THE FALL (Rapha Chronicles #1) (The Rapha Chronicles) (22 page)

But his and Lak’s deepest hatred was reserved for Adonai, the one who, according to their lore, had attempted to exterminate his people. It was He who was responsible for the loss of their privileged existence and devastation of their mighty cities.

Over and over they had heard the dogma that stoked their rage. “Adonai despises you. Adonai sees you as an abomination. We must ascend to the heavens and wrest power from His hands!”

Then, on the day of their great victory in Eden, he had witnessed a power that shook that hatred: undeserved kindness exhibited by a servant of Adonai. As he had wandered, grieving the loss of Lak, the closest thing he had ever had to a brother, he had breathed air laced with the essence of that kindness, had drunk from an untainted stream, and had tasted fruit so sweet it brought tears to his eyes.

And a question had taken root in the darkness of his poisoned mind.

“Is Adonai good?”

Since that day, he had been struggling in a world turned upside down. He began to sift through what he had accepted as fact and found he was increasingly repulsed by his people’s practices, their deceit and constant grasping for power, the darkness of their minds that feasted on cruelty, their worship that had stolen his reason for living.

The past night’s events had confirmed it.

He could never go back.

“We could use your help,” Adam was saying, “if you’re willing to stay.”

The man gaped in disbelief. “I come during the night to destroy you and in the morning, though you do not even know my name, you invite me to stay?”

“That can be changed. What shall we call you?” Eve responded. “You have to at least stay long enough to give me the secret of your breakfast. It was delicious.”

Thus the man without a home found himself chatting in the warmth of a bright new day about different ways to prepare dried fruits. As Rapha observed the scene, he had to smile. The night before, the battle-scarred man had overflowed with heartache even as he had worked to erase the stench of violence. Now, hope was dawning in his eyes.

Adonai never ceased to amaze Rapha. The Maker’s ability to reach into the deepest evil and draw out a faithful heart was breathtaking. In this emotionally charred individual, Rapha sensed loyalty and a resilience that was, honestly, lacking in the young man and woman who were used to a life of abundance. He would learn knowledge of Adonai and they would learn keys to survive in a hostile world.

It was an efficient arrangement—profound, yet so typical of his Master.

Chapter Twenty

Birth

The coming days were taut with brooding hostility. Their new friend, whom they dubbed Kal, a reversal of his slain friend’s name, warned them the defeat would not go unanswered. Although they had the forces of heaven on their side, even Rapha cautioned against remaining in one place for long. Thus their little band of outcasts began a nomadic existence.

Thanks to the livestock Rapha had brought from Eden, they never lacked fresh goat and sheep’s milk, as well as wool and oil. Kal’s knowledge of herbs, edible roots, and the location of seasonal nuts and fruits, further ensured their survival. It was he who taught them to harvest fish eggs, a food he insisted would be healthful for Eve and the baby in her womb. She balked at the taste but trusted his advice, having to admit the strange, salty clusters supplied a surge of energy for her growing frame.

But after two cycles of the moon of constant travel, a morning dawned when Eve could not walk. Her time was near. Adam and Rapha did what they could to make her comfortable, piling the woolen blankets beneath her and bathing her brow, but the process was slow.

Kal went about his duties seeing to the needs of the livestock and keeping watch for enemies but his gaze returned to the shelter of animal skins that had formerly housed one of his generals during battle. Smoke from the fire Adam stoked to ensure Eve’s warmth rose from the center of the shelter. When he heard the young woman cry out in pain he busied himself gathering the leaves and petals of a certain flower known for its calming properties. When mixed with water warmed over the fire it would provide a measure of relief for the young woman. Although, as he told Rapha with a grim laugh, “Perhaps the relief will be mine since it gives me something to do.”

He also confessed to Rapha the rumors about the babe Eve carried and his concerns about the imminent birth. “As a rule, women joined to the gods do not survive the birth process. But Eve is physically superior to the women among my people. Perhaps this will aid her.” He grew quiet after this observation. Finally he had looked up at Rapha with the grim statement, “The Prince of Evil will never stop trying to reclaim his own.”

Therefore Kal had taken to talking to Adonai and His unseen servants as he went about his duties tending the animals and keeping watch. Although he could not see them, Kal sensed the celestial presence and, as he sheared a ram, milked an ewe, or kept watch in the deep of night, he would invoke Adonai’s protection or remind the wind of the covenant of blood that marked them. He was under no delusions. He could smell evil on that wind. Watching. Waiting.

