He Who Lifts the Skies Read online

  Sighing, Annah spoke to Metiyl. “Your father, my own son Asshur, was like a brother to Kuwsh, and like a second father to Nimr-Rada. Why haven’t they discussed these matters? Why does Kuwsh allow his son to torment your father’s tribes?”

  “Because, Ma’adannah,” Metiyl answered respectfully, “Kuwsh bows before that Great King, Nimr-Rada.”

  “Ugh!” Naomi cried, outraged. “Since when does a father bow to his own son? I’m glad my Noakh left before he could hear such words!”

  Annah steadied herself before speaking again. She looked at Meshek. Keeping her voice low, she said, “You’re too quiet, Meshek. Has Nimr-Rada threatened your family, or the lands of your father?”

  Meshek’s eyes flashed, Annah saw his rage and pain. Lifting his tapering brown hands, Meshek dropped them again, limp upon his knees. “Ma’adannah … my father too has bowed to Nimr-Rada.”

  Annah swallowed hard. Meshek’s father was her youngest child, her last son, her baby Aram. No, she thought to Aram, unable to believe it was true. Aram, why should you bow to another man? Didn’t your father and I teach you that the Most High alone is worthy of adoration? How can you bow to Nimr-Rada?

  Meshek spoke again, disrupting her thoughts. “My brothers also follow Nimr-Rada. And their sons and my sons and their wives and children. They all follow him.”

  “Eliyshama is the only son we have left,” Chaciydah added, tremulous. “Nimr-Rada has claimed the loyalty of all our others. That’s why I begged the Most High to give me only daughters from this time on. At least my daughters will stay near me. But then, look how this one’s afflicted!” Grieving, Chaciydah rocked the tiny girl.

  Clearing his throat, Meshek said, “This is the reason for our visit, O Mothers of my Fathers.” Meshek faced Annah and Naomi, carefully enunciating each word. “I won’t give homage to Nimr-Rada. He’s taken enough from me. I’m bringing those who are left in my family back into the highlands to live.”

  “We’ll be less than a morning’s walk from here,” Chaciydah added, as if trying to comfort herself with the thought.

  “I’m sorry,” Annah whispered to Chaciydah, Meshek, and the others. She was unable to say any more. She longed to scream and tear at her hair. Their news was like hearing of an impending death. Her sons, her grandsons, their wives, and their children were embracing other ways, shunning all wisdom and freedom itself. The peace and tran-quility of six generations were being crushed by the will of one man.

  Nimr-Rada, she thought, wailing inwardly, why are you doing this? Why do you accept the homage of others? You’ve been loved and admired from the first day of your life. Why wasn’t it enough for you?

  Naomi’s voice shook. “I prayed I would not live long enough to see the children of my children hating each other. Now it will be as it was before the Great Destruction. All the violence, the hatred, the killing … My dear one, my Noakh, must be ill at the thought of it.” She began to cry, wiping away her tears with her aged brown hands. As Annah comforted her, Naomi patted her daughter-in-law’s hand.

  Their silence was broken by the sound of footsteps. Noakh entered the lodge, followed by Shem. Annah turned, surprised to see them so soon. Shem met her gaze, calm and quiet, his dark eyebrows lifted, questioning: Are you well?

  Annah shrugged, looking away: I don’t know. Beloved, how can I tell you that our youngest son, our own Aram, bows to Nimr-Rada? And our other sons and daughters are following him as well.… Annah bit her lip hard, composing herself. If she thought about her children now, she would cry. She didn’t want to add to her husband’s distress—not in the presence of the others.

  As if realizing that Annah could not bear his scrutiny, Shem spoke to Chaciydah reluctantly. “Daughter, have you named your little one yet?”

  Chaciydah blinked, apparently shocked by his question. “Father of my Fathers, how could we give her a name before presenting her to you and our Ancient Ones? And of course we couldn’t think of a name, fearing that she might die.”

  “She won’t die,” Shem answered firmly. He approached Chaciydah, reaching for the infant.

  In his comforting, reasonable voice, Noakh said, “We have inquired of the Most High. He is silent concerning Nimr-Rada. But this little one will live, and she has a name.” Lifting one long, aged hand, Noakh gestured to Shem, who stood apart from him. Holding the infant easily in both hands, Shem lifted her high, presenting her to them all, making the ceremony brief but formal.

