THE FALL (Rapha Chronicles #1) (The Rapha Chronicles) (18 page)

Glory shuddered and lifted exhausted eyes to her Maker who regarded her with compassion.

“I will be with you,”
He whispered.

“Yes, yes, that is sweet, but we need to bind this contract,”
Lucifer’s harsh voice broke the moment.
“I cannot have
their
blood and you don’t have earthly blood yet so how are we to satisfy my terms today because—I demand blood. Now!”

Wordlessly, Adonai handed the lamb to Lucifer. It did not struggle when placed into the evil one’s grasp. Lucifer laughed.
“Do you truly expect them to cower behind the blood of a mere animal?”

“Their sins are conferred onto the head of this innocent victim and My Spirit binds with that accursed flesh. The knife is plunged into My heart. In this way, you will have the pleasure of spilling My blood repeatedly until the Son of Man becomes that sacrifice.”

Lucifer’s scarred features lit with giddy joy at the power of causing Adonai pain. He wasted no more time but turned toward the assembly, the silent lamb held over his head as he savored this moment of triumph he would enjoy over and over throughout the age to come.

“I accept Adonai’s terms—His life for the life of the humans. This innocent blood is mine! The Earth is mine to command! This age belongs to me!”

He brought the lamb down and looked at it with disdain. Finally the animal struggled as its pure body joined to sin. Desperately it craned its neck, trying to see its Maker, but Adonai had turned away. With one swift movement, Lucifer brought the lamb’s neck to his mouth—and bit. Glory cried out, appalled Adonai did not intervene. But her Maker was doubled over, grief and pain etching his face while Lucifer ripped and tore the flesh of the tiny creature, reveling in the fact that all creation stared in horror. In a matter of seconds the lamb, drained of life, was tossed to the ground, reduced to mere skin and bone, while Lucifer stood proudly displaying his blood-drenched face… but his moment of triumph was cut short.

“Be gone! The innocent blood staining you fulfills the human’s debt. Your claim on their flesh is broken.”

But Lucifer stepped toward the couple. Adonai remained bent with agony so the fallen angel seized the opportunity for one last intimidation
. “It has been a pleasure, lovely one,”
he towered over Glory.
“Just think. We are one. What grows in you—is mine.”
He reached out a blood-soaked hand and touched her stomach.

But Glory’s eyes stared with new boldness into his. “Your price of blood has been paid. You have no right to me.”

A familiar burning sizzled his skin and the lamb’s blood burst into flame, searing his blood-soaked chest, face and arms. With a scream Lucifer reeled backwards into the crowd while animals and celestial beings leapt out of his path. As he moved away, the flames slowly subsided. When he reached the tree line, the fire was quenched but fresh wounds remained; the skin hanging from his face and torso resembled tattered parchment. He pointed a scorched finger at the Most High.
“That lamb’s blood covers them with—YOU!”

Adam leapt toward Lucifer. “Yes! So please stand still. I would like to see that fire again.”

But the fallen angel disappeared, leaving behind only the stench of charred flesh.

However, the horror of his handiwork remained. The girl was already on her knees with the remains of Grace clutched to her chest, oblivious to the blood that now soaked her garments. “This little one’s death was my fault. It should be my blood staining these stones, not his!” Heart-wrenching sobs tore from her breast as she rocked back and forth with the lamb’s ravaged body.

“Yes, dear one. This is death. This is what you and the man have loosed upon creation. But the grief you feel is penitence--unselfish, and restorative. Receive it as a gift from My hand, evidence of your redemption. Guard your unity with me, always remembering the price paid, the selflessness that represents My blood.”

Adam was bent over Glory, reaching toward her with unsure hands. He too was crushed by failure. He had failed as her protector. He had failed as steward of the animals. Glancing up through unshed tears he observed the lions stalking away. In fact, a mass exodus was now taking place. It appeared all the species had chosen to look after themselves. Birds, reptiles, primates, amphibians—all were moving away. How could he blame them? He had betrayed their trust and ushered bloodshed into the garden. In truth, there was a longing in his heart to join them, to just leave this hotbed of responsibility and commitment, to roam free in the world, free to look only after himself, free of Lucifer’s threats, free from seeing the constant reminder of his failure every day in her beautiful face.

But wait. Not all were leaving. Close by he beheld a sight that finally brought tears. The sheep, those who had just beheld the death of their own, remained, their peaceful eyes convicting him for his thoughts of escape.

“They will remain with those who honor the blood of their first martyr.”
Adonai declared.
“They commit themselves to the day mankind is restored as ruler of all creation. Until then, you will need their blood to renew the protection against Lucifer’s claim.”

A growling and yapping drew his attention; a pair of dogs were at odds about their loyalties, the female moving closer to the humans while the male nipped at her, encouraging her to follow the retreating crowd. Finally, she turned, bared dangerous teeth and bit his ear. When he howled in pain she released him, and trotted to Adam where the tawny creature sat regally at the man’s feet to survey the sad procession.

When Adam placed a hand on her shaggy head, she gave him an adoring look, her tongue lolling from the side of her panting mouth.

“Why does she choose to remain?” Adam asked.

“To put it simply, she likes you,”
Adonai answered.
“And she dislikes Lucifer so much she is willing to stand with anyone opposed to him. If only all could understand life’s choices so clearly.”

When she actually sighed and leaned against Adam’s leg, content in her choice, Adam stroked her head and wept. “I will call you Eden, in remembrance of the paradise that once was.”

“Come, dear one, the day’s work is not yet done.”

An angel stepped forward to present a knife that appeared to be wrought of blazing light. Adonai lifted it high and announced,
“Through death, this body is returned to righteousness and is pure in My hands. I sever the skin from the bone just as one day I will forever sever the connection between you and the evil one.”
The knife flashed with precision to remove the precious lamb’s skin. The girl began sobbing again as she beheld the ghastly process. Blessedly, it was over quickly and the bones were given to the angel who had presented the knife.

“These bones will remain in the midst of the garden, covered with the soil where the lamb’s blood was shed, an everlasting witness to his sacrifice.

“
What he has done will continue to provide for you in a sun-scorched land. His skin will cover your shame, his wool will keep you warm and the oil therein will both soothe and heal. This covering will serve as a constant reminder to you and your enemies that you dwell under the protection of My covenant.”

As He worked, the heat from His hand tempered the hide. Soon, it was soft, supple and dry. Adonai wove and shaped beautiful garments to cover the man and woman, including sturdy protection for their feet. There was no shortage even though the generous garments covered all but their faces. In the Maker’s hands, the small lamb’s sacrifice became more than enough.

Only yesterday, the light of His holiness shielded their bodies. The synchronicity with their Maker had been disrupted yet Adonai had ensured they were beautifully and sufficiently clothed for the next phase of that painful day.

“Children, give me your hands.”

Trembling with fear, the humans reached toward their Maker. Did their sin, after all, require the sacrifice of a limb?

“You are husband and wife. You are one flesh—one in body, mind, and spirit. Cleave to each other. Comfort one another. From this day forth your allegiance is first to Me but then, before all earthly ties, you are sworn to each other. To protect the integrity of this joining is to protect your own flesh. Choose to sow life in every word, every thought, every action, and this union will bring blessing, healing, strength, and joy throughout the years to come. Choose to rip at the fabric of this union and you destroy your own heart.

“For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and cleave to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh.”

Then Adonai addressed the young woman.
“From this day forth, you are named Eve, because you will be called the mother of all humanity. With this great honor comes the tremendous responsibility to teach your offspring My ways; tell them that I nurture and protect, that My love will remain steadfast even when they choose evil, that My heart never stops yearning for my children even when they want to hide from Me. Teach them that even when they choose the hard road of discipline, I long to hold them close and absorb their pain. Their joys shall be your joy, their pains shall pierce your heart. But, as you abide in Me, the strength for this task will flow, and you too will gain understanding of My love.”

Then He turned to Adam.
“You are the first they will call ‘father.’ You are the first they will see as strong. As you defend their lives and work to provide their needs, may you commit yourself to the more important task of defending their hearts. Through you they will learn faithfulness, fearlessness, and the true meekness of honoring their heavenly Father above and before all else. Through you they will see the balance of strength that readily bows to holiness. Through you they will see themselves as worthy of My love. Nurture them. Rejoice over them. Be ready with encouragement and slow to anger. In this way they will learn self-control. As you remain grafted in Me, My virtues will overflow to your children.”

Thus Rapha witnessed the long-awaited ceremony unifying the young woman and Adam, so different from the joyous occasion he had envisioned. But the day was not yet done. The man and woman could no longer dwell in the atmosphere of Adonai’s holiness.

As their young, shattered minds were still trying to absorb these precepts, Adonai spoke words that further pierced their hearts.
“From this day forth I will not be seen by you. No longer will we enjoy the unhindered relationship of our days in this blessed place. As long as you remain encased in earthly flesh, your desire for the fullness of My presence cannot be completely fulfilled. Allow this hunger and longing to drive you to seek Me. This ongoing struggle will strengthen you to stand firm in evil days. So you will thrive when all around you is swallowed in death.”

