“Do you say this for me or against me, O Mitzrayim, brother of my own father?” Nimr-Rada asked testily.
Mitzrayim raised a thin eyebrow at him. “It’s the truth, nephew. Nothing more. That’s why you took his lands.”
“Look to your own lands,” Nimr-Rada warned.
“Why should you threaten Mitzrayim?” the First Father Khawm asked Nimr-Rada, incredulous. “If it’s the truth, then let him speak. It’s well known that you’ve demanded tributes from all the other tribes—and punished them for refusing.” As Nimr-Rada stared coldly, Khawm said, “You are entirely too proud, son of my son.”
Stolidly Yepheth asked, “What other truths do you hate, O Nimr-Rada?”
“The Most High,” Keren answered.
Instantly, Nimr-Rada turned on her. “You pledged your loyalty to me—with your life!”
“And you extracted my pledge with your knife,” Keren said, gripping her decorative bow. “This scar is proof of that!” She touched the ridge of paled flesh on her throat.
“You threatened this young woman’s life?” Yepheth sounded shocked. “You cut at her throat?”
“She is a rebellious woman.” Nimr-Rada lowered his chin at Keren menacingly.
“Tell everyone why I rebelled,” Keren insisted. “Tell everyone how you’ve tried to turn me from loving the Most High to make me worship your god, Shemesh.”
Nimr-Rada glared at her, his obsidian-dark eyes unblinking.
He’s deciding how he will kill me, Keren thought, sweat prickling over her body. She forced herself to return his stare. “Tell them how you killed your own son.”
Now Nimr-Rada eyed Revakhaw, who burst into frightened tears.
“You don’t deny these things?” Shem asked quietly. Nimr-Rada ignored him.
Keren persisted, trembling. “Tell them how you murdered Lawkham—one of your near kinsmen—for accidentally touching me as he went to help someone else.”
“That was no murder; he disobeyed my orders.” Nimr-Rada was tensed, gripping his ornate sword.
“What of your newborn son, whose body I saw you burn on your altar of Shemesh!”
“Did you see me kill him?” Nimr-Rada sneered. “No.”
“But I saw you kill my father,” another man said, furious. Zehker emerged from the crowd, weaponless.
Keren shivered at his words and his rage. As Nimr-Rada turned, she slipped an arrow from her quiver, praying she could protect Zehker.
He confronted Nimr-Rada. “You had no reason to kill my father.”
“He threatened me with his ax,” Nimr-Rada said. “You were a boy. You remember nothing.”
“He never lifted his ax against you—he only rejected your demand for a tribute!” Zehker cried. “You killed him for the joy of killing—then you wounded my mother, though I begged you for mercy! You left her on the steppes to die with my little sisters.”
“I spared you.”
“You took me as a tribute—a remembrance of your first murders! Zehker—a memento.” Zehker spat toward Nimr-Rada. “That’s for the name you gave me!”
Wielding the bone sword, Nimr-Rada leaped to his feet.
Keren raised her bow and cried, “Nimr-Rada!” He flashed a look at her, then froze. Keren aimed for his heart.
“Lower your weapons!” Shem commanded. “Karan, put down the bow.”
“No,” Keren said through clenched teeth, aware of Metiyl to Nimr-Rada’s left, raising an ax.
“Metiyl, sit down. Lower your weapons,” Shem repeated. “Nimr-Rada, give me your sword. Karan, put down your bow.”
“No.” Sweat glided down her cheeks like tears. She held her aim.
Softly persuasive, he urged, “Metiyl, Zehker, sit down.”
They retreated reluctantly.
Again Shem said, “Nimr-Rada, give me your sword so Karan will put down her weapon.”
Nimr-Rada scornfully handed his sword to Shem, then sat down again, sliding his hand into his leopard-skin wrap—for a knife, Keren thought, still aiming her bow and arrow.
Contemptuous, Nimr-Rada sneered, “You have made yourself my enemy, woman. Pray your Most High protects you.”
“Unlike your Shemesh,” Keren replied, holding his gaze. She focused on him completely now—as he had trained her to kill.
Before she could release the arrow, a blade slashed Nimr-Rada’s throat, erupting in blood. Nimr-Rada’s eyes widened, disbelieving, as he lifted his hands to his throat in a futile effort to save himself from his own sword. He toppled.
Amid sudden screams, curses, and the chaos of others fleeing, Keren lowered her bow and stared at Nimr-Rada’s executioner: Shem.