  “Sharah. She will be above all other women. She will cause great cities to be built. She will be lifted high.” Turning the infant to face him, Shem continued, “Sharah, you will be like a fortress, high and strong. This is what the Most High has revealed.”

  As Shem spoke, Annah heard Chaciydah gasp in delighted disbelief. Even the somber Meshek smiled. Tenderly, Meshek took his daughter from Shem and gave her to Chaciydah. “Now, beloved, you won’t worry so much.”

  But I will worry, Annah thought, eyeing Shem. Her husband usually enjoyed holding infant children and naming them. This girl-child was an exception. Sharah troubled him, imposing upon him an unnatural formality. Why?

  Shem looked away, clearly avoiding Annah’s silent question, just as she had avoided his earlier. Irritable now, as if complaining, Sharah began to cry.

  Sharah tensed in Annah’s arms. Her small, almost-three-year-old body resisted her great-grandmother’s every move as Annah wrapped her in a warm blanket and carried her outside the stone-and-timber lodge to study the dawn. “It’s too early in the morning for you to be running loose,” Annah whispered to the restless child. “But look at the sky; lovely …”

  Seeming persuaded by the note of wonderment in Annah’s voice, Sharah followed Annah’s gaze. Gradually her childish squirming subsided. Encouraged, Annah whispered, “Look, my Sharah. See how the Most High makes the sky beautiful for our sakes? See how He brings our servant Shemesh higher and higher in the heavens, until the stars fade away?”

  As they gazed at the dawn, Annah continued softly. “Listen to the birds, now, my Sharah. They are singing for joy because it’s spring.”

  “There … birds,” Sharah whispered in response, pointing one delicate, pale finger toward the nearby tree-tops, where birdsongs of every pitch and type emanated from every available branch.

  Pleased that Sharah had appreciated something beyond her own wants, Annah kissed the little girl’s soft, translucent cheek and breathed in the sweetness of her shining noncolored curls. Sharah squirmed, impatient again. Annah carried her inside and released her from the blanket. “We should go wake your mother and your baby sister.”

  Sharah pressed her small pink lips together. “I do it,” she told Annah firmly.

  Before Annah could stop her, Sharah charged across the woven grass mats toward the thick leather draperies shielding the sleeping area. Alarmed, Annah hurried after her. The sleeping area was warm and dark. Annah was unable to see immediately, but she heard the thudding impact of Sharah’s small body against the low bed. Annah also heard Chaciydah whispering to Sharah, her soft voice drowsy. “There you are, my little one. Come to I’ma. Be careful of the baby.”

  As Sharah scrambled into the bed, Annah lifted the red deerskin covering away from the one small, squared window in the far wall. Daylight illuminated the snug, orderly room. Collections of intricately woven baskets, tanned hides, thick furs, and mats lined the walls. Garlands of sweet herbs hung above the low bed, lending a dry, soothing scent to the air. Chaciydah was nestled in the bed beneath layers of woolen covers and fleeces, nose to nose now with Sharah. The baby, a tiny one-month-old daughter, was safely tucked against the pillow behind Chaciydah, away from Sharah.

  “Good morning,” Annah said, pleased to see fresh color in Chaciydah’s slender brown face.

  “Ma’adannah,” Chaciydah sighed, stretching and yawning. “The baby and I both slept well. I feel much better today. I’ve already fed her and changed her wrappings. If I may ask, will you watch her while I bathe and dress?”

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sp; “How can I refuse?” Annah lifted the blanket-swathed infant from the pillow behind Chaciydah. The baby gazed up at Annah mistily, like a blissful dreamer, her tiny ruddy face fringed with soft brown hints of curls. Annah loved the child’s contented and pleasing expression. “We’ll have a good visit together,” she cooed. “And we’ll watch over your sister, you and I, because she’s so busy!”

  “At least this baby seems easy to please,” Chaciydah sighed, lapsing into an attitude of helpless regret. “And she has color in her skin and her hair. Though I’m afraid her eyes will be even more pale than her sister’s.”

  “You shouldn’t be concerned with your daughters’ looks, Chaciydah,” Annah said, wondering how much of the conversation Sharah would absorb. “You must see beyond their color, or lack of color. They are beautiful.”

  “As you say.” Chaciydah sounded doubtful.

