THE FALL (Rapha Chronicles #1) (The Rapha Chronicles) (29 page)

Gabriel paused, the briefest flicker of pain crossing his stoic features, then he covered the distance between them in two strides to embrace and kiss Rapha—a rare expression of affection among the celestial host, since their inner communion requires no physical manifestation.

Forehead to forehead Gabriel gripped Rapha’s shoulders and whispered,
“We are with you, my brother. Though you cannot see us, we fight beside you.”
His image melted, once more melding into the morning light.

Rapha stumbled to his knees, his heart racing as if ready to explode as the force of Gabriel’s contact reacted upon his flesh like a brush with pure lightning. The embrace both encouraged him and exposed his weakness. Never before had Rapha felt so alone, the fact of his solitude underscored. He was a being caught between the fabric of earth and heaven, not quite suited to either and yet destined to remain, an eternal soul trapped in the prison of an earthly body unable to fade.

But he had made this choice.

His thoughts turned to Kal. The scarred but sprightly man had become stiff since their first meeting. The sparse tufts of the little man’s hair were white and he walked with a pronounced limp, wincing as he trotted to match Rapha’s stride on their long treks. Even Eve, though still lovely, sported fine lines around those golden eyes. How his heart grieved to contemplate a future without Kal and Eve’s companionship.

His gaze was drawn to the first stirrings of life in the human encampment below, to the women rushing to draw water while the few men and some of the older children, answered the demanding low and bleat of their flocks. How these mortals would struggle against the inevitable fading of their bodies when strength and beauty passed. How they strove to discover ancient wisdom to make them “like the gods,” beings of eternal beauty and power. But how Rapha envied them, these finite humans whose brief, painful sojourn so quickly could be traded for the unfading glory of Adonai’s presence. He would gladly sacrifice his strong limbs, flawless teeth, and unlined skin for such a promise.

An uncommon sight interrupted his ponderings. One among their number was entering the trees, bent as if beneath a heavy burden. He watched this one’s progress, noting feminine grace encumbered by the awkward gait of one close to the time of child-bearing. The female doubled over, then stumbled into the shadows of the trees. His last glimpse of her brought a shocking sight as, from the folds of her robes, he saw the gleam of a long blade, the shape of which could only be the sacrificial knife. What did she intend?

His thoughts reached for those of the lone woman, and her despair filled his mind. She was suffocating in fear and self-loathing. She saw only one escape….

He ran. With an urgency he had not sensed since that horrible last day in Eden, Rapha leapt fallen logs and bounded through undergrowth, sensing this one’s pain stronger and stronger with every step until, suddenly, he stumbled over the small bundle of a sobbing woman. With an “Oof!” the sacrificial knife flew from her hand.

She peered at this crumpled, massive being through tears that shimmered on her dusky cheeks. Although her eyes were red-rimmed and filled with grief, the bared, ferocious soul behind them took his breath. For a moment Rapha simply stared, struck dumb by her agony.

For her part, the girl’s mouth opened to emit a scream but no sound came. Finally, she surprised him with a burst of mocking laughter. When she spoke, her words dripped with hatred.

“And so the gods would send my greatest fear to torment me. But I am one long since dead. There remains nothing to steal so why should I fear?”

Even as the words left her lips, a spasm of pain swept across her face and, with a gasp, she hugged her bulging womb. To his horror, Rapha saw a bright red stain appear on the ground beneath her.

“What have you done?” he asked, though the despair and determination on her face confirmed his fears.

“There is no other way,” she gasped again and stifled a cry of pain. “He will claim his own. It is the only way.”

Her strength was fading with the passing blood. Rapha knew there was not much time. He reached to lay a hand on her womb, thankful she was too weak to fight, and felt the babe inside struggling for life. Without another word he scooped up her frail, bleeding form and strode toward his dwelling. In later days he would review his actions over and over again, always coming to the same conclusion; what else could he have done?

Chapter Twenty-Five

Sheatiel

Flames everywhere. A small girl cowers as the fire licks at her feet and burns the edge of her garment. She screams for her mother. A hand is reaching through the tongues of fire. She sees the face of a beautiful woman.

A familiar face.

A trusted face.

The child is yearning, struggling toward the haven of the woman’s arms. She touches the outstretched fingers.

Immediately the woman’s hand becomes clawed and grasping and the long hair becomes vipers hissing about her head. Her smile becomes rows upon rows of sharp, pointed fangs dripping gore. The fangs open wide and lunge for the child who is screaming, running, but everywhere fire blocks her path.

She is falling, down….

Down into darkness.

Rapha woke, covered in sweat, to stare at the dim fire’s glow on the cave wall. Once again, the violence of the girl’s dreams had invaded his own. He shut his eyes, wishing for a moment’s release from her pain but the images remained. At least these dreams helped him understand why one so young and gifted with such beauty would desire death. This one had experienced horrors beyond human capacity. Though her nighttime terrors were disjointed shadows, he understood those she trusted most had betrayed and abandoned her, leaving her vulnerable to—what?

