Heavens Before (26 page)

Ghinnah nudged Annah’s fingers away from the handle, taking the work from her. She continued, “My father was killed last year while fighting with another man. The husbands of my sisters didn’t want me, not even as a concubine, because my uncle claimed all my father’s possessions—even my bride price. My uncle didn’t take me as his second wife because Etsah threatened to maim him in his sleep. Qeb-al is a coward. Etsah has hated me ever since. Now I am a burden to them—an unwanted woman.”

“How awful.” Annah swallowed, grieved by the other young woman’s pain.

“Don’t worry about me,” Ghinnah said, her voice hardening. “I’m fine.”

No, you’re not
, Annah argued with her silently.
You’ve only pushed the pain away for now. It will strike you again when you’re not ready for it—as sharp and hard as ever. You’ll go mad
.

Glancing around cautiously, Ghinnah said, “You’ve been kind to me, so I’ll warn you: Qeb-al uses hollow
weights and shortened rods to measure out his goods. The father of your husband should insist on an additional fourth. And my cousins and my aunt have stolen things from time to time; small things that won’t be missed immediately. And before you condemn them, please understand; I’ve done the same. One day, we’ll be caught and killed.”

Annah gaped at her, confounded. “Why should you trust me? I could go to the father of my husband and have him chase you all away.”

“I hope you won’t,” Ghinnah answered, averting her eyes. “But that’s your choice. As it was my choice to warn you.” Then, smiling a little, she said, “I’ll tell you, too, that I envy you for loving your husband and his family as you do. When you are with your husband, you caress each other with your looks, and I can feel the passion you have for each other.” Ghinnah sighed, finally looking up at Annah. “Do you think we should check this grain?”

As Annah sifted the wheat-flour through a woven-fiber sieve into a broad wooden bowl, Ghinnah poured more grain from a nearby basket into the large mortar. Looking up at the pen, she said, “Tell me about this big dark box that the father of your husband built. We heard rumors of this thing, but we didn’t believe them.”

Without excuses or mincing words, Annah told Ghinnah of the Most High’s warning to Noakh: about the earth turning upon itself because of the violence of men, and about the preparations Noakh and his family had made for all the animals they expected to shelter.

Smiling, Ghinnah said, “I’ve heard of more peculiar things in my life. And I would say that if your husband and his family treat you well enough, then you could accept living with such an oddity.”

“What if I were to tell you that I believe as they do?” Annah asked, challenging her mildly. “What if I said that the Most High is not a legend, but that He exists?”

Ghinnah bit down a smile. “I’d have to think about that.”

They carried the bran-flecked flour into the lodge, where Naomi was visiting with Etsah, measuring out olive oil as she talked. “Thank you, daughter,” Naomi said, eyeing the amount of flour in the large wooden bowl. “This will make enough dough for tonight and tomorrow. Now, please go ask our ancient one and Qeb-al if they will accept something to drink.”

Obediently Annah went to the sunlit area near the front door, where Methuwshelakh was propped up, visiting with Qeb-al. Seeing Annah, the ancient man’s eyes brightened. In his fragile, faded voice, Methuwshelakh said to Qeb-al, “Did the son of my son tell you … this child is of the Tsaraph? She has tools … to work the gold.”

Qeb-al looked at Annah with new interest. Discomfited, Annah looked away. Qeb-al asked Methuwshelakh, “Is there a lodge of the Tsaraph nearby?”

“Yes … her family is across the river,” Methuwshelakh answered proudly.

Licking his lips in evident anticipation, Qeb-al said, “Perhaps I should cross the river tomorrow.”

Methuwshelakh lifted one frail old hand. “There is a bridge … though your cart is too … big. Only handcarts fit.”

Annah flinched inwardly, turning away from Methuwshelakh and Qeb-al, forgetting to ask them if they wanted something to drink.
I’m going to be sick
, she thought, hastily stepping outside the lodge.
Qeb-al is going to visit Yerakh, and then I’m going to be killed
.

Seated near the evening fire in his lodge, Yerakh stared at the trader. Then he looked at his sisters. Haburah and Ayalah knelt nearby, eyeing him, hateful and smug. Yerakh glared at them, longing to slap them both.

Unintimidated, Ayalah tossed her head. “Listen to the trader, brother, since you wouldn’t listen to us. Annah has made you a fool.”

Leaning forward, Yerakh frowned at the trader. “You spoke to my sister? And she spoke to you?”

Clearly unnerved, Qeb-al stammered, “Ah, um, well, she n–never spoke directly to me, but we were there for all of last evening and half of today. I saw her talking to the daughter of my brother. And I was told that she—your lovely sister—has tools to work the gold.”

“You saw these tools?” Yerakh snapped, no longer caring to be polite.

A haze of sweat broke out over the trader’s red-brown face. “No, I didn’t see the tools, but their ancient one described them to me. I’m sure he spoke the truth.”

Yerakh sat back, seething.
I’ll kill you
, he thought to Annah.
I should have killed you years ago. Where did you get tools?
As far as he could remember, he had used all of his tools since Annah’s marriage. None were missing. Unless she had taken those old, deservedly forgotten tools belonging to his father.

Controlling himself, he asked, “Where is the daughter of your brother? I want to hear what she has to say about my sister.”

The trader gaped at him, clearly offended. “Forgive me, Yerakh of the Tsaraph, but I doubt my worthless niece could say more than what I’ve told you.”

Kneeling beside her husband on the grass mat before Yerakh, the trader’s thin little wife spoke. “I’ll tell you where she is.”

