“I have talked with Adonai, but I cannot say I know him. I have never heard of these sacrifices you offer, since angels do not offer them. I cannot say whether he consumes the food.”
Everyone was silent for several moments.
“Is all ready for tomorrow?” Mari asked Cain. “The lamb is large and pure white, one of the best we’ve ever had. Did you pick through the grain well? Nothing rotting? All the same size?”
Cain paused. “All of our wheat is good this year. There was no need to check each grain.”
They were all quiet again as Cain placed more wood on the fire. It caught, and the flames leaped high into the sky. The younger children stretched out on the ground near their mothers and closed their eyes.
“Sing for us, Abi.” Cain stroked her arm.
She looked down and shook her head.
“Please,” Adryel said. “I’d love to hear you sing.”
Abi nodded. “For you, Adryel, I will sing.”
At first, she sang so softly that Adryel could barely make out the words. As she continued, though, her sweet voice grew louder and stronger, carrying across the camp and echoing from the hills, reminding Adryel of those of the seraphim who serenaded Adonai when he appeared in public on feast days.
She sang in a language Adryel did not understand, but the emotions were clear.
Adryel imagined a love song, a woman full of happiness and excitement as she dreamed of her true love. She could see the smile on Abi’s face and the look in her eyes as she gazed at Cain, and Adryel recalled those feelings from long ago, before all the talk of creation had disrupted her peaceful, happy life.
The melody faltered. The words came haltingly, and she heard sadness now, as if the singer’s love had gone, as Ramael had, and she repeatedly wiped at her eyes as silent tears coursed down her cheeks.
Finally, the melody slowed and evened out. Abi’s voice became strong again. The singer seemed to have accepted whatever had occurred and had bowed to the inevitable. Adryel heard contentment, an emotion she could not imagine she would ever feel again.
As Abi’s song concluded, Mari’s voice rose. Adryel excused herself and went to her tent. Abi had insisted Adryel was an honored guest and said she should sleep in her place while Abi would lay under the stars. Adryel slipped off her robe and pulled a cover over her and closed her eyes. Mari’s voice, as pure and sweet as Abi’s had been, rose and fell and lulled Adryel to sleep.
She was deep in a dream when she felt a hand on her bare shoulder, gently shaking her. “Adryel. Adryel, wake up.”
She struggled to open her eyes. Where was she? Who was this touching her? She sat up with a start as she fully awakened. The tent was open and in the light from the fire she saw Cain sitting on the ground beside her, and she snatched at the cover to hide herself.
“What are you doing here? What do you. . .?”
“Abi sent me. She says you are our guest and I must do you honor by laying with you tonight.”
“But she’s your wife.” Adryel’s voice reflected her horror. “Surely she can’t mean for you to. . .for us to. . .Do humans have no rule that you sleep only with your wife?”
Cain looked puzzled. “A rule? I do not sleep with my mother or my brother’s wife, because they belong to other men. Are you married? To whom do you belong?”
“I. . .I belong to no one, but angels. . .”
“You would honor my family by laying with me.”
Adryel’s heart thumped. The thought of mating with a human repulsed her, but she could easily do as he asked. If Beliel were here, he would lie with all of the females if he could, certainly if they were offered. What would Adonai think?
Cain caressed her face. “You are beautiful. More beautiful than Abi.”
Adryel’s body stiffened. Abi was her friend.
You’re soft. Why care what a human feels? She could almost hear Beliel spit the words at her. Who are you to argue when the greatest beings in all creation believe this is what you should do?
Greatest beings. That’s what Adonai had called them, and she could hear Beliel mocking his words. She could see the leer on his face.
Adryel nodded as though she were accepting a challenge. Yes. She would spit at Adonai. And, yes, she would sleep with Cain and prove the humans were not the greatest in all creation.
Cain would remember this night for eternity, trying repeatedly, without success, to recreate it because no human female would be able to measure up. She liked Abi, and in her other life, she would have sent Cain packing, but the rules had changed. And, in fact, Abi had sent him to her. So, Abi would pay for Adonai’s error. Somebody had to, and it certainly wouldn’t be Adryel.
