Fate of the Gods 01 - Forged by Fate (44 page)

It was late the next day when Tova went into labor. Her cries echoed so loudly, Eve worried it would bring the hunters running in concern. Eve did her best to soothe her with soft words and cool water, but each time Tova’s body rocked with labor, her screams ripped through them all. Then the baby’s head appeared between her legs and Hannah was able to draw out its little body as Tova pushed and wept. It was a little boy, wet with blood. He cried almost as loudly as his mother, and Eve smiled.

“He’s strong like you, Tova. And beautiful. What will you name him?”

She looked startled at the idea, searching Eve’s face. “But he is yours, Eve. Won’t you name the children, as Adam named us?”

Eve shook her head, sitting back on her heels. It had never occurred to her the women might expect such a thing. “He is of your body, Tova, and it is your right to name him. I would not take that away from you. We live by Adam’s rules no longer.”

Tova looked back at the baby, her brow furrowed. “But what is a good name?”

“Any name you desire.” Eve stroked her hair back from her face and sighed. They had been living under her leadership for so many moons, and they still did not understand their own freedom.

The baby continued to cry, long and loud, and Eri joined them, his ears flattened against his skull, sniffing at the baby and its mother. There was a roar from outside, and Tzofi appeared with Reu not far behind. The lioness went to the baby and began licking the blood and fluids from his body, purring loudly. Eve watched carefully to be sure the baby would be safe, but there was nothing to alarm her in Tzofi’s mind.

Tova laughed when Tzofi’s rough tongue lapped over her arm, and Reu called both lions away, kneeling where Tzofi had stood.

“The first son,” he said, glancing from the baby to Eve, his eyes full of affection.

“Maybe I should call him Kefir.” Tova smiled. “Since the lions like him so much, and he roars like one. My little lion.”

“It is a good name,” Eve agreed, returning her smile. “Perhaps he will grow to be as strong and as skilled a hunter.”

Reu laughed. “If only it were so easy. That we could name ourselves lions, and become them.” He stood then. “I must return to my work. May God’s spirit bless you, Tova, and your son.”

Eve stayed with Tova until the baby fed and her exhaustion overcame her joy. Tova passed the baby to her, and Eve cradled him carefully to her chest. He slept too, like his mother, no doubt worn out from all his crying. Reu had carved steps in the rock to their overlook, and she took the baby with her to look over the valley. Eri followed at her heels.

It was a shame this boy would never know where he had come from. Would never know the bounty and splendor of the Garden, or the journey from it. She prayed he would never have cause to meet with the angels. He was a child born of the mountain and the grasses and the earth. Adam’s child, if Reu’s thoughts were true.

“You look out at the Garden as though you loved it,” a voice said behind her.

She did not have to turn to know who spoke. “Would you like to see your son, Brother?”

Adam came to stand beside her, ignoring the baby in her arms, and the warning snarl from Eri. “Do you miss it, then? What you chose to leave so quickly?”

“You exiled me, Adam. I did not choose to leave.” She frowned at him. “If not to see your baby, why do you come to me?”

He stared into her eyes for a long moment, silent, before looking out at the land. “I will have it back, Eve. Come with me. The angels can’t deny us. It is our right, our home, and I
will
have it back.”

“You’re mad.” She held the babe more tightly and stepped nearer to Eri. “Michael guards the Garden himself. At night, his sword of flames is a beacon. He’ll never let you pass.”

“I am the son of God, as you are His daughter!” His eyes flashed, his lip curled with disgust. “I will not live like this in the scrub, when I should live as a god in the bounty of the Garden!”

She shook her head. She had only known Michael for the briefest of moments, but it had been enough to know he was her superior in all ways. More powerful than she could dream. “And what of Lilith, who carries your child even now? Will you abandon them?”

“She is nothing.” He looked back out at the Garden, his eyes sliding over Kefir in her arms. “The only child I want is of your womb, Eve. I will not waste my time on any others.”

His callousness astounded her. After all this time, when he had worked side by side with the others. Hunted with the other men, shared meals with the women. Still, they were nothing to him. People he would leave to die without concern. All he wanted was his power. The Garden. Herself as his wife.

“Try, Adam,” she said softly. “Try to take it back, and I hope you succeed. Perhaps then we will be free of you forever.”

She left him there, sneering at her refusal, and went to find Enoch to show him the baby who would be his son.

Smoke woke her, thick in the air. It had been a clear night, and Kefir’s wails had driven most of them out of the cave to find a more peaceful sleep elsewhere. The sun had come up, but the light was choked by the dark clouds of ash. She stood to see where it came from. No fire of theirs could have created so much smoke.

That was when she saw it, and she heard herself wail as loudly as the baby.

The Garden burned.

It was Adam’s work. Adam’s anger. Adam’s spite.

“Eve?” Reu called, then coughed. “Eve? What’s wrong?”

She couldn’t tear her eyes away. Most of it was char and black ash now, but flames still licked at trees further out. How bare it looked inside the great golden gates with no fruit trees bursting against the walls, reaching with lush, leafy fingers to the world beyond.

“Wake the others, Reu. Tell Hannah and Lamech to dig up the plants that have sprouted and pack them with dirt in those baskets she’s woven. I don’t want to leave them behind now that they’re all we have left.”