Twenty-Five
UNABLE TO BELIEVE what she had seen, Keren said, “Father of my Fathers …”
Shem shook his head at her gently and said, “Child, you didn’t obey me. But I forgive you.…”
Forcefully he pulled out Nimr-Rada’s bloodied sword. His brothers joined him, standing guard over Nimr-Rada’s bleeding corpse, watching his guardsmen flee in panic. Behind Shem, I’ma-Annah burst into tears, while I’ma-Ghinnah and I’ma-Tirtsah reached for her, dazed.
“Lady!” Her guardsman Ethniy rushed toward Keren; his eyes almost rolled in alarm. “Where are Na’ah and the others?”
Metiyl’s son Khawrawsh joined them swiftly, his new ax flashing as he motioned Keren and the weeping Revakhaw outside. “My father says you must leave the meeting area. I’ll guard you. Where are your attendants?”
“Outside; we’ll find them.” Gripping her bow, Keren stood, looking across the mats at Zehker.
He brandished an ax, calling urgently, “Go! Keep watch; let us know if his guardsmen return.”
His guardsmen. Keren glanced at Nimr-Rada’s body, disbelieving. His eyes stared at nothingness. He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies had truly rejoined the dust of the earth.
Neshar emerged from his hiding place behind the tent, carrying an ax.
“Get her out of here,” he begged Keren, nodding toward Revakhaw, who stood tearfully clutching Keren’s sandals.
Keren led Revakhaw from the meeting area. Outside, she scanned the encampment for Tsinnah and her other attendants. She didn’t see them. But Nimr-Rada’s guardsmen were scattering, mounting their horses, leaving their tents and many of their weapons. Apparently they feared retribution from the tribes they had oppressed for so long.
“Could Tsinnah be in the women’s tent?” Khawrawsh wondered aloud, sounding agitated. Eyeing him, Keren realized that his winter-long flirtation with Tsinnah had been serious; he was desperate to find her.
Keren hurried toward the tent; shaded figures lingered inside. Clutching her bow and arrow, she charged through the entrance, looked around, and sighed her relief. Alatah, Tsinnah, and Na’ah were huddled on a mat with Bekiyrah, all of them wet eyed and frightened.
Bekiyrah stood swiftly, crying, “Is my husband dead?”
“No,” Keren said. “Asshur is with the other men.” Reluctantly she added, “The Father of my Fathers put Nimr-Rada to death.”
“Shem …?” Bekiyrah faltered, stunned.
Still half shocked herself, Keren nodded.
Beside her now, Revakhaw tossed Keren’s sandals away, yelling, “He’s dead! He’s truly dead. And we’re alive!”
Annah lay in the women’s tent, praying she had finished weeping for a while. She hadn’t been this upset since the Great Destruction. Nimr-Rada was actually dead, and Shem—her own dear Shem—had struck him down. Annah shut her eyes against the horrible image. She pleaded with the Most High. Take this memory from me, of my beloved shedding another man’s blood.
Someone pressed a wet cloth to her face. Looking up, Annah saw Tirtsah and Ghinnah leaning over her. Tirtsah knelt.
“Ma’adannah, Shem had no choice. Nimr-Rada was corrupted; he would have destroyed us all.”
“He was your grandson,” Annah said brokenly. “I’m sorry.”
Tirtsah’s eyes brimmed. “I wish he hadn’t been.…” She wept as Ghinnah hugged h
er, silent and swollen faced.
Grieving, Annah pulled the wet cloth over her eyes.
Still holding her bow, Keren watched with Khawrawsh and Ethniy from their place before the women’s tent. A hush had settled over everything; men were quietly shifting their tents and gear and dividing the belongings of Nimr-Rada and his men.
Now Ashkenaz, her mother’s brother, approached, brawny and full bearded. Keren hadn’t seen him in years.
He beamed at her, his voice raspy but friendly. “The horsemen have all fled. I don’t believe they’ll come back. But I’ve told everyone here to bring their tents close in; we’ll keep watch tonight.”
They’re gone, Keren thought. It seemed so unreal. She stared at her uncle blankly, too dazed to acknowledge him properly.
He frowned. “Have you forgotten me, Karan-child? I’m hurt.”
“Forgive me, Uncle Ashkenaz. I haven’t forgotten you; I’m just a little … scared.” Keren smiled now, trusting him. He looked half wild, like one who had lived his entire life in the highlands.