  To urge Chaciydah out of her fretfulness, Annah said, “I’m sure your husband and son will return today, bringing my husband with them. You should get up now. Bathe yourself, put on your favorite clothes and your ornaments, then braid your hair. Take your time. I’ll feed Sharah, then do some cleaning.”

  Chaciydah’s eyes shone. “Ma’adannah, thank you.”

  “No, I thank you for giving me time with your little ones.” Annah nuzzled the warm infant in her arms. It felt good to hold a baby, particularly one so sweet. What will we name you? Annah asked the infant silently. You’re such a joy that no name will be quite enough to describe you. My Shem will be happy to see you. And I’ll be happy to see him.

  Annah smiled, thinking of Shem. They had been apart for much of the past five weeks, since Annah had come to tend Chaciydah during and after the birth of this child. Sharah, too, needed care, though the little girl didn’t seem to think so.

  Now Sharah was crawling across the bed, restless. Chaciydah frowned and reached for one of Sharah’s bare feet. “Little one, where are your leggings?”

  “They ugly,” Sharah muttered.

  “I’ve had her wrapped in a blanket,” Annah explained to Chaciydah. “But I’ll put her leggings on before we eat.”

  “No!” Sharah lifted her chin defiantly, scowling at Annah.

  Immediately, Chaciydah began to plead with Sharah. “You need them, little one. Leggings keep your feet warm and—”

  “They ugly!” Sharah interrupted, her words and expression truculent, daring her mother to argue with her.

  To Annah’s astonishment, Chaciydah humbly agreed. “You’re right. They are ugly. I’ll find some way to make them pretty for you.”

  Chaciydah, Annah thought, dismayed, why do you always give in to the child? The little girl’s refusal to wear leggings was a trivial thing. But her consistent stubbornness and arrogance toward her mother—and Annah—were serious. Why didn’t Chaciydah recognize the importance of teaching her daughter to respect others?

  “Don’t frown at your mother,” Annah reprimanded Sharah quietly. “Or at me.” Sharah’s lower lip went out stubbornly. Annah stared at her hard, willing the child to yield. At last Sharah looked away, still pouting.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be sure she wears her leggings,” Annah told Chaciydah. “Go make yourself ready for visitors, and for your husband, while you have time.”

  “But Sharah might fuss,” Chaciydah murmured, hesitating. “She seems so fragile compared to my sons.”

  “She’s a fortress,” Annah said dryly. “Don’t let her noncolor deceive you, Chaciydah. She’s no different from any other child.”

  “I’m sure you are right.” Chaciydah sighed again.

  Trying to bolster Chaciydah’s courage, Annah whispered, “Be a mother to your daughters, not a servant; don’t let them rule you.”

  “I won’t, Ma’adannah.”

  But by midafternoon, Chaciydah was kneeling beside the bed, knotting decorative fringes around Sharah’s leggings—placing each knot exactly where Sharah’s imperious little finger designated and apologizing if Sharah wasn’t pleased.

  Chaciydah, Annah thought, you are acting like her servant! It’s not good for her.

  Pondering the situation, Annah went into the main room of the lodge, checked the baby—safe in her basket—then slapped a puffy heap of dough into a kneading trough. It calmed Annah to pound, fold, and push at the dough until it became a smooth, resilient grain-speckled mass. She would shape it into flat, chewy cakes for their evening meal. The cakes, accompanied by simmered dried fruit, a thick stew of preserved meat and grains, and early spring greens, would be enough for six—if the men returned tonight.

  After cleaning the dough off her fingers, Annah caressed Chaciydah’s infant daughter. From her seat in the carrying basket, the baby studied Annah solemnly, her gray eyes wide and delicately fringed with dark lashes.

  “You’re wonderful,” Annah told the child, in a light speaking-to-an-infant voice. “How glad I am to see you! And my beloved will be glad to see you too, yes he will. And I’ll be glad to see him!”

  A smile played about the baby’s mouth, and she kicked within her robes and blankets, seeming to urge Annah to pick her up. Unable to resist, Annah lifted the infant from her basket and rocked her. She was kissing the child’s tenderly rounded chin when a shadow fell across the doorway. A small pebble clattered onto the mats before Annah. Smiling, she looked at the one who threw it: Shem.