Yerakh frowned at the woman, contemptuous of the ridiculous would-be-gold talismans in her hair.

She shifted uncomfortably. “We left her at the lodge of Noakh to guard our cart and to visit with your sister; they seemed to enjoy each other’s company. Our cart would not fit over the bridge, so my husband and I carried our wares over on our backs. See …” The trader’s wife opened a leather bundle, spreading out various carvings, combs, and scent-pots.

Ayalah and Taphaph edged over to inspect these offerings, but Yerakh ignored them.

If you’ve stolen my father’s tools, then you are dead
, he thought to Annah.
Tomorrow morning I will cross that bridge, find you, and strangle you!

Without another word, he left his seat and strode into his workroom. Tensing, he opened his father’s storage chest and rummaged inside, reluctantly breathing his father’s scent among the herbs and spices. He patted his hands through his father’s garments, his favorite stone molds, his windings of stiffened leather cords. He searched the entire storage chest without finding the tools.
They were here
, Yerakh thought.
I know I put them in here the next morning
.

The next morning, after his father’s death. After a terrifying night of digging, sweating, and cursing as he struggled to bury his father’s body beyond the far edges of his fields. He could still hear the hoarse laughter of the Nachash when she discovered him working that night. Her rasping, avid voice still echoed in his mind.

Bloody, bloody man! Can you hide blood? No. Blood is alive! It
follows us! Can you bury blood? No! One drop grows like a seed! Like a stream, blood flows until you drown! You!

Even now, after all these years, he was sweating, remembering the Nachash—her wild hair, her death-odor, those sightless, staring eyes. She was the essence of all his youthful nightmares. Shaking his head, Yerakh forced himself to clear his mind. The tools were gone. Annah had taken them. She
was
working the gold; she had deceived him for twenty-five years.

You’ll beg my forgiveness!
he raged silently, remembering her pretense of a vacant face.
You stole my knowledge and made a fool of me. For that, I will kill you
.

Kneeling on the softness of their bed, Annah kissed her husband’s cheek, then combed out his thick, dark curls, cherishing the feel of his hair winding about her fingers.

“You can comb my hair tonight,” Shem teased her. “Yepheth and my father are waiting for me.”

“No, I can’t comb your hair tonight,” Annah said, smoothing his curls into the confines of a black leather cord. “You have to go out to the herds again, remember?”

“I’d rather not remember,” he sighed, turning to kiss her. “Will you stay with I’ma and Ghinnah again today?”

“Later,” Annah murmured.
If I live. That Qeb-al was in the settlement last night, and I have no doubt he’s told everything to Yerakh
.

His eyebrows lifting almost sternly, Shem pulled Annah into his lap. “You will remember what I said? You’ll stay away from the river?”

Annah focused on his beard, brushing it lightly. “If
Yerakh is determined to kill me, beloved, he will kill me. And if he brings his favorite weapon, that Naham-the-Iron-breaker, then you and your brothers won’t be able to fight them. I would die anyway.”

“The Most High did not bring you across the river to let you die,” Shem reminded her gently. “He has other plans for your life, and He won’t change them. Even so, it would be wise to take precautions and watch for Yerakh.”

“I will.” She stood, allowing him to rise.

After tying a soft leather band across his forehead, he bent to kiss her again, nuzzling her. “Remember what I said: Stay away from the river.”

She hugged him tight, then smiled and handed him his herding stick. “Don’t worry. I love you, but you have to go. Your father and Yepheth are waiting. If you see I’ma and Ghinnah, tell them I’ll come a little later, when I’ve finished tidying up here.”

She watched him leave the clearing surrounding their hut, waving at him once when he turned to look at her. As soon as he was gone, she smoothed their bed, filled the oil lamp, then carried a dish of nutshells and fruit peels out to the waste pit. Returning to the hut again, Annah rinsed the dish and threw the rinse water into the grass beyond the doorway. Then she deliberately pulled the precious ornament from her neck and tucked it beneath her pillow. She would not give Yerakh the option of strangling her with the cord of her beautiful shell carving. Shouldering her grass bag, she willed her feet to move toward the river.

She already knew where she would wait—on the south side of the bridge. Her husband and his brothers wouldn’t see her there. But Yerakh would see her immediately.

Perhaps I should throw myself into the river now and be done with the waiting
, she thought, as she approached the bridge.
It would be easier and certainly less painful
.

No
. The thought came to her, firm and undeniable.
If I die today, then let it be because Yerakh has taken my life
.

She knelt on the sand and waited, sweating. Once in a while, she dipped her hands into the water to cool them and to calm herself. Then she thought of her shuttle; she hadn’t touched it since before her wedding. By now, she never used her veil, but she could still use her shuttle.

She groped inside her woven-grass bag. Pulling out the shuttle, she stared at it as if she had never seen it before.
Everything is different now
, she thought.
I no longer need this
. But she unwound a length of the delicate thread and began to knot it loosely. The thread was neglected, brittle and difficult. By the time she had worked a cord the length of her palm, she sensed a presence. Glancing across the river, she saw Yerakh, his darkly bearded face staring, gloating. Her heart began to thud.

I am afraid
, she admitted to herself, her hands shaking, clenching the shuttle.
O Most High, help me. I’m afraid. Shield me as you did the night of my mother’s death. Yerakh is eager to kill me; I can feel it
. She swallowed hard, praying.
If I am to speak to him, Most High, please give me the words. And if I am to die, then let me die quickly. Also, if I must die … please, I want to take Yerakh with me
.