He sat up and studied the young woman who flinched in her sleep. Her garments, though heavily mended, were of the finest silk with threads of pure gold woven throughout and, though she was well along in pregnancy, her limbs and face could not have been more perfect. With her thick, waist-length braids, dark-lashed eyes and inborn grace, she was the type of woman sure to attract the attention of kings. Rapha sighed as he turned away to stir the fire and the herbed liquid he had left next to the coals overnight. Her beauty had most likely been her curse. Men ruled by Lucifer’s ways knew only how to manipulate and destroy, not nurture.

As he inhaled the fragrance of fresh lavender in the steam, he felt her awaken, her eyes a scalding hatred that pounded his skull along with her intense desire for a large rock to smash that skull and escape… or a knife, or a poisoned dart….

“Greetings,” he turned, interrupting her murderous thoughts. “No, please do not move.” He spoke as soothingly as possible and took a step back to disarm fear. “You will re-open the wounds.”

“Did you take the baby?” The genuine concern surprised him.

“No. For the time being, the babe is safe in your womb.”

Relief and fear, love and panic raced across her features and beat against his thoughts. But her anguish assured him of one thing: she could never again try to harm the child within.

Rapha could see the band of iron behind her eyes working to dam the flood of emotion. Never, even among stalwart warriors, had he beheld greater self-control. The opposing forces required to forge such strength must have been formidable indeed.

“Are you hungry?”

“No.”

The lie hung between them.

“Help me to understand,” he filled a bowl with broth and set it within her reach, noticing how she stiffened at his approach. “You try to kill yourself, yet you fear poison.” He reached for the cooler, larger bowl containing the solution for bathing her wounds, inhaling the scent of pungent herbs. He inserted a finger to taste. Yes, it was ready.

“Bring that one to me,” she commanded.

“But this is—”

“I trust actions, not words. Do as I say.” She winced as she propped herself on an elbow and glared, daring him to speak.

Rapha obeyed and backed away. She brought the second bowl to her lips, her eyes watching his every move as she took a wary sip. Immediately she gagged and coughed, gasping at the knifing pain. Rapha rushed to support her, holding the original bowl to her lips. She thrashed at his touch and the braids of her hair lashed him like metal-tipped whips.

“Please. You will harm the child.”

She stopped struggling and took a sip, but the feral expression remained.

When he released her they regarded one another. Even without his empathic abilities the message screaming from her eyes would be clear.
You touch me again and I will kill you—or die trying.

But she needed his skills. With every second the color was draining from her face as the red stain once again spread beneath her. Abruptly he turned to exit the cave. It was time for reinforcements. Rapha whistled and a large raven flew to his outstretched hand. After the message was encoded, the bird rose and began its graceful descent into the valley.

Within the hour Eve was at his door.

“What is it?” she asked, her face flushed by the climb.

Rather than answer, he led Eve by the hand into the cave. When her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she gasped and rushed to the young woman’s side. “Sheatiel!” But at the sight of the blood she took over and Rapha assisted, bringing the warmed water and clean strips of cloth.

“Go away,” the girl, Sheatiel, commanded Rapha, though the words seemed to take the last of her strength.

Eve gathered Sheatiel’s cold hands into her own and spoke calmly. “I need him here, but only I will touch you.”

Shealtiel gave the slightest of nods and lay back but her eyes remained watchful.

Rapha faced the cave’s entrance as Eve explored the girl’s wounds. To her credit, Eve did not allow even a gasp to escape her lips as she pulled aside the blood-soaked wrappings.

“The cuts are deep,” Rapha stated. “For now the babe is safe but she must remain still and calm. The wound must be thoroughly cleaned and,” he hesitated, “sealed.”

“I will go with you to retrieve sufficient water,” Eve said with a stiff smile as her fingernails gripped Rapha’s arm and propelled him out of the cave and out of the girl’s hearing.

“How do you plan on sealing the wound when she will not let you touch her?” Eve hissed, her face growing pale at the thought of what she had glimpsed beneath those wrappings. She crossed her arms and shook her head, “If you were assuming
I
would do it….”

“No. The tear within and without must be mended by a skilled, steady hand, and quickly. Every moment mother and babe are in greater danger.”

A hint of color returned to Eve’s cheek. “Then how….”

I know where to acquire a certain flower that, when properly prepared, will cause her to sleep but,” he sighed, “someone will need to explain.”

He waited, watching Eve’s eyes narrow as she bit her lip in thought.

Finally she gave a decisive nod and turned toward the cave, her chin jutting at a familiar, stubborn angle. Rapha smiled. Never when he had seen that expression had Eve failed to accomplish her desire.

But in the realm of strong wills, Eve had met her match in Sheatiel.

“No,” she was still saying when Rapha returned to the cave, the bright blooms in his arms. Sheatiel was pale and her voice was weak but she was adamant. “Never. Do what you need to do,” she looked to Rapha, “but keep your… your…
sorcery
away from me.”

“I am simply trying to spare you pain,” Rapha replied.

“Better to have pain than to leave my soul unguarded.”

“But my hands must be steady. If you were to move suddenly—”

“I. Will. Not!” Sheatiel’s dark eyes flashed with panicked determination that told Rapha further argument was useless.