If she squinted, she thought she could see him, standing there with a brand in his hand, waving it over his head. She lifted her gaze, searching the sky. A falcon soared, just near enough, perhaps, if she could only catch hold—

And then she saw Adam clearly from high above, the wind whipping at her face as her mind soared with the bird. The falcon circled lower with her encouragement. Closer still, and she could hear him too, screaming his anger.

“I will turn it all to ash, every tree, every bush, every meadow. I will set the world aflame until there is nothing left but Eve, broken to my will at last, and once I have her power, her child, I’ll see you burn, too!”

The angels wept for the destruction he had caused. Tears of blood and gold falling to the earth. But not even their power could save the Garden now. Adam had turned it all to ruin and wasteland.

Dimly she knew Reu stood beside her, coughing, horrified, and as if from a great distance, she heard him shouting. Following her instructions. But her attention was on Michael. The angel dropped lightly to the earth at Adam’s back and raised his burning sword. Lightning flew out, dancing over Adam’s body and bringing him to his knees with a cry. He fell face down into the ash, all that was left of what had once been fertile and green.

Michael’s beautiful and terrible face distorted with pleasure, and he kicked Adam so hard Eve felt her own ribs ache. The angel grabbed him by his hair, jerking Adam’s limp body up until his feet dangled.

“You think because Elohim is gone, you are the only one with the freedom to act?” He sneered. “In His absence, the world is mine to guard, mine to keep, and God’s son or not, you will suffer for your sins.” He dropped Adam, then, boneless to the ground.

Raphael stepped forward, his face impassive, and knelt beside Adam, checking his ribs. “Would you finish what he has begun? For the world, he must live.”

Michael’s face twisted in disgust. Hate. Lust. “Then let the knowledge he coveted burn with the rest. Even if he must live, he need not remember.”

She saw the same look in Michael’s eyes that had been in Adam’s when he had spoken of the fruit, of the power of God, and she knew a fear that caused her stomach to twist. Michael had more power than Adam ever would, and there was nothing to stop him from using it.

Tears burned her own eyes, washing down her face. The falcon flew on, and Eve blinked free of its sight. What was left of the Garden was distant once more.

Eve turned away. There would be time enough for grief once her people were safe. But it wasn’t only Adam she feared anymore.

Better if they never saw Michael again.

Epilogue: The Redwood Hall

An old man stared into the living flames of the redwood hearth. The roots of the great tree formed a chair beneath him, cradling his ancient body and rocking it gently. The leaves rustled, whispering their news, and he lifted his gaze from the fire.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

The leaves rustled again in answer, then stilled as the angel stepped forward into the red-gold light. Michael’s white wings flared, then settled to his back, his face unreadable in the shadow.

“You called to me.”

“I did.” The old man studied the angel, his fingers drumming on the rooted arm of his rocking chair. “And as my servant you must obey.”

The angel’s jaw tightened, but he dropped to one knee in the carpet of leaves, bowing his head. “Command me, my Lord.”

“Your sword, Archangel.”

Michael lifted his head, his eyes narrow and hard. He gripped the hilt of the weapon on his hip, knuckles white. “What?”

The old man held out his hand, his expression as still as the leaves above. “The sword.”

Silence pressed down around them, so heavy and thick even the fire did not dare flicker or pop.

Metal scraped on metal at last, cutting through the quiet, and Michael rose, offering the sword hilt first. The old man held it, laying it across his lap. His fingers followed the edges of the blade.

“So finely wrought.” He sighed. The blade, sharp as it was, did not draw his blood. “As it must be, to slice souls free of hearts without damage, and teach death to an immortal.” The old man looked up, his face lined with eternity. “Do you think in all this time, I have not heard my daughter’s cries? You have left her to suffer needlessly, allowed her to be tortured by false gods, and now you threaten her child. How many would you slaughter to eliminate her blood from the earth and take what is mine?”

“As many as I must to keep it whole, to prevent her rebirth if she threatens the world. As you have demanded of me.”

The old man leaned back in his chair, still holding the sword. “That time is done, Michael. My son has learned his lesson, and my daughter knows her duty. Eve will teach Adam all that is required, now. You have paralyzed her with fear for long enough. She will be free in her next life to do as she must.”

“You risk everything!” Michael’s hands were fists at his sides, his words spit from between clenched teeth. “Do we mean so little to you, that you would allow us to be destroyed?”

“Have you no faith in your Creator, Archangel?”

Michael’s wings flared again, his gaze locked on the sword in the old man’s hands.

“You ask me to leave my creation in your hands, but to keep it you would destroy my greatest achievements. The world will not survive without my daughter, Michael, and I dare not leave her life in your power any longer. The sword will remain with me, and when the child is born, you and your brother will bring the babe here. This is my command.”

“The other gods will never allow it.”

“Won’t they?” The old man smiled, ancient eyes twinkling. “When my first born has returned to me, at last, to guide them?”

Michael hissed and turned away, one stroke of his broad wings lifting him into the air. “So be it.”

The old man nodded and closed his eyes, his fingers still tracing the lines of the sword. So well made. He had not the strength for it now. He would never have the strength for such a making again. But all was not lost. Not as long as Eve lived and loved. Not as long as Adam loved her. He sighed.

Today, he had earned his rest.

Look for the next installment of the Fate of the Gods Trilogy, coming soon: