nimr-Rada and the others for reducing Keren to such a state.
“Perhaps you should bring your mother to tend her,” Erek said.
Zehker flashed Erek a dark look. It irritated him that he and this Ferret-Erek should have the same thought: Meherah might be able to advise Keren’s attendants on some treatment. She might also help Zehker to free Keren from Nimr-Rada’s grasp.
“I will,” he told Erek quietly, planning Keren’s escape.
Meherah knelt before Nimr-Rada in his courtyard, deeply distressed. “She struggles to breathe, O King. She can’t eat or walk. She has a fever, and her eyes are sunken. None of my remedies has helped. If you know of any other woman in your Great City who might offer some cure …” Meherah stopped, to cry and humbly apologize as Zehker had instructed. It wasn’t hard to cry; she was genuinely scared.
Clearly frustrated, Nimr-Rada pushed one dark foot at the lolling, speckled Tselem and tapped his flail against his own leopard-skin-draped thigh. At last, he reluctantly said what Zehker had hoped to hear. “I will send my own mother to speak to her attendants and to see her. Be waiting.”
Almost collapsing, Meherah bowed. “Thank you, my Lord.”
Erek bowed to Kuwsh, performing as his paid spy. “She is worse, perhaps dying.”
Now we can be rid of her, Kuwsh thought, smiling. I have to persuade my son in a way that he won’t suspect further evil from me. Or perhaps he should suspect evil.…
Keren drank some broth to please Na’ah but shunned Gebuwrah’s bread, fruit, and meat.
Gebuwrah leaned forward, insistent. “Lady, you must eat! How can you recover if you refuse food?”
I won’t eat again in this Great City, Keren told Gebuwrah silently, shivering with fever. I no longer care what happens to me. She was unimportant. What was important was stopping Nimr-Rada—a man who had willingly murdered his precious infant son and destroyed the lives of so many others.
Yet her household was endangered if she actively resisted Nimr-Rada. Wasn’t weakness her alternative? Reveal Your will, Most High, she implored. Whatever pleases You …
Gebuwrah snorted in disgust and stomped away. Now Revakhaw knelt beside Keren, still mourning but obviously concerned. Keren clasped Revakhaw’s hand, sharing her speechless grief.
Sharp voices and a clamor outside warned them of visitors. Fatigued, Keren shut her eyes. Let me die in peace.
“Lady,” Meherah murmured, her sturdy clothes rustling as she knelt beside Keren. “He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies has sent his own mother to inquire.…”
Keren felt Revakhaw’s hand slip away and heard her retreating. Someone else took her place. Reluctantly, Keren opened her eyes, then stared. Achlai, mother of Nimr-Rada, neglected wife of Kuwsh, was truly here. Touching Keren’s face with one broad, cool hand, Achlai said, “Your breathing is harsh, child.”
Child. Hearing this tender word, Keren almost wept. How could Nimr-Rada not adore his mother? She was so kind; her dark eyes shone gently in her calm, wide face. “You make me miss my I’ma,” Keren said. The effort provoked painful, violent coughing and left her shaking miserably.
“Will seeing her give you the strength to recover?” Achlai inquired.
Keren gasped at the thought and instantly coughed again. As she tried to catch her breath, Keren felt Achlai’s cool fingertips checking the pulse in her throat. For a long time Achlai sat quietly, then lifted her hand from Keren’s throat. Keren shivered.
Achlai tilted her dark, braid-bound head toward Meherah courteously. “Will you go tell the others that I’ll leave at once? I must speak to my son.” Then, before anyone else approached them, Achlai leaned down and whispered to Keren, “For the Most High!”
Stunned, Keren watched Achlai depart, now fully understanding why Achlai was neglected by her husband and son. For the Most High.
“You have been told the truth,” Achlai said calmly, standing in Nimr-Rada’s gloomy main residence, facing her Great King son, her husband, and the sadly bruised Sharah. “She is half dead. Her heartbeat fades. Lack of appetite, a fever, and the cough are killing her. Moreover, she doesn’t want to live. You must give her hope;
send her to her mother. Perhaps she will recover then. If not, at least she will die in peace amid her family.”
“Her mother?” Nimr-Rada sneered. Achlai grieved at his contempt.
Sharah frowned. “It would be just like Keren to die for no reason.”
Nimr-Rada glared at Sharah, making her cringe but earning her Achlai’s pity.
“The journey might kill her,” Nimr-Rada observed, disgruntled.
Kuwsh said, “She’s certain to die here, my son. Send her away.”