Kal had been taught the power of words. Their rituals and incantations had been much more than mere tradition. Those practices, their smokes and dances and offerings, had been their pledge of devotion to “the gods,” enslaving them body, mind, and spirit. He now saw them for what they were, attempts by the usurper to be worshipped as only Adonai deserved. Therefore, Kal, with a need to express his newfound freedom, created new dances to honor Adonai and new mantras for chanting as he went about his work.

Rapha smiled when he came upon Kal performing a vigorous dance in the moonlight or muttering under his breath as if engrossed in deep conversation with the sheep. The strange man’s heartfelt worship was pleasing to Adonai who studied the intentions of the heart. Also, these ongoing practices were having their effect. Rapha sensed the growing numbers of celestials encamping around them and the sweet essence of Adonai’s presence that flowed through and around Kal, cleansing the wounds of his past even as it protected the present.

In Kal, Rapha discovered a fascinating dichotomy. The swarthy man was full of knowledge, yet was eager to learn the ways of purity. His presence was a constant reminder of Adonai’s grace and restorative power. Daily, Rapha marveled that such a pure heart proceeded from the very midst of Lucifer’s earthly domain.

Rapha also discovered deep friendship with the little man. To Kal he spoke of his past life with unlimited access to Adonai. Rapha loved the way Kal’s eyes would glow as he soaked in the tales of Adonai’s kindness and holiness. At every opportunity Kal would ask questions about history, eager to dispel the lies of his past.

And the favor of the Most High rested on him. In time, even Rapha felt a twinge of envy for Adonai’s relationship with that humble man. This aspect was also part of the mystery of Kal’s character. He viewed himself as nothing, therefore he possessed no ego to pollute Adonai’s thoughts. In turn his life was like a tree transplanted from poisonous waters to a pure flow that transformed the source of his existence. His countenance even became pleasing as bitter lines were erased and the knots in his soul unraveled, allowing his frame to straighten—although he would laugh when Eve ventured to call him handsome.

How Rapha grew to love the sound of Kal’s voice, raspy from too many years smoking a special blend of tranquilizing herbs native to his people. Among his adopted family, that cheerful, hoarse crooning meant all was well: The flocks were accounted for and no enemies plagued their borders.

If Rapha came upon Kal in low spirits, he sensed this was due to the family Kal had lost, an event Kal chose not to divulge. But Eve’s state was a constant painful reminder to Kal. Rapha tried not to pry but sometimes the image of a stout woman with a wide smile and abundant curly, dark hair was too strong to ignore. Rapha even knew her name, Eliana, a name that shoved forward in Kal’s mind whenever he heard Eve’s laughter. But the former angel wanted Kal to divulge his past out of trust and friendship. Thus, Rapha respectfully shut the mental door on Kal’s privacy.

But Rapha was glad to have another in their company to watch and pray. While Adam and Eve trusted Adonai, the abundance of the garden had not prepared them for surviving, much less thriving, in a hostile environment.

He could feel the darkness blowing around their small camp, testing the perimeter, seeking a chink in their defenses, sifting Adonai’s law to find a loophole—brooding, malicious, determined. Thus Kal’s vigilance was most welcome and his knowledge of enemy strategy was the perfect balance to Adam and Eve’s wholesome but sometimes complacent trust in Adonai’s protection.

Perhaps due to the loneliness of their existence and their mutual sense of loss, their small company of four developed into a strong, interdependent community—even, in the truest sense of the word, a family—with Kal fulfilling the role of eccentric grandfather, with his stories that enlivened conversations around the fire and passed on indispensable information about their enemy.

But on the morn of Eve’s travail, Kal’s voice was a whisper lest he disturb her, and his darting eyes swept the horizon for signs of trouble. All night his unease had been growing, and, just like Eden, the faithful dog that stood at his side bristling from head to toe, he was on guard.

Rapha too had spent a sleepless night, hearing every moan of discomfort that escaped Eve’s lips and echoing the sentiment of Kal’s endless supplications to Adonai. In his less glorified form the lack of rest made him edgy. For several moons he had observed the girl’s expanding frame, her delicate beauty stretched beyond what he thought possible. That she had remained mobile until they reached this wide land devoid of stones or trees that could hide their enemies was a miracle. The rolling, grassy slopes and fresh water could feed their flocks for as long as was necessary.

Over and over Rapha sifted Adonai’s prophecy, searching for assurance that Eve would survive the ordeal but he found no guarantees. He had finally concluded the wisest course of action was to worship and pray like Kal. With words, Adonai had set all things in motion. With their words, he and Kal would call forth Adonai’s best for Eve and for all those to come.

As the sun marched across the sky, clouds built in the west. Higher and higher they rose until, with the sun at its zenith, they turned the bright day to dusk.