She scowled as she tossed her blanket aside and reached for Cain, noting the surprise on his face as she placed her hand on his shoulder and pushed him to the ground.
***
The sun had not yet peeked over the hills and the camp was covered in darkness when Adryel sat beside the fire the next morning. Abi greeted her. She did not see Cain.
“You said you might explore the small hill today.” Abi ladled porridge into an earthenware bowl for Adryel’s morning meal. “You will stay for the sacrifice though, won’t you?”
“Of course I’ll stay.” She tipped the bowl and sipped the thick porridge. The humans did not have the spoons that they used in the city. “You have a beautiful voice, Abi. I enjoyed hearing you sing last night.”
Abi blushed and lowered her eyes. “Thank you. Cain told me I should have chosen a happier song for you, but it is one of my favorites. She paused as she drank from her own bowl. “You honored us last night.”
Adryel didn’t reply.
“Sending him to you was the right thing to do.”
To this, Adryel smiled and nodded.
As she finished eating and was rinsing her bowl, Cain returned from the field. He accepted the porridge that Abi handed him.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked Adryel.
As if he didn’t know how she slept.
“Yes, very well.”
“Good.” He looked around. “Is everything ready?” he asked Abi.
“It is. You have ground the grain, and Abel has selected a sheep. The kindling has been laid and the larger pieces are ready to add once the fire is burning. All we must do is wait until the sun is high.”
She offered Adryel a weak tea of tree bark, and the three sat near the fire and talked. The others gradually joined them, and even Cain’s father was pleasant, asking her about her travels and why she had chosen to visit Earth when the city must be such a better place.
“I like to see new places, and the earth is so beautiful, more beautiful than the city in many ways.” Not a complete lie. She loved walking on the earth.
As the middle of the day approached, Adryel moved into the doorway of the nearest tent while the others prepared for their sacrifice. She knew Adonai would derive no nourishment from the burned grain and the charred carcass of the sheep, but she was not sure if the ceremony was entirely in vain. Adonai might actually attend to what happened during the ceremony. If the sacrifice was his command, then he would surely pay attention to what those who bowed before him felt and thought. If so, she did not want her presence to be known to him.
As midday approached, the humans gathered about the altar and stood together, looking into the cloudless sky as the sun rose higher and higher. The children sat in one of the tents, watching. When Cain’s father judged that midday had arrived, he placed a piece of kindling into the fire that burned in the pit. Then he slowly approached the altar, bowing repeatedly as he drew near.
Abi had arranged the wood on the altar so that it covered the top and formed a tent over it. Cain’s father placed his taper into the space under the tent. At first, nothing happened, but gradually the kindling caught, and soon the entire altar was engulfed in flame.
As the others sang a song of praise—it was all Adryel could do to listen as they sang of Adonai’s goodness and glory—Abel placed th
e larger pieces of wood, entire branches cut from large trees, on the fire. He stood back and waited. As the song ended, the branches began to burn. The lamb he had tied near the altar had not moved throughout the ceremony. Abel untied the animal and led it to the altar. Adryel gasped as he pulled its head back and with a swift movement, sliced its throat. It happened so quickly that the animal made no sound, gave no struggle. Abel caught it as it toppled. He lifted the body, and placed it gently atop the wood.
All six humans stood silently, watching as the sheep’s wool began to smolder. The fire flared, and the body caught fire. The flames spat and sizzled as fat dripped into the fire. The aroma of grilled lamb reached her and Adryel’s mouth began to water.
Her eyes focused on the altar and she watched as a single plume of smoke ascended skyward. It rose in a straight line, not wavering to the left or the right. She tipped her head back to watch. It went higher and higher until, finally, she could no longer see where it ended.
The humans continued to gaze into the sky.
“It has been accepted,” Adryel heard Abel’s whisper in the silence.
