Crown in the Stars (28 page)

At dawn Keren hugged her son-in-law tight, determined not to distress him with her tears—Kal was almost too tenderhearted. “You be safe!” she ordered, looking up at him severely. “Find Shoshannah and rejoin us as soon as you can.”

Hugging her, almost crushing her in response, he said, “I’ma-Keren, please don’t worry.” “But I will.”

Turning to the big, self-conscious Tiyrac, Keren hugged him too. “You’re like my own sons, you and your brother. Thank you for doing this.”

“Perhaps the Most High will bless me,” he mumbled, abashed yet hopeful, his green-brown eyes shining like Kaleb’s. Obviously, despite his growling, Tiyrac was looking forward to this adventure as much as his brother.

“Remember your lessons,” Zekaryah commanded them roughly. “Trust no one. And follow the river south.”

“We’ll remember; you have my word,” Kal agreed, giving Zekaryah a solid, hard-fisted parting thump on the shoulder before going to mount the restless Khiysh.

Watching them leave, Keren swallowed her urge to cry. Joining her comfortingly, I’ma-Annah said, “We’ll pray for them constantly. But, oh… their hair is so badly chopped—those poor boys! Zekaryah,” she accused gently, “they look horrible.”

“They’ll live.”

“I’m sure they will,” Shem agreed, watching the two
adventurers ride over a small, grassy hill and out of sight. “But if they don’t rejoin us within a reasonable time, I
will
go after them.”

Recognizing her First Father’s quiet, unshakable determination, Keren groaned to herself. Her distress increased when Metiyl agreed threateningly, “If so, then you’ll take me with you. We’ll see this Great City.”

Weeks into their journey, riding a short distance behind Kaleb, Tiyrac complained, “You smell like rotten meat.”

“Well, you’re riding downwind,” Kaleb reminded him.

“Let’s not discuss
that!
The stew you made last night could purge the innards from a bear.”

“The bears look and smell better right now.” Kaleb sighed, exhausted, sweating beneath the warm late-summer sun. To their right, the great western river flowed so temptingly cool and swift that he could hardly resist flinging himself into the water. He craved a thorough scrub, a shave, and a good night’s sleep. Not to mention a decent meal. Would this journey never end? “We’ve got to be nearing the city.”

“Even so, let’s camp for the night and try some fishing,” Tiyrac suggested. “Then we should tend our gear.”

As much as he hated to give up any daylight travel time, Kal had to agree with his brother. They needed to restring their bows and replenish their supply of arrows. And the horses were tired. Khiysh was becoming irritable, snapping at shrubs and grass and hinting broadly that he would toss Kaleb if they didn’t stop soon. “You
catch the fish, and I’ll tend the gear,” Kaleb offered—fishing was one of Tiyrac’s favorite pastimes. Tiyrac grinned. “Done.”

Working swiftly, they dismounted, rubbed and covered their horses, then staked their lead ropes deep into the earth, allowing the weary creatures to graze without escaping. While the brothers were busy clearing an area for a small hearth, Khiysh huffed and issued a challenging, stomping snort. Kaleb straightened and turned to see the target of Khiysh’s threats.

Horsemen. Five of them. Tiyrac exhaled deeply, sounding worried. “Too late to escape them.”

“We don’t want to escape them,” Kaleb reminded him.

“You
don’t.”

“Do you have your knives?” “Yes,” Tiyrac snapped. “Do you have your brains?” In better spirits now, Kal gave his brother a complimentary shove. “You’re improving.” “Shut up and keep an eye on them.” “Yes, master.”

The lead horseman was the biggest of the five, but size didn’t matter; they were drawing their bows, aiming for Kaleb and Tiyrac. Kaleb was surprised by his own calm. He had never met any of these men, but thanks to Zekaryah, he understood them. He could almost hear Zekaryah warning,
Don’t fight unless you must
. Tucking a thumb loosely into his belt, Kaleb watched them approach.

While the lead horseman and a fellow horseman held their arrows aimed at Kaleb and Tiyrac, the other three swiftly dropped to the ground. One hurriedly rummaged through the brothers’ gear while the other two headed for their horses.

Immediately Khiysh reared and lunged, while Tiyrac’s horse, Nashak, furiously bit toward the horsemen who had interrupted his grazing.

“I go with my horse,” Kaleb told the lead horseman.

“If you fight us, you’ll die!” the man snarled.

“I didn’t say I would fight you,” Kaleb pointed out, reasonable. “I said, ‘I go with my horse,’ that’s all.”

One horseman stopped rummaging through Tiyrac’s gear and called out, “Ghid’ohn, look at these.” He lifted Tiyrac’s bow and quiver, his small brown eyes gazing fixedly, meaningfully at the lead horseman.

Suspicious, still wielding his own bow and arrow, Ghid’ohn asked Kaleb, “Who are you? Where did you get weapons and horses like these?”

“We grew up with these things,” Tiyrac said in his deepest, most impressive rumbling voice.

“My first memory is of riding a horse,” Kaleb agreed. “I’ve never been without one. Or without my weapons.”

“You’ll be without them for now,” Ghid’ohn told him. “Kneel, both of you. Dibriy, Ye’uwsh, tie them both tight. Double the cords, then search them for weapons—they’re coming with us.”