Rapha did not need to see the celestial realm to realize the clash taking place in the heavenlies. With a flash, a streak of blinding light split the sky, striking the tree beside the prostrate Kal—whose fervent supplications simply rose in volume to combat the rush of punishing wind. Without skipping a beat in his prayers, the stalwart man hopped to his feet and raced to lead the flocks to a low-lying shelter of trees, with Eden’s barking and herding assistance.

At first, Rapha did not hear the rising wail over the sound of the storm, rather he responded to the crashing tidal wave of grief. As he sprinted toward the shelter the sound of Adam’s voice rose, a prolonged, primal, “NOOOOO!” colliding with the storm’s fury.

He threw aside the flap of the battered shelter and entered a nightmare.

Blood. It was everywhere: on Adam’s hands as he cradled the still form of his wife, coating the woolen blankets on which she lay and pooling on the ground around her. Death. He could smell it pressing in, draining life from the motionless young woman.

“It happened so suddenly,” Adam stammered. “I think s-something… tore… inside. Sh… she… screamed.”

“Kal!” Rapha called, but the little man was already outside having seen Rapha running toward the shelter. “Clean water. Lots. In the large skins.”

One did not live as long as Rapha without learning the birthing process. After cleaning his hands with water and wine he assessed the situation. Gently probing, he confirmed his fears. The head of the baby was huge and pressed uselessly against the fully dilated opening. He bared Eve’s stomach, all the while explaining to Adam what must be done and continuing his dialogue with Adonai. Taking the sacrificial knife, he once again utilized the wine and, instructing Adam to grip his wife lest she struggle, he cut.

His ancient heart quailed as Eve came to and shrieked while Adam whispered assurance and strove to keep her still. Rapha steadied his hands and shut his ears, his only goal to complete the process as quickly as possible. Continuing through the layers of skin, muscle and membrane, he once again probed… and froze. Too many limbs. No time to ponder. There was the head. He lifted the bloody babe up. It was huge but perfectly formed with large eyes that blinked once before its mouth opened wide with a lusty wail. In carefully extracting the remainder of the body from Eve’s still form—luckily she had lost consciousness again—he encountered resistance. The cord was tangled around the foot of the baby he held along with… a hand… from another.

Rapha disengaged the first baby’s foot and handed it to Adam before calling, “KAL!”

Instantly the little man was beside him, dousing with wine and lending assistance. Again Rapha probed, located the head and lifted. The second blood-covered body emerged but, even through the muck, the color was wrong. The long cord was wrapped around its neck.

The next moment stretched endlessly as Rapha removed the afterbirth, cut the cords and swabbed. Two lives were waning before his eyes.

“Pray!” he commanded as his own tongue slipped into his native language, a dialect reserved for unhindered communication with his Maker. All the while his heart, mind and hands raced with lightning speed, the flow of life-giving words continued from his lips, pausing only when he placed his mouth over the mouth and nose of the second babe and breathed short puffs, gently inflating the tiny lungs, then sucking and spitting until those passageways were cleared and the child breathed of its own accord. When the second babe joined the chorus of cries, he began the painstaking process of stitching Eve’s womb and staunching the flow of her blood. Utilizing a strong, thin line of intestinal skin, a by-product from their last sacrificial lamb, he stitched with his crude needle fashioned from the sharp leaf of a nearby bush. How Rapha prayed, never pausing in the battle for the young woman’s life that raged with more fury than the wind that threatened to wrench their shelter from the ground.

As Rapha tied off the first layer of stitches and began on the second, the wind died. Peace descended. Eve’s eyes fluttered and she smiled at Adam who stroked her forehead and murmured endearments as he placed the first baby into her arms.

Eve was barely coherent, for which Rapha was grateful as his fingers continued their deft manipulation of thread and needle. The wonder and relief as she gazed upon her baby also worked as an excellent distraction between her gasps of pain.

However, while the war was no longer beating against the confines of their shelter, it raged stronger than ever inside the minds of those surrounding Rapha. Adam’s struggle was understandable as he supported his wife, stroking the hair from her brow even as he strove against feelings of revulsion toward the babe in his arms, the perfectly formed, eerily aware baby boy who gazed with innocence from thick-lashed eyes of prismatic beauty. The iridescent glow was unmistakable. He had his father’s eyes.

But even greater than Adam’s struggle was the storm raging in Kal. The little man was going through the motions of wiping the baby in his arms clean with water-soaked clumps of wool and preparing to wrap it in woolen strips set aside for that purpose, but his mind was tortured.