The humans began another song as Cain sprinkled grain across the altar. A cloud of smoke rose from the fire again, and a sweet aroma spread across the camp, like the fragrance of the very incense that the cherubim burned before Adonai day and night. In spite of herself, she smiled at memories of happier times.
Suddenly the thin plume that had been ascending to the heavens began to billow. Instead of rising into the sky, the smoke began to roll about the altar and to spread through the camp. Adryel started to cough and her eyes stung, blurring her vision. She could hardly see the humans through the cloud, but she clearly heard Abi’s wails, Mari’s cries of desperation, Cain’s curses.
The others drew away from Cain, leaving him standing alone. He shrieked. A string of obscenities followed. He grasped the burning sacrifice, yanked it from the altar, and tossed it across the camp toward the others. Picking up a timber, he swept it across the altar, back and forth, scattering the burning wood onto the ground.
As the kindling flew in all directions, Abel bent and grabbed a stone. He threw it at Cain, striking his chest. Cain took several steps back. Another one, tossed by Abi, barely missed his head. As he turned to run, they cursed him in loud voices. The children emerged from their tent and they joined the adults in pelting him with rocks. Their stones rained down on Cain as he dashed away, disappearing in the grain field. Through the babble and the confusion, Adryel understood that Adonai had not been pleased with Cain’s offering.
As the smoke cleared, Abi approached the tent and threw herself on the ground at the entrance. Her mouth set in a hard, straight line, her eyes dark and cold. Adryel clambered to her feet.
“Abi, what happened?”
“You saw it,” she snapped. “His offering was unacceptable. Adonai rejected him. He may reject all of us. We were told of a dark place of punishment with a lake of fire. He may send us there.” She fell prostrate, rent her clothes, and began to cry. “We’ll offer another sacrifice. Perhaps. . .” She shrugged.
“Why was it not accepted? Do you know?”
Abi sat up, sniffling. “A sacrifice must be perfect. Did you not hear what he said? All of our grain is good. . .There was no need to inspect each grain?” Her voice mocked Cain’s words. “He was lazy, so he offered an imperfect ephah. We will all be punished.”
Abi covered her face with her hands. “His mother said it was because he lay with you last night.” She paused, staring at her pallet on the floor. “I do not blame you, but I do reject him. He shall never sully my bed again.” Abi turned her back to Adryel and began to cry again.
Adryel left Abi wailing in the tent and walked out into the camp, stopping before the altar. Grain lay scattered across the ground where it had fallen when Cain had swept the altar clean. She bent over to inspect it. Most of it was burned, black. Even so, she could see that some grains were a bit smaller than others.
Wasn’t Adonai demanding. . .
She looked to the sky and smiled. The link between Adonai and his humans had been damaged further. The stories she would have to tell Lord Lucifer.
As she imagined her return to Hell, she heard angry voices in the field, Cain and Abel arguing. She crossed the camp, moving closer so she could see. She found herself on the edge of a small clearing beside the field of tall stalks of grain. Large bushes grew along the side, separating it from the path running up the hill from the camp. Cain and his brother faced each other. Abel held a knife in his hand and was pointing it toward Cain.
“You have to leave. We will not all die because of you.”
“I did the best I could. That grain was the best I had.”
“Not good enough, Brother. You have never been good enough.” Abel laughed as he turned away.
Adonai was so unfair, such a small mistake.
As he stalked across the clearing, Abel continued. “Father and I will offer a good sacrifice. We will atone for your shortcomings.” He looked over his shoulder and smirked.
“You will be banished. All you have will be mine. All of it.” His voice carried across the field as he walked away.
Adryel’s hands shook, and her eyes narrowed as she glared at Abel.
What a self-righteous little. . .
“I will own your sheep. I will live in your tents. I will take your wife.” He glanced behind. “Tonight, Abi will lie with me and, perhaps, your angel, too.”
How dare he? She scowled at Abel as she bent to retrieve a stalk of wheat that lay at her feet. It whistled as she swung it like a club, imagining that she swung it at Abel’s head. I’ll teach him. . .