Nimr-Rada contemplated Kuwsh. “Yes, she is certain to die here, my father, surrounded by her enemies.”
“Give her hope,” Achlai repeated. Sighing, she looked from her husband whom she honored sadly, to her son whom she loved in despair. “Without hope, she dies.”
“You’re leaving me,” sobbed the child, piteous as she knelt beside Keren’s pallet. “My I’ma told me you’re ill and have to go, but I need you to stay!”
“Hush,” Zeva’ah scolded softly, shaking Demamah’s shoulder while preventing her from hugging Keren.
Her eyes filling with tears, Keren said, “Demamah-child, remember always … I love you. Don’t forget me.” She tugged a bracelet from her wrist and set it near her little niece. Zeva’ah snatched it, nodding stiffly toward Keren. Distressed by Zeva’ah’s coldness, Keren longed to protest. Instead, she coughed violently. When she opened her eyes, Zeva’ah had vanished, taking Demamah with her.
Meherah hugged Keren, unafraid of her illness. “Be well, Lady,” she urged. Beneath her breath, she added, “Remember my Lawkham, he loved you.”
Dear Lawkham. Keren grieved silently, clutching Meherah’s arm.
Nimr-Rada was wearing the gift Keren had given him: the blade fashioned of bone, rich in hunting scenes, ornate leopards, lions, and bulls with fiery red-stoned eyes. Imperious, he stood in her courtyard, watching as her retainers lifted her pallet to carry her away. Sharah wasn’t with him, but no doubt Sharah was glad to be rid of her—and Revakhaw. To Keren’s surprise, Nimr-Rada had given Revakhaw permission to leave with her.
Now he frowned at them, making Revakhaw bow her head fearfully. “You will return to the Great City within the year,” he commanded.
I would rather die, Keren thought feebly. She was relieved when her attendants covered her face to hide her from the curious stares of the citizens outside. She hoped never to see Nimr-Rada again.
This was too easy, Zehker thought as they walked through fields, away from the Great City. Surely Nimr-Rada would change his mind and send messengers to retrieve Keren and her household. Yet the simplest plans were often the most successful. And this plan had been wonderfully simple—using the heartfelt pleas of the two women Nimr-Rada trusted: Meherah, who had adored Nimr-Rada in their youth, and Achlai, Nimr-Rada’s sadly devoted mother. Zehker silently blessed both women but grieved that Meherah and his adoptive family had to remain in the Great City.
Slowing his pace, Zehker walked alongside Keren’s pallet, which was carried by Erek and three other horsemen-guards designated by Nimr-Rada. One of these guards was Ethniy, whom Keren had saved from Nimr-Rada. The other two were Becay—an arrogant young man—and Abdiy, who was suspicious and tight-lipped. These four guardsmen disliked each other and hated Zehker, who was their superior. Ignoring them, Zehker studied Keren, whose face was now uncovered.
Her skin was gray, her lips chapped by illness, and her eyelids were closed in her hollowed face. But she was alive. Satisfied, Zehker coldly outstared her four guards, then strode ahead to think. He wanted Keren to recover before the end of their journey and to ride and use her weapons to defend herself if necessary.
Let her be well, Zehker begged Him, whose Presence lingered in Zehker’s soul.
Forget Him, Nimr-Rada and Ra-Anan had commanded Zehker as a boy.
How? He had tried. And thankfully, he had failed.
A week into their journey, Keren walked unsteadily through her household encampment, supported by Revakhaw. They stopped to rest and gaze at the red-violet sunset. Disconsolate, Revakhaw said, “If you live, Lady, then I will live.”
Keren sighed. “If we live, I pray you laugh again someday.”
“How can you pray such a thing? In fact, how can you still pray?” Revakhaw asked, sounding wounded.
“If I do not pray, I die.”
Revakhaw helped Keren back to her pallet near the evening fire. As Keren sank gratefully onto her fleece coverlets, Revakhaw whispered, “How can I ever laugh again?”
Squeezing her friend’s hand, Keren whispered back, “If you don’t laugh someday, then He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies has killed your soul. He’s won.”
Revakhaw stiffened, her dark eyes glittering hard in the firelight.
Exhausted, but pleased by Revakhaw’s show of spirit, Keren shut her eyes.
In the long weeks following, as they neared the mountains, Keren forced herself to eat. She was determined to walk, to ride, and to not burden others with caring for her. Zehker encouraged her, each day challenging her to do a little more.
