Crown in the Stars (45 page)

“Beloved, untie these,” Zekaryah whispered as soon as he and Keren were alone in the dark, windowless storeroom. But even as he spoke, he felt Keren’s soft fingertips moving along the cords at his wrists, picking at the leather knots that had frustrated him during these past few weeks.

Zekaryah waited in tense silence, exhaling his relief as the last knot finally opened. As Keren rubbed his hands and arms, Zekaryah turned and embraced his wife. He had been so afraid for her—was still afraid for her. Feeling her thinness beneath her garments, he muttered angrily, “You’ve lost too much weight.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does.” He knelt now, peering at the slash of light streaming in beneath the doorway. Four big leather-booted heels were there. Two guards. And he’d been bound for so many days that his arms felt weak. He couldn’t attack the guards outright. He had to think. What was in
this storeroom? As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he moved around noiselessly, inspecting the contents of the room. Jars. Baskets. Leather bags of grain. Relieved, he took Keren’s hand, gently pulling her toward the bags of grain, making her sit on them. If need be, they could even recline upon these for the night. “Rest.”

Reaching down into one of the jars, he moistened his fingertips, then sniffed and tasted the liquid warily. Water. Cool, scentless, tasteless. Reasonably fresh and clean. He sighed his gratitude. “Here,” he beckoned. “Drink as much as you can.”

They could chew on some of the grain too. He had to rest and gather his strength; he had to save his wife, their unborn child, and Shoshannah.
If anyone has hurt Shoshannah, I will be merciless
. Was he right to be so angry? Enough to almost kill?
Yes
.

Zekaryah made plans. As soon as that door opened, he would act.

Furious, Sharah poured some wine from a gold flask. Her hands were shaking, and she sloshed some of the dark red liquid onto her bedchamber floor, spattering her newest pair of sandals. Adoniyram had upset her badly.

“Why do you never listen to me?” she muttered.

She hadn’t wanted Adoniyram to see Keren and the others. If he dared to feel sympathy for the worthless Keren and tried to argue in her defense, Sharah was going to have him beaten. Son or not, he must learn his place, and he had to stop treating her enemies like friends.
He knows Keren is here …

Worse, Keren had obviously recognized Qaydawr’s
beautiful features in Adoniyram’s face. Beloved Qaydawr. Sharah had adored him more than any other man. How terrible it was that he had needed to die. Now, years later, she could see Ra-Anan’s wisdom in having him killed. On occasion, she was sure that Adoniyram—and perhaps Kuwsh and others—suspected that the supposedly great Nimr-Rada was not Adoniyram’s father. Fortunately her people still trusted and loved her more than they had ever loved Nimr-Rada, though they exalted
him
to the heavens. She didn’t regret his death at all.

Nor will I regret your deaths
, Sharah thought of Keren and the others.
How can you ragged idiot farmers be my own family?
They were an embarrassment.

She poured herself another drink. And another.

“Come in, come in! Quickly!” Meherah, the diminutive wife of the potter Yabal, pulled Annah and Shem into her modest clay-brick home, her dark eyes shining with delight. She embraced Annah and kissed her cheek. “Are you truly the First Mother Ma’adannah? And Father Shem? Oh, but you
are
just as the Lady Keren described you; we’re honored! Have you come to take our Shoshannah-child from Ra-Anan’s household? May the Most High bless you!”

Annah loved Meherah instantly. And Meherah’s thin, work-toughened husband, Yabal, was also kind, though more reserved, as were their three unmarried children—a son and two daughters. Their family seemed prosperous though unpretentious, wearing simple woolen tunics and sturdy sandals.

“Sit and rest,” Yabal urged. “Let us bring you a bit of food.”

He hustled off, waving to his son and daughters for help. They followed him eagerly, almost dancing with excitement at having unexpected company.

Meherah, chattering happily, presented Annah and Shem with water and coarse cloths to scrub their faces, hands, and feet. “We’d invite you to sit on the roof where it’s cooler, but a passerby might wonder who our guests are. People gossip so much in this Great City. And our home would be suspected as the first place you might take refuge in—we’ll hide you elsewhere tonight with those who love you as we do. We’ve prayed you would come here if you
had
to come. Our son will guard you as you sleep. Oh, but first you must rest and eat.”

Satisfied that they were comfortable, Meherah took away the used water and cloths, then presented them with tart, refreshing fruit juice, sweet sticky dates, and bread softened with oil.

Annah could smell meat searing, mingling with garlic and spices. Soon she realized that a bit of food to Yabal was apparently everything in their storeroom: rich olives, more dates, fresh white curds, beans, and choice, tender pieces of lamb.

As they ate, Annah and Shem told their story. Hearing that Keren and their adopted son, Zekaryah, had been captured by Sharah, Meherah burst into tears, praying softly, “Most High, save them!”

Yabal nodded, consoling his wife, trying to reason through the situation aloud. “Surely they aren’t in immediate danger… Our friends will listen for talk tomorrow in the marketplace. If there’s a way to save them, we will find it.”

There was no need for Shem and Annah to ask for information about Shoshannah. Yabal, Meherah, and their children told them everything they knew of her troubles. From the beating Shoshannah received on the day of her arrival, and her tragically disrupted escape attempt, to the danger she had been in on the night of the women’s festival, and her enforced visits to the Temple of Shemesh atop the tower.

Yabal’s lean bearded face hardened when he spoke of that. He loathed the temple.

Meherah shivered dramatically. “How we’ve been praying for our Shoshannah-child! As has the wife of our Lord Kuwsh, his Achlai, who loves the Most High. She protected Shoshannah’s clothes and sewed weapons into the child’s garments after her arrival, hoping Shoshannah could use them to escape. But you know how sadly that ended. Oh, but we mourned for her.”

Full of good food and lulled by the sultry night, Annah felt her tired limbs relaxing. She tried to stay alert, but Meherah noticed her fatigue. Patting Yabal’s hand to get his attention, she nodded toward Annah and Shem. “Beloved, they are so tired; we’d be rude to keep them awake. Let our son take them away to rest.”

“Ezriy.” Yabal beckoned his son, fond but firm. “Guard our guests with your life, more than if they were your parents.”

The young man nodded solemnly, looking at Annah and Shem with big brown eyes. His parents kissed him, and he gathered his weapons: a knife and a leather sling with a small bag of stones.

Meherah wept as she hugged Annah. “Be safe, be well! Let us see you again.”

Annah hugged her hostess and thanked her fervently,
realizing that Meherah and her husband had sacrificed much for them tonight. Now they were offering their cherished youngest son, endangering his life as well as their own.

As they walked through a night-shadowed field, their feet rustling through the coarse straw, the young Ezriy confessed worriedly, “Every day I regret my panic in the marketplace when Shoshannah was taken. But I was so sure she was the Lady Keren—their resemblance is so close I was shocked. I beg your forgiveness, and hers.”

“You have no need,” Shem answered, his quiet voice reassuring in the darkness. “Shoshannah does look like her mother.”

Sounding more at ease now, Ezriy confided, “I will always remember the Lady Keren bringing my brother Lawkham’s body to us the day he died. She was as overwhelmed with grief as any of my sisters. My parents never once blamed her for his death; they turned to the Most High instead. They hate what my brother’s death has become to the people of this city.”

His young voice rising in exasperation, he continued, “Those women who place offerings in the river, then feast and dance in the streets, they don’t remember our Lawkham as he was in life. I grow angry thinking about it. My parents tell me to forgive those who have forgotten Lawkham. The Most High knows the truth.”

“Your parents are wise, Ezriy-child,” Annah said gently, trying to keep up her pace.

“They
are
wise,” Ezriy agreed, wonderfully matter-of-fact. Calmer now, he said, “I’m taking you to the merchant Tso’bebaw’s home. He and his wife, Peletah, will be glad to see you. And perhaps they can plan a way to save our Zekaryah and Keren.”

Annah followed Shem and the young man to a walled clay-brick house with a high roof. A lamp glowed from inside through a leather-shaded window.

“They’re still awake,” Ezriy said, pleased. Marching through the gate, he rapped on the door, calling, “Father Tso’bebaw? I’ma-Peletah… are you there?”

“Ezriy?” A man answered the door, blinking, his shoulders set in a deep slouch. “Is something wrong? What are you doing out so late, my son? You’ll be tired and good for nothing tomorrow.”

“I’ll work as always tomorrow,” the young man promised readily. “But look, I’ve brought guests to you. This is the First Father Shem and his Ma’adannah.”

Annah feared the merchant would choke with shock. After sputtering and stammering incoherently, he motioned Shem, Annah, and Ezriy inside. There, on a low table, an oil lamp flickered beside a collection of carving tools and a flat disk of ivory. Nearby, a sturdy woman bounded to her feet, dropping a tunic she was mending—her mouth sagging open. “Is it true?”

“I’ma-Peletah,” Ezriy begged, before Peletah released the shriek Annah was sure would emerge from her lips, “this must be secret. Our guests are in danger. I’ll tell you everything. But my parents humbly ask a place for them to sleep tonight. Your roof is higher than ours, and I’ll guard them.”

“Yes, yes, certainly! Show them up the ladder at once!” Peletah rushed here and there, thrusting mats and fleeces into her husband’s arms so he could carry them up to the roof. “I’ll bring you some water and food and drinks—you must be exhausted after your journey. It shouldn’t rain tonight, and our roof is high enough that you won’t be seen easily.”

Despite herself Annah drooped throughout the obligatory visit that followed—she was still full from her meal with Yabal and Meherah. But she ate again: bread, fruit, cold spiced meat, honey cakes, barley water, and fish charred over a brazier set on the roof. The young man, Ezriy, knew the merchant and his wife so well that he was soon able to maneuver them down the ladder again without offense, cheerfully begging them—as they loved the Most High—to guard the door below. As the merchant Tso’bebaw prepared to descend the ladder, he reassured Shem and Annah firmly. “Tomorrow we will try to find some way to help your loved ones. You can hide yourselves in my booth, if you wish.”

“Thank you,” Annah sighed. The stooped merchant beamed at her, then descended into his house again. Ezriy settled down in the farthest corner of the roof to keep watch, and Annah and Shem crawled onto the soft, freshly made pallets to rest. Annah barely had time to look up at the stars and thank the Most High for providing this place of refuge. One breath later, she was asleep.