As Adryel stepped into the clearing, Cain roared like a wounded lion. He hurtled across the field after his brother, stooping to pick up a large rock. Abel saw him coming, and began to run, but he moved too slowly, and Cain caught him, striking him on the back, knocking him to the ground.
“Not good enough? We’ll see.”
Abel struggled to his feet, clutching his knife, and he rushed at Cain.
“Hit him again, Cain. Hit him hard.”
As she spoke, Cain nodded and pulled his arm back to strike again.
Abel thrust his knife at his brother, but Cain dodged, stepping to the side, and he brought the rock down against one side of Abel’s head. Adryel heard the crunch, and blood spewed from the wound. Abel fell a second time.
“Again. Hit him again,” she ordered.
Abel stretched out one arm, clawing at the dirt as if trying to crawl away.
“Again.”
“Please, Cain, don’t. . .” Abel gasped for breath.
“Do it again,” she screamed. “Hit him harder.”
Each time she spoke, Cain struck his brother. And each time he struck, Abel’s pleas weakened, until, finally, Abel lay still.
Ramael
Cain stood over his brother’s body, crumpled on the ground next to him.
“What is wrong with him?” He bent and shook Abel. “Get up.”
Cain looked up at Adryel, confusion on his face. “He’s asleep. Why won’t he wake up?”
Adryel knelt beside the body. She held her hand near Abel’s nose, searching for his breath. She felt nothing. She held his wrist, searching for a heartbeat. Again, nothing.
So, humans do die. . .
She stood and looked him in the eye. “He’s dead, Cain. Like the animals you hunt. He is dead.”
“How? Why?” Cain stood motionless, his eyes darting around as though seeking an answer from the very air around him. Finally, he looked to Adryel. “All I did was hit him and. . .”
“That’s all it takes. Animals die. Humans die. You’ve killed him.”
“Cain. Cain.” A deep voice from the distance carried across the field. “Cain, where are you?”
Adryel’s head jerked up.
Michael had come. He was calling for Cain. How could he already know what had happened? How could he arrive so quickly? She sprang to her feet,
looking about wildly.
“Cain?”
Loud voices erupted from the camp, and she focused her attention on them.
“. . .and it was not accepted.” Abi’s voice rose louder than those of the others.
Adryel took a deep breath. Michael was there because of the sacrifice, not the murder.
Cain reached out and touched Adryel on the arm. “Whose voice is that?”
“It’s Michael, an archangel.”
“The one who banished my parents from the garden?” Cain sprang to his feet. “The one with the flaming sword? He has come for me, because I’ve killed my brother.”
“He has come because of your sacrifice, not your murder.” She looked down at Abel. “We must hide the body.”
The earth in the clearing had been turned for planting, and they were able to scoop up the loose dirt with their hands. They pushed Abel’s body into the shallow hole.
“Cover it.”
As Cain began to toss dirt over the body, Adryel quickly stepped to the edge of the clearing. She scanned the road leading from the camp, but saw no one.
“Cain,” Michael called again.
She could not see him, but his voice sounded as if he had almost reached the field. She sank to the ground behind one of the large bushes.
She just made it. She was breathing hard.
Peering through the leaves, she could glimpse Cain as he rose from his knees, wiping his dirty and bloody hands on his robe.
“Adryel?” He turned about, looking for her, and she pulled back, allowing the bush to cover her completely.
A second voice came from the field. “Cain, are you here?” Dariel’s voice. Adryel’s lip curled in disgust. He had taunted her. He would learn she was not one to be dismissed so easily. She remained hidden and listened.
“Cain, your offering was not acceptable.”
“It was the best I had. I inspected each grain. I sieved it. . .”
He was lying.
“You took a nap under a tree and when you awoke you dipped your basket in the granary and took whatever came out,” Dariel’s voice accused him.
“It was your lack of effort, not the difference in size that made the difference,” Michael said softly.
Between Heaven and Hell Page 21