Finally, the evening before they were to enter the mountains—now tantalizingly close—he placed her bow and arrows at her feet and spoke tersely, before everyone. “You are still weak, Lady.”
He seemed impatient with her, but Keren knew he was pretending. Affecting equal rudeness with her Sharah imitation, she waved him off. “That’s not for you to say.”
Zehker inclined his head and departed to tend the horses. He was pleased; she could tell by his walk. Gladly, she picked up her bow and arrows.
“Of course you’ve lost no time putting us back into leather garments,” Gebuwrah complained, ruthlessly outlining a fleece with her flint knife.
“Why are you so upset?” Keren stopped working on her tunic, frowning at Gebuwrah. “Cloth is less practical here; you know it’s true. And you’ll be warmer.”
“We’ll look like mere hunters’ kin,” Gebuwrah sniffed.
“There’s nothing dishonorable about being hunters’ kin.” Teasing, Keren added, “Anyway, you have the same status you’ve enjoyed for years; you can still boss everyone around, so be happy.”
Gebuwrah looked offended. She had been spoiled by too many years in the Great City, and by her own self-indulgent nature, Keren decided. Finishing her sleeve, Keren donned her new leather overtunic, then bound all her linen robes into a protective leather hide. She would need them in a few days. But she would continue to wear her gold to remind her guardsmen of the death order.
Relaxing now, Keren gazed up at the rough-barked birches and listened to the birds calling within their branches. It was good to be in the mountains again, though she dreaded the conflicts ahead. You could become one of those conflicts, Keren thought to Gebuwrah. You’ll certainly hinder my plans if you learn of them. How can I be rid of you?
A worse conflict would come when she had to face her parents and the Ancient Ones and see their eyes fill with disgust, anger, and pain. Forgive me, she pleaded with them. You will hate what I must say.
You’re planning something, Zehker decided, watching Keren sort through her belongings, packing them. Most telling to Zehker was that she had shunned Shaw-Kak in favor of Dobe. She was using the dull little horse exclusively to carry her personal gear. As Keren finished tying a bundle onto Dobe’s back, she turned and caught Zehker staring at her. She swiftly looked away.
Zehker returned to his own horse, thinking, Obviously you don’t want to include me in your plans. Unfortunately, I won’t give you that choice. If you run away, I’ll track you until your precious Dobe drops like a stone. Shutting his eyes briefly, he warned himself. Be careful.
I can’t put you in danger, Keren thought, avoiding Zehker’s gaze. But I’m sure you’ll follow me. I won’t be able to stop you. What can I do? She reconsidered her plans. Evidently, solitary escape wasn’t an option. But she didn’t want her guardsmen following her. Then she smiled. She would make them want to leave her—at least for a while.
Eliyshama’s wife, Tsereth
, saw Keren first and dropped her grinding stone, astonished, her dark brown eyes widening as she stood. “Keren-child!”
Hearing her, Tsereth’s youngest children scampered out of the stone-and-timber lodge, shrieking and laughing. Keren’s mother, Chaciydah, followed the children, burst into tears, and ran to her daughter.
Dismounting, Keren hugged her gratefully, crying, “I’ma! How I’ve missed you!”
Chaciydah wept, refusing to release Keren. “Tell me you won’t leave me again.”
“Pray!” Keren whispered, wiping her mother’s tears and kissing her again.
Nine-year-old Yelalah squealed, “Keren! Let Nekokhah and Achyow see your eyes; I’ve told them about you, and they don’t believe me.”
“How can you even remember me?” Keren demanded, laughing at Yelalah, who was a wide-eyed mixture of Eliyshama and Tsereth. “You were a toddler when I left.”
“I remember everything,” Yelalah said indignantly.
“You only remember all the stories we’ve told you, O Lady-of-Endless-Wisdom,” Tsereth chided. “Now, you and your brother and sister step back. I’ma-Chaciydah, let me hug Keren. You look terrible, Keren-child. But never mind, we’ll fatten you up.”
Keren hugged her sister-in-law, warning softly, “There are spies in my household; they will report everything to Nimr-Rada. So your sons and my father and Eliyshama shouldn’t touch me—I don’t dare risk their lives.”
“Even here?” Tsereth asked, shocked.
“Even here. I’ll keep my household separate from yours to be safe.”
“I’ll go warn Eliyshama and our Meshek,” Tsereth murmured. Turning, she called, “Achyow! Come with me, my son. Let’s find your father and brothers. And we should tell Father Meshek that our Keren is here.”
He Who Lifts the Skies Page 27