As those final words hung in the air, Adam and his mate faded from Rapha’s sight. He could no longer see them but he felt their confusion when they realized their eyes no longer beheld Adonai. Where Adonai had been remained the large red orb of a sun that slipped behind the horizon as they stood, hands clasped, hearts sore with shock and grief. Finally, in the deepening twilight, they gazed at the unfamiliar copse of trees that surrounded them. Wordlessly they sat, huddled together, hearts too heavy to move, until they finally nodded off in exhaustion. When the moon was high in the sky, its silver light peeked between protective branches to behold the man and woman, arms wrapped tightly around one another as their minds wandered into sweet dreams of their Garden of Eden and the bliss their world would never know again.

Chapter Sixteen

Out of the Womb

So long ago but the memory was fresh.

For one moment more, Rapha was before his Maker and his celestial family, his heart breaking but resolved. Theirs was a farewell without words. He remembered the eyes, full of love and compassion and another emotion not typical among his celestial brothers—regret.

Rapha could feel himself changing. The core of his being was cooling, his light was going out. Or was it being veiled? There was no time to ponder as the eyes of Adonai filled his vision and the Holy One’s thoughts flooded his being.

“Yours, Rapha, son of light, is a difficult path. Your choice is to accompany the man and woman into banishment. Therefore, throughout this age, you will remain among men, angelic in understanding and unfading in body. You, of all my celestial forces, will learn the ways of men from the inside, as one of them. But you will also drink deeper of their pain. You will be a stranger in a strange land, equipped to guide, teach, and protect those who are crucial to My plan of redemption. Your body will obey the natural laws of Earth, yet many of your angelic gifts will remain. Take heed, though, that these gifts are used only at My specific direction.”

Love. Pure love flooded Rapha’s being. Heat passed through. A flash and it was done. His body rearranged, conformed to another rhythm, another realm. He was a bird now being suited to thrive beneath crashing waves, but the memory of flight would endure.

Then Rapha was moving, it must be north, since the lowering sun was on his left. Adonai and the celestials were removed from his sight but Adonai’s words continued to fill his mind.

“By choosing to serve mankind, you become part of their fate, to know My love through the knowledge of good and evil. Always remember, I Am with you through the pain.”

Solid ground was beneath Rapha and he was alone, at least he could not discern any companions with his altered eyes. The sunlight was fading. He looked down at his own body to discover woolen and leather raiment much like that created for Adam and Eve, as well as leather coverings for his feet. The need for clothing would take getting used to, since light had been his only garment since time immemorial.

Now he would require food, water, shelter—a whole new set of needs.

And his body was… tired. The concept of requiring sleep had always intrigued him. His questions in that regard would soon be answered.

He wrapped the garment tighter, discovering the upper part would pull up to cover his head. So he lay upon the ground, too exhausted to move.

With the last of his strength on that fateful day he probed the world with his thoughts. The shared consciousness of heavenly hosts was lost. He gasped as a wave of loneliness flooded his body. Like a starving newborn babe he groped for Adonai, at last sensing an answer to his heart’s cry as his soul was immediately cradled in peace.

But what of Adam and Eve?

He stretched his senses again, almost afraid to learn the truth. Then Rapha sighed with huge relief. Though it was difficult, and untold miles stood between him and his former students, the ability to connect to their thoughts remained. There were Adam and Eve, their minds as muddled and their hearts as broken as his.

The effort had drained the last of his strength.

Just then he heard rustling in the bushes followed by a bleat and a sharp woof. A moment later the fuzzy muzzle of the dog, Eden, was sniffing Rapha’s ear as several warm, wooly bodies gathered close in the darkness.

With a breath of thanks to Adonai, Rapha, estranged son of the heavens, slept.

It was a brutal awakening for Adam and Eve. Their bodies ached; their hearts were numb, and their minds reeled as they tried to grasp the reality of their new circumstances. However, practical matters forced immediate action. A quick survey of the surrounding area yielded the discovery of a clear stream and a cave that would provide temporary shelter, a pressing need made obvious by several large paw prints close to where they had slept. It was so strange to think they would need to defend themselves against wildlife, those creatures with which they had formerly dwelt in peace.

The surrounding trees, while not as verdant as those within the garden, yielded nuts and berries. Also, the girl’s knowledge of roots and herbs yielded several edible plants in the vicinity. Feeding themselves, while requiring attention they were unaccustomed to, at least was possible.