“Well,” Kal whispered to Tiyrac, elated, “that was easy!”

“Shut up.”

Sixteen

“HERE! FROM YOUR MOTHER.” Ormah scurried into Demamah’s courtyard, dumped several skeins of plain wool onto the mat beside Demamah, and darted away again.

Shoshannah lowered her fringe work and stared after the maidservant, bemused. Ormah was rushing as if Zeva’ah were at her heels. “She’s in a hurry.”

“She has to finish her work before attending the festival this evening,” Demamah explained, picking at the skeins of wool. “The young women of the city place offerings into the river to commemorate the death of… a young guardsman. After they’ve recited his story and mourned his fate, they light lamps, then dance and feast in the market street after dark.”

“What young guardsman?” Shoshannah asked, her mother’s stories rising uncomfortably in her memory.

Demamah fidgeted with the yarn, not looking up. “One of your mother’s guardsmen, Lawkham. They say he loved her and she provoked him to anger the Great King so terribly that… he was put to death. His body was thrown into the river.”

“And it was my I’ma’s fault, of course,” Shoshannah muttered, infuriated by this twisted version of her mother’s past.

Her words soft, but bitter edged, Demamah agreed. “Of course. It could never have been the fault of our Great King.”

Knowing that Demamah had no part in the awful stories told of the “Lady Keren,” Shoshannah controlled herself and went on fringing the edge of the crimson-and-cream fabric. But resentment burned at her until she finally said, “It’s amazing the people haven’t killed me because of my mother.”

“I’m sure most of them don’t blame you or wish you harm. And we know the truth, you and I.”

“Yes, but it’s terrible when no one else wants to believe it.” Shoshannah yanked fiercely at a knot of woolen fringe, uncomforted.

Finished with her evening meal, Shoshannah stared into nothingness, tracing and retracing the rim of a copper platter with her fingertips, frowning.

By now, surely, the women of the Great City were gathering, drinking and stirring themselves into an emotional state, mourning over a warped recital of Lawkham’s death. The truth wouldn’t matter to them; they would
cling to their own story, further embellishing it beyond recognition.
It wasn’t fair
.

Across from Shoshannah, Zeva’ah sighed, sounding exasperated. “Quit sulking, Shoshannah. You’ve ruined our whole meal with your bad mood.”

Shoshannah looked up, startled. “Forgive me, Aunt. I was being thoughtless.”

“On the contrary,” Ra-Anan said smoothly, “you were thinking too much about something. What is it?”

Shoshannah hesitated. Her aunt and uncle stared. Lowering her head, she confessed, “I was thinking about this festival and… regretting its origin.”

“Its origin is regrettable, but the whole thing is merely an excuse for crowds of foolish girls to play in the streets after dark,” Ra-Anan told her. “Forget them. And forget that old story—as they’ve forgotten it.”

“It’s not just the girls who are foolish; Tabbakhaw is going too,” Zeva’ah announced, disapproving. “You’d think she has no sense at all.”

“You didn’t forbid her?” Ra-Anan asked, turning to his wife, revealing the still-vivid, welted scar running down the left side of his face toward his throat.

Zeva’ah sniffed. “I thought of forbidding her, but she would have been in a temper for weeks, and our meals would have been tainted. However, I did tell her not to return with Ormah if they were sick from their drinking.”

“You should have forbidden them to attend such absurd, childish revels; they represent our household,” Ra-Anan said, his deep-set eyes narrowing, his mouth tight.

Zeva’ah tensed, visibly defensive, and Demamah plaited her fingers tightly together in her lap. Recognizing the signs of an impending quarrel, Shoshannah considered
saying or doing something rude so she would be dismissed from the room.

A loud, insistent tapping on the main door interrupted both her thoughts and the looming spat.

Perek called out a rough greeting, then entered and bowed, his dark forehead furrowed with displeasure. “Master, forgive me. There’s a crowd of marketplace women at the gate, demanding that
she
join them.” The guard’s leather-strung collection of animals’ teeth and claws clattered alarmingly from his right bicep as he gestured to Shoshannah.

Aghast, Shoshannah squeaked, “Me?”

“Yes, you!” Perek snorted. “They’re threatening to create trouble for our household unless you offer tribute to that young man who died for your mother’s sake.”

No. I can’t
. She glanced at her uncle, hoping that he would refuse, but Ra-Anan lifted an eyebrow, actually considering the idea.

“Please, Uncle, no,” Shoshannah begged, trying to keep calm.

Beside her, Demamah leaned forward, distressed enough to actually speak. “Father, wouldn’t they kill her?”

Ra-Anan leaned back, coldly reasoning aloud. “She’d be guarded. And those women from the marketplace command half the city’s trade; they can’t be ignored.”

“They could make our lives miserable if they refuse to serve our household,” Zeva’ah told Shoshannah, obviously glad to smooth over her quarrel with her husband by taking his part. “I’m sure you’d live, child.”

I’m afraid I won’t
.

“Be sure they don’t harm her, but don’t upset their ritual,” Ra-Anan told Perek, his decision apparently final. Shoshannah listened, appalled.
They’re handing me over so easily
. She knew that arguing would only make matters worse.