A Little Lower Than The Angels (The Generations Book 1)

by Caryl McAdoo

  An eagle screamed overhead then dove straight for him.

  At the last blink, the mighty bird veered and soared on the wind’s current over their valley below. He followed its flight a while then turned back to his father who lay motionless.

  Wasn’t he going after Cain?

  A tear rolled down Abel’s cheek. Everything would be so wonderful if only his headstrong brother had sacrificed a lamb.

  He hugged himself. His heart hurt. For all the fights and harsh words spoken, he loved his brother—even more with the understanding of the sin offerings. If only he could help Cain comprehend.

  The Lord said if he would do what was right, he would be accepted. Abel stroked his beard and looked again at his father who murmured praises, obviously oblivious. Maybe there was still enough time.

  He grabbed his shawl and prayer blanket then quietly backed away from the sacred place. Once past Guard Rock, he ran down the mountain after his twin and found him on the path leaning against the tree they’d named Last Look years prior.

  “Come, Brother. If we hurry, you can still make an offering.”

  “Forget it. Our father’s God rejected me.”

  “Don’t be a snake-in-the-tree. The Lord didn’t reject you, only your offering. He only wants you to do what is right.” Abel grabbed his brother’s arm. “Hurry. We can still choose a yearling and be back to the high place before long shadows.”

  Cain’s eyes blazed, and he balled his fist. Abel braced himself, but the blow never came.

  The fire in his twin’s eyes cooled to a cold stare before he patted Abel’s shoulder, and in those silent moments, a concern for his mother and sister gripped Abel, as if their hearts suffered some unknown great pain.

  How strange.

  Why would that be?

  His brother’s voice brought him back. “Yes, you may be right. It’s worth a try. Let’s go fetch a yearling.” He nodded with an odd smile. “But hurry. There’s something I must show you first.” He spun around and trotted toward his furthest field.

  Abel ran after. “But Brother, can’t it wait? Our father is still at the high place. You must make a blood offering and be accepted.”

  Cain offered no response until he reached the field’s edge. “This won’t take long.” He pointed toward a spot not fifty strides away. “See? It’s there.” He strode toward the place.

  “What?” Nothing worth a delay came to view. “What’s so important? We should hurry to my flock.” He followed his brother to the middle of the field. Cain knelt, picked something up, then swung around.

  The fire returned to his eyes and with it, an evil Abel had never seen before.

  His brother’s words escaped through clenched teeth, though his volume could barely be heard over the screaming eagle overhead. “Never again will you take my place.”

  “Brother, what do you mean?”

  Suddenly Cain roared. “I am the firstborn.”

  “Of course, you are. I know that.” Abel held out both hands, palms up. “Why do you think that? When have I ever tried to take your place? What have I done?”

  “I hate you!” Cain lowered his shoulder and charged.

  Abel balled his own fist then consciously relaxed it. He would not, could not, fight his brother again. The Lord’s peace, carried from the high place, still enveloped him, though confusion now warred against it.

  With each step, it seemed Cain ran slower and slower. A crazed expression twisted and contorted his face. He raised the rock in his hand above his head as he advanced, but it made no matter. Abel would not defend himself. “God said you must master –”

  The impact slammed him to the ground, forcing the breath from his lungs. His brother’s weight impeded another. Though Cain held the stone above his head, God’s peace still permeated Abel’s soul. He looked into his brother’s eyes.

  How could there be so much hate and anger there?

  The rock crashed down.

  Pain exploded then vanished. His eyes lost focus. Blackness engulfed him as he closed his eyes as if to sleep. The sensation of great speed carried him toward a bright light then consciousness came again.

  A brilliant golden glow encompassed him.

  He floated peacefully downward. Where had the pain gone? He traced his hand over his head. No blood? Neither any wound. But how?

  “Cain? Where are you, Brother? Put that rock down. We must hurry and choose a lamb.” The words formed in his mind, he spoke them, but where could the sound of them be?

  The light dimmed as strong arms wrapped around him then set his feet onto firm ground.

  He stood in the midst of a meadow, a place he had never seen, but recognized from his parents’ stories. Released, he turned and faced a winged being.

  The odd-looking man stood half-a-head shorter than he and wore a long white robe with a band of golden cloth across his chest.

  “Who are you?” Again, no audible words came forth.

  “I am called Namrel.” The being’s smile seemed understanding. This speaking without benefit of sound puzzled Abel though.

  “Is this my parents’ Garden? Eden?”

  The birdman chuckled and shook his head. “No, my new friend. You are in Paradise.”

  Chapter Two

  “Where’s my brother? Did you see him?”

  The being shrugged. “Among the living. I saw him not.”

  “Among the living? A strange answer. And where is this Paradise in relation to Adam’s Valley?”

  Namrel backed away a step and spread his arms. “Do you like it? The host have labored these thirty odd years.”

  “The host? And what are you, Namrel? Man or bird? Are you of the host?”

  He laughed deep and hearty, which tickled Abel. He liked this being, even if he didn’t know who he was or where the birdman had taken him. “Oh, no. God created me First of the Cherubim, an angel, not a man.

  “And the host? Huge over-created angels the Lord spewed into the Crystal Sea just before He fashioned your father, made His man a little lower than the angels. Only the Almighty knows their number, for they appear too numerous to count.”

  Angels? Before his father? A thousand questions swam through Abel’s head, but thinking became so hard, as though trying to walk in the mist. What was a cherubim anyway, and how did this one know so much?

  Namrel pointed toward a stone dwelling nestled amidst a grove of trees.