  He grinned. “Now I see why you’ve stayed away from me for so long, beloved. Am I dull by comparison?”

  “Never.” Annah carried the infant to him, delighted. “Here she is. I dare you to resist her.”

  Shem cuddled the infant expertly. “Little one, I was amazed when your father told me he had another daughter.”

  Annah stared at her husband, bewildered. “Why are you amazed? Does it matter that she’s a girl?”

  “Not at all. It’s just that I had supposed she would be a son when I learned her name. But we know the Most High’s thoughts are perfect even when we can’t understand them.” Shem’s mouth twitched as if enjoying an incomparable joke. “How tiny you are!” he exclaimed to the infant. His voice softening, he added, “Such little hands. It doesn’t seem possible that you should receive the name given to you by the Most High … Karan.”

  Annah blinked, startled. Karan. To push. To gore. It was hardly a proper name, particularly for a girl. “Why should she have such a name?” Annah demanded.

  “This little one will push her enemies until they can’t escape,” Shem answered, smiling down at the infant. “The Most High, the Word, gave her this name. Perhaps it’s a harsh name for a girl, but she is Karan.”

  How could you ever have enemies? Annah wondered, studying the tender-eyed infant girl. And why?

  “Karan?” Aghast, Chaciydah took her infant daughter from Shem. No, she thought, staring down at her baby, who was drifting off to sleep. Karan is too harsh a name for a woman. No, you’ll be Keren. Like a ray of light. That’s a woman’s name, and similar to Karan. Yes, I’ll call you Keren.

  Two

  “I HOPE THERE ARE no newcomers at Eliyshama’s wedding feast,” twelve-year-old Keren murmured to Sharah as they wound long skeins of fine blue-gray wool onto carved wooden shuttles. “I hate how they jump and stare the first time I look at them. It makes me think I’m a bad dream come to life.”

  A ray of sunlight slanted through the open door of the lodge, illuminating Sharah’s pale curls and her defiant adolescent scowl. “Let them stare at you. I don’t care when they stare at me. It pleases me that I’m unlike other people.”

  “You are unique, O-Girl-of-No-Color,” Keren agreed, twitting her sister gently. “Newcomers wonder at you. But when they see my brown skin and my brown hair, they expect to see brown eyes. Instead, they see no-color eyes, and they jump as if I’m a fright.”

  Sharah sniffed, yanking more thread from her blue-gray skein. “Most of the time you are a fright, with your hair and clothes all wild. I’m ashamed to be seen with you.”

  Keren glanced down at her rumpled brown woo
len overtunic and her smudged, mismatched leather under-tunic. Clothes weren’t as import to her as they were to Sharah—who was neatly clad in matched red and blue wool. Keren defended herself. “But I always comb my hair when we have visitors. And at the harvest, didn’t I wear my new robe the very first day, when only the Father of my Fathers and I’ma-Annah were here?”

  “I wish you wouldn’t call her that; she’s Ma’adannah. You sound like an infant, calling her I’ma-Annah.”

  “She likes being called I’ma-Annah,” Keren argued, keeping her voice low in deference to their mother, who was working just outside the lodge. Quarrels always distressed Chaciydah. “Anyway,” Keren persisted softly, “I wish you wouldn’t be so formal with I’ma-Annah all the time. You hurt her feelings.”

  Rolling her eyes upward, Sharah sighed impatiently. “I suppose now you’re going to tell me that I’ve hurt the feelings of the Father of my Fathers too.”

  “Actually, you have hurt him. I see his sorrow whenever you behave as if you can’t wait to escape his presence.”

  “He’s dull. Always so solemn.”

  “Not always,” Keren answered beneath her breath. It was useless to argue. Sharah hated visiting Shem and I’ma-Annah, but Keren adored them. At the end of each day, when all the work was done, her great-grandparents would sit by the evening fire with the Ancient Ones, Noakh and Naomi, and tell wonderful stories of the Most High, the Creation, the Great Destruction, and of their many adventures beneath the blue heavens. As they talked, they would laugh, feed Keren from their own bowls, kiss her, and fuss over her. Then Shem would play his flute and they would dance.

  I love to dance, Keren thought, lapsing into a daydream. And I love watching I’ma-Annah and the Father of my Fathers. They are so beautiful together. When I marry, my husband and I will love each other in exactly the same way.