Her uncle’s brown eyes crinkled at the corners. “Well, don’t worry. When you’ve married that guardsman of yours, you should come live in my tribe. We’re close to the Ancient Ones, but far enough from those horsemen; if they want revenge, you’d be safe with us.”
“Thank you. I’ll remember your invitation.” Alerted by his reference to Zehker, Keren looked around, concerned. She hadn’t seen him yet. “Are the First Fathers still in their meeting place?”
Ashkenaz straightened, sober now. “Yes. And I think you should know: They’ve cut Nimr-Rada’s body into pieces—to be sent to the Great City and to other tribes as a warning. Nimr-Rada should never have rebelled against the Most High.”
Keren quelled her squeamishness, imagining Nimr-Rada hacked apart like some slaughtered bull. And Zehker, Metiyl, and Neshar all had axes.… She lowered her head. “I’m glad you told me, Uncle. Thank you.”
“Certainly.” He marched away, whistling and giving orders to others—a man in benevolent control of his tribe.
Feeling safer, Keren thanked Khawrawsh and the wary Ethniy, then entered the women’s tent and went to her pallet. She stored her weapons and stripped off all her gold ornaments, dumping them in a glittering heap on her gray coverlet. By the time she had finished, she realized that the other women were looking at her. Smiling determinedly at the mournful I’ma-Annah, she said, “I’m going to find my father and Zehker. Then I’ll come back and help with the evening meal—if anyone can eat.”
They were quiet. Alatah pointed out timidly, “You have blood on you.”
Keren looked down and noticed a darkening spatter over her chest guard and skirts. Nimr-Rada’s blood. Swallowing, she stammered, “I-I’ll … go wash.”
“We’ll prepare the food,” Na’ah said.
Nodding, Keren hurried outside to the meeting area. Shem and his brothers were standing before the main tent, talking quietly with her father. Meshek held out his arms, smiling. “Daughter, come here.”
Keren approached him, suddenly feeling like a lost child, found again.
Meshek hugged her tight and kissed her cheek, muttering fiercely, “I’m proud of you!”
She buried her face against his overtunic and cried, unable to believe that she could actually hug him. He was so warm. And happy. He kissed her again, patting her comfortably. “All’s well; you’re safe, and that’s what matters.”
Finally he released her, and she wiped her eyes, sniffling, wishing she could blow her nose.
Shem greeted her formally. “Karan, you’ve fulfilled your duties as the Most High intended. Thank you.”
“But Ra-Anan and Sharah still rule the Great City.…”
“Let the Most High deal with them,” Shem murmured, subdued. He held out his arms. She hugged him gladly, and he kissed her forehead. “Go wash now; we should all wash ourselves.”
Meshek cleared his throat. “Zehker—if he is still named Zehker—is at the river. That way.”
Before Keren could leave, the First Father Khawm stopped her. “What of my son Kuwsh?”
Kuwsh. Keren felt ill. What could she say about Kuwsh that wouldn’t make his father miserable? She sighed. “Your Kuwsh was proud of Nimr-Rada and loves his status in the Great City. He … rebels against the will of the Most High.”
“I blame myself,” Khawm said, not looking at her. “This is all from my own rebellion.”
“You shouldn’t blame yourself for everything, Father Khawm,” Keren replied. “Kuwsh and Nimr-Rada chose a way they could have easily rejected—as my brother and sister have chosen. They love themselves above all.”
“Listen to her,” Yepheth told Khawm. “Forgive yourself. Then come with us to visit Father and I’ma.”
Sensing the start of an intense family discussion, Keren excused herself, smiled at her father, and hurried toward the river. She met Metiyl, Shem’s son Asshur, and her brother Neshar as they strode up the riverbank, all three dripping wet and clean.
Asshur inclined his head toward her, then hesitated, seeming anxious. “Have you seen my Bekiyrah?”
Keren was touched by his concern. “She’s in the women’s tent, fretting for you.”
He grinned, suddenly looking like Shem. Beside him, Metiyl said, “Well done, Karan-child. By the way, your beloved is there.” He jerked his thumb toward the river.
Keren thanked him and made a face at Neshar, who bowed mockingly. “I honor you, Lady!”
“Please, never call me by that title again.”
He laughed and waved her off.