They were not entirely bereft—except for company. Their social life in the garden had been abundant. The many personalities and fascinating areas of expertise among the angels had provided constant mental stimulation, and the wildlife in attendance had ensured their lives overflowed with color, laughter, and affection. Beyond all this, with their Heavenly Father’s visits they had lived entirely fulfilled, in peace and effortless love. Now, they had only each other.

For the first few weeks, they spoke hardly a word. They scarcely had the energy. Adam had decided a house of stone afforded the most reliable protection, so his days were spent gathering and transporting them to their home’s intended site, a glen nestled in the arms of the mountain range, close to the stream and with a gorgeous view of the valley beyond. Their home would face the rising sun. From the position of nighttime stars he had surmised their former dwelling lay in that direction. It was a painful memory, but he felt compelled to remind himself on a daily basis that it had once been real.

Eve moved in a fog of sadness through her tasks. Her heart ached for her former friends and the creatures she had loved. But most of all she felt the loss of those precious early evening hours reclining in the arms of Adonai. The mornings were busy as she dug for the dense clay Adam required to fill chinks between the stones of their dwelling and gathered the roots, nuts and berries for their daily food. Their hard work left little time for reminiscence but she was finding it increasingly difficult to work without pause as Adam was wont to do. Her tears would flow without warning at the sight of a pert bird cocking a bright eye her way or a wary fox skimming the edge of their glen, its tiny pup tagging behind. In those moments homesickness would consume her and memories would flow, complete with the smell of warm sun on the flank of the sleek jaguar that used to recline with her in the afternoon, suffering itself to be used as her pillow.

And something was happening in her body. She was especially achy in the mornings and her appetite, which had always been voracious, was waning. Often when she did force herself to eat, she would later sneak away because she felt the recent meal warring inside and forcing its way back up. She felt as if her body desired to rid itself of something that did not belong there. She could only surmise it was the result of the death Adonai had warned was their lot outside the garden.

Adam did not complain as he worked tirelessly on their new home. Of course, he never told her anything, just pounded and hauled with fervor from first light until he fell into the stream in the evening to wash away the day’s grime, ate their scant rations with gusto, and then wrapped himself in his woolen blanket and slept without moving until dawn.

She guessed he must despise the sight of her and held her responsible for their difficulties. She could not blame him. Anyway, from what she spied in the clear water when she bathed, she did not feel worthy of his gaze. Her flat stomach and supple, muscular legs, used to constant running and climbing, were becoming a bit soft—along with her eyes that cried too much and looked sad even when dry. Her breasts were even getting puffy. Perhaps
that
part he would appreciate—
if
he ever took notice. But his words were few. “Yes,” “No,” “Thank you.” And that was on a talkative day.

So the afternoon when she dug beside the water, scooping the dense clay into her baskets woven from the large leaves that grew along the river, her emotions were one tiny straw from collapse. That straw occurred when some of the clay lodged under one fingernail of her work-worn hands. As she placed the throbbing fingers in the cool water, the rough skin mocked her. Her nails and hands had been perfection—Adam had told her so—now they were like the rest of her; puffy and scraped free of her former beauty.

She studied her reflection, hating what she saw. No wonder he never looked at her. That sniveling, frightened coward was a disgrace. Ignoring the protest from her abused fingers she scooped a handful of the stubborn clay and launched it directly at those eyes, and the image scattered in a satisfying chaos of ripples. More! With both hands she dug and threw, rage overflowing unchecked in a heavy, muddy downpour. Again and again she grabbed and hurled, moans bubbling up from the abscess of her heart. She could never return. Adonai had rejected her. She was alone and without hope—unloved and unneeded—friendless and pathetic. Then she grabbed a stick to strike at all she had soiled—leaves, ground, water—all received the brunt of her rage until her surroundings at last resembled her emotions… shredded, bruised, and filthy.

And that was how Adam found his beautiful Eve, on her knees in the mud, sobbing with a grief that tore away the scars encasing his own heart. With bumbling fingers he lifted her muddy hair away from her face and gazed into her eyes to see her desperate need of him, a need that answered back from his own heart’s famine.

Together they wept and mourned, melding together in their grief, exposing their hearts and finding healing in shared pain. Then they removed their soiled garments and plunged into the shallow waters to scrub each other’s hair and aching muscles until, finally, the flowing water ran clean and they remembered how to smile.

And together they discovered the beauty of owning only one set of clothing. As their damp garments warmed in the sun, they finally found the beauty of love for which their Creator had molded them, a passion and tenderness that made them feel, for one shining moment, that they were back in Eden where they could ask for nothing more.