  Who could build such a house? He wished his father could see it. It shamed the log-and-pitch home back in the valley. And where was his valley, anyway? He should head on home.

  The crafty angel had avoided the question altogether.

  Namrel nudged him with the soft plumes of a wing. “Come, my new friend. You need rest.”

  Abel wanted answers, but the angel’s declaration brought an unaccustomed weariness that swamped him. He took a step then stumbled.

  The small angel scooped him up as easily as Abel might lift a newborn lamb then carried him through the dwelling to a large cavity in one of the stone walls.

  “What happened, Namrel? Why am I here? Where is our valley? How far?” So strange that his questions remained silent. Could he ever get used to such oddity? His eyelids closed before any answers.

  The angel chuckled. “So inquisitive. Much like an old friend of mine. Questions, questions, and more questions.” Abel heard the laughter, but not the words. Yet he knew them—what the angel spoke.

  Because the need to rest overwhelmed him, Abel didn’t respond.

  Namrel’s words echoed in the recesses of his mind, but he couldn’t fight sleep.

  His questions would have to wait. Like that eagle soaring over the valley on the currents of air, he drifted onto a sea of bliss then slipped into the Lord’s peace.

  While Abel rested in Paradise, a blackness tormented Cain. From the instant he realized what he’d done, the horror of his deed filled his soul.

  He flung the rock away, then ran after it, and carried it back to his brother’s still form, carefully
placing it under his head. Maybe his father would believe Abel had tripped, fell on it.

  Oh, why had he done it?

  He backed away from the lifeless body then turned and sprinted to the creek.

  Repeatedly, he washed the blood and dirt from his hands, but they wouldn’t come clean. While he scrubbed, a gentle breeze rustled the treetops. A chill ran up his spine. He stood still and turned his face toward God’s Mountain.

  CAIN WHERE IS YOUR BROTHER ABEL

  The Lord’s voice fell soft on his ear yet cut to the depths of his soul.

  His heart hardened toward the Adam’s God, the Creator Who rejected him. “I don’t know. Am I my brother’s keeper?”

  CAIN WHAT HAVE YOU DONE

  LISTEN

  THE VOICE OF YOUR BROTHER’S BLOOD CRIES OUT TO ME FROM THE GROUND

  NOW YOU ARE CURSED FROM THE EARTH WHICH OPENED ITS MOUTH TO RECEIVE YOUR BROTHER’S BLOOD FROM YOUR HAND

  WHEN YOU WORK THE GROUND IT WILL NO LONGER YIELD ITS STRENGTH TO YOU AND YOU WILL BE A RESTLESS WANDERER AND VAGRANT ON THE EARTH

  Like a mallet to his chest, God’s words struck Cain’s heart.

  “Oh Lord, my punishment is too great to bear. If You drive me from the face of the ground and hide Yourself, I will indeed wander the earth. Whoever finds me will surely kill me.”

  WHOEVER KILLS YOU VENGEANCE WILL BE TAKEN ON HIM SEVEN FOLD

  The sky opened and a bolt of lightning knocked Cain to the earth. His forehead stung mightily, but paled in comparison to the pain in his heart. His sin indeed found him out.

  He pushed himself up from the ground and looked around. The valley he grew up in remained the same, though no longer home.

  Now, he hated this place, couldn’t wait to leave, but not without his sister, not without his wife. She belonged to him now. And he’d waited so long.

  He turned his back on the mountain of God. He must hurry. His father would return soon and might try to thwart his plan. One thing was certain; he would not leave without Sheriah.

  A thousand paces to the west, the young woman—whom the eldest brother considered his property—busied herself with preparing her wedding dress. From her earliest memories, Sheriah knew she would become his woman—just as Meve belonged to Padam—on the celebration day of his thirtieth year.

  Though she loved the idea of finally being allowed to bear children of her own, she’d love it so if Cain could be more like Abel.

  “Have you looked, Meve?”

  Her mother picked at Sheriah’s hair. “No need. Your father never comes off God’s Mountain before sundown.”

  The room suddenly seemed too small. “Let’s wait on the porch. Maybe he’ll come early. After all, it is a very special day.”

  “Fine, my precious, but in my opinion, your hair needs more flowers.”

  Sheriah glanced into the polished silver disk her father fashioned for her fourth season celebration. Her reflection smiled back.

  “It’s fine. I don’t think my brother will care how many flowers adorn my curls.”

  Her mother laughed. “If he is anything like his father –” She stopped herself.

  Sheriah reached the door of her sleeping room. “What?”

  An ear-to-ear grin teased as she hurried past. “Oh, never mind. You will understand soon enough.”

  Before she could catch her and make her explain, the front door burst open. Cain staggered in, his chest heaving. His face bloody and brusied.

  Her mother raced to his side and reached for the wound on her son’s forehead, but he jerked away. “Son, you are hurt. What happened, dear?”

  He gulped his lungs full then stared at Sheriah. He shook his head. “My brother’s dead, and Adam’s God blames me. I’ve been banished.” He lightly touched the skin around the raw flesh. “And marked.”

  “What? How? Where is Abel?”

  Stunned speechless, Sheriah willed him to answer the questions her mother screamed repeatedly, shaking Cain’s arm like the pecan tree branches in harvest. “Answer me! Where is he? Your brother!”

  Cain glanced at Meve then turned back to Sheriah. “In my far field. He hit his head on a rock. There is no more life in him. Abel is dead, as dead as the lamb on the mountain whose throat he slit.”

  The words cut Sheriah’s heart. The room spun. Her knees gave way, but