She found Zehker sitting on the riverbank, staring at the torrent. His hands and arms were clean, but his face was smudged with blood. He looked up at her, clearly exhausted.
Keren unwound her linen belt and partially dipped it in the cold water. Then she knelt before Zehker, suddenly shy. “Here.”
“He’s dead.”
“Yes. We’re free.”
Zehker shut his eyes. “It doesn’t seem real. He ruled us for so long.”
She changed the subject, unwilling to think of Nimr-Rada. “I wish I could have met your parents and your sisters.”
“They would have loved you.” Composed now, he looked around warily. They were alone. He faced her, grim. “Do you want to marry me?”
“Only if you want me.”
A slow, dawning smile lit his stern eyes and revealed his dimples. Encouraged, Keren scrubbed his face with the wet portion of linen, then with the dried portion. She could truly touch him … as she had longed to do for years … amazing. She caressed his clean face. Then he seized her, swiftly pulling her into his lap, kissing her mouth, her throat, her cheeks, holding her tight as if he feared she would escape.
Laughing, she hugged him, exhilarated by his new spontaneity and warmed by his ardor. At last he simply held her, sighing, and she snuggled against him. Then she swatted his shoulder. “You terrified me this morning! Why did you challenge Nimr-Rada unarmed?”
He stared, obviously perplexed by her sudden shift in mood. “That foolish Ethniy sat on my mat and fleeces where I’d hidden my ax. I couldn’t get him to move.” Quietly he added, “I also realized, by the look on your face, that if I could make Nimr-Rada turn from you long enough, you’d draw your bow.”
“Even so, you frightened me.”
“Forgive me.”
Nodding, she paused, curious. “What was your name before you were Zehker?”
“Zekaryah.”
Zekaryah—God has remembered. Absorbing this meaning, Keren smiled. Truly, the Most High had remembered His small child, stolen by Nimr-Rada. “Zekaryah.” Contented, she nestled against him. “I love you.”
To her delight, he nuzzled her throat, kissing her again. “But I loved you first.”
“See what happens when you bring all these pretty girls into the mountains?” Metiyl grumbled unconvincingly, waving a hand at the crowded clearing before the Lodge of Noakh. “My Khawrawsh loses his wits altogether. I told him he h
ad to marry your little Tsinnah; she’ll keep him sensible.”
“I’m glad,” Keren said, watching Khawrawsh and Tsinnah standing together with Ethniy and Na’ah, jubilant, waiting for their wedding blessings. “Tsinnah will be safe in your tribe.”
“Of course she will. But what are you going to do with her?” Metiyl demanded, jerking his chin toward the sullen Gebuwrah, who irritated him immensely.
Keren almost laughed. “Didn’t you know? She and Alatah are traveling with you to rejoin their families when your Father Asshur reclaims your lands on the plains.”
“What?”
Zekaryah approached Keren now, frowning at Metiyl. “Don’t steal my bride; your wife will beat you.”
Instantly, Metiyl glanced at his wife, the hearty, charming Tebuwnaw, whom he adored and feared. Bright as a bird in red wool, Tebuwnaw saw him, put her plump hands on her hips, and called out, “What are you doing?”
“Coming to kiss you.”
“Wise answer.” They laughed and kissed each other, then went arm in arm to stand near Khawrawsh and Tsinnah, who welcomed them happily.
“Lady—I mean, Keren.” Alatah offered Keren a large square of felted gray wool—a shawl Alatah had made this past winter. “I wanted to give you this; I thought you could wear it today, then use it later to wrap your firstborn. It’s not much, but …”
Keren unfolded the shawl, which now bore red beads on its fringed corners. Keren recognized the beads from a necklace she had given to Alatah after Nimr-Rada’s death. “It’s wonderful! But, Alatah, I gave you that necklace so you could barter it.”
“I still have the gold,” Alatah replied. “It’s enough. But I wanted you to remember me. I’m going to miss you—though I’ll be so glad to return to my family!”
“May the Most High bless them, and you.”
“May He bless you,” Alatah responded shyly, daring to smile at Zekaryah.
He smiled in return. “Thank you, Alatah.”
Noakh and Naomi emerged from the lodge, followed by the First Fathers and the First Mothers, and Meshek and Chaciydah. Alatah gave Keren a quick hug, then draped the shawl over her shoulders, rearranging her hair. Stepping back, Alatah nodded approvingly, unable to speak.
He Who Lifts the Skies Page 31