And since the work had to be done before she lost any more blood, Rapha began.

“You truly trust him?” Sheatiel asked, not even bothering to keep her voice low as Eve bathed away the blood once more.

“Yes. With my life.”

“How long have you known him?”

“Always. In fact, I was once in your position and he saved my life… and the lives of my children.”

Sheatiel lay back, gripping Eve’s hand as the procedure began. Throughout the ordeal, no cry escaped her lips, even when tears ran from the corners of her eyes and she had to squeeze Eve’s hand so tightly the fingers turned purple.

“I can give you just a bit of the water from the flowers to ease you….”

“No,” she gasped before Rapha could finish his offer.

But later when Sheatiel’s face was pale and she bit her lip to stifle a scream, Eve put the liquid to her mouth and Sheatiel drank a few sips.

When she finally gave up consciousness—whether from the drink or from pain he could not be sure—Rapha sighed with relief. The obvious torture on her face and the dark memories the pain resurrected in her mind had been distracting to say the least.

“Will she be alright?” Eve asked when Rapha at last finished his ministrations.

“Her body should recover,” Rapha replied, “but the heart wounds in this one are much more serious than those I stitched. Only Adonai can heal those.”

That night Rapha fell asleep with a hand on Sheatiel’s wrist to ensure her heart continued to beat, hardly realizing when his own slowed to match her rhythm.

Rapha pauses in his memories. Sheatiel’s image provides a welcome respite to his painful thoughts. Ever after, next to the image of the Holy One who had cleansed his stain, hers was the face in his memory that brought comfort.

Agony was to come, more than he could have imagined, but in the beautiful, tortured soul of Sheatiel, Rapha tasted the sweetest nectar of all his years in exile.

So he savored those days, moving slowly through every recollection of her slightly husky voice and expressive hands, graceful and tapered, gesturing when she spoke. Like her personality, her eyes were multi-layered with flecks of green and gold in the brown. They seemed to grow darker or lighter with her mood but always they reflected deep waters of thought and feeling, ranging from turbulent to tranquil more quickly than leaves tossed before a storm.

Sheatiel—the rose that bloomed among the thorns of that turbulent time.

Two days and two restless nights had passed since Rapha’s operation on Sheatiel.

Rapha woke to pressing fear. In the valley he saw bright pinpoints of fire rushing toward the settlement. Invasion! With one swift movement he swung the cloak from his shoulders onto the small campfire at the cave’s entrance, extinguishing its telltale light. Then he listened.

He could feel the malice. Closer and closer a hideous intent was slinking toward them. He crept to where Eve slept, placed a hand over her mouth and whispered instructions. While she went to Sheatiel, Rapha crept out of the cave and up the rocky slope.

Yes, desperate measures were in order. He could sense ten distinct entities but one among them wielded sorcerous power. It was this power that drew them like wolves after the scent of blood.

He felt an excited quickening of their pace. Their quarry was near. They were aiming directly for the women… no. It was Sheatiel they wanted. Her image was clear in the sorcerous one’s thoughts. Now Rapha’s physical ears detected their approach.

Only one thing remained. He slipped back to the cave and located the rope he and Kal had placed behind the rocks by the entrance. After he ensured the women were well back from the opening, Rapha pulled.

As the deep rumble descended he threw his cloak over Eve and Sheatiel and there they remained, hands over their ears, while the cave floor shook under their feet and the world crashed around their heads.

“What have you done? We are trapped,” Sheatiel said between coughs that caused her to choke with pain.

“There is another way out,” Rapha replied. Then he paused and reached with his senses.

“But—” Eve began.

“Ssssh.”

A tense moment followed as they sat in the smothering darkness with no sound but their breathing. “Five yet remain,” Rapha whispered. “There is one who can sense us. He knows her face. He is—”

“AAAAAH!” Sheatiel thrashed in the darkness and Rapha felt her cower against him with her hands over her ears, “No, no, no…” she repeated over and over as she shook her head and moaned until another shriek escaped her lips and she slumped against him, deathly still.

“Sheatiel!” Eve screamed.

“Abba, Adonai,” Rapha gathered Sheatiel’s cold body into his arms and pressed his lips against her hair as intense evil assaulted his mind.

He was barely aware of Eve’s whispered prayers as he wrestled for Sheatiel’s life, commanding, rebuking, cursing, and pleading as the evil presence pounded down, enraged by their resistance.

Finally, Sheatiel gasped for air and Rapha felt her heart thump against his chest. “Alleluia,” he murmured as relief coursed through him.

A thunderous “CRACK!” shook the cave floor and rumbled away into the mountain above their heads.

“Hurry!” Rapha stood with Sheatiel in his arms, “Eve! Take my arm! Do not let go,” he ordered, feeling his way blindly to the back of the cave as rocks crashed around them.

They moved as quickly as possible in the suffocating darkness. Finally the crashing ceased behind them and Rapha paused to wrap Sheatiel against his back with the long sash of his garment. Her heart was beating but she had not regained consciousness.

“What happened to her?” Eve asked.

“Sorcery. Someone trained in evil tried to kill her.”

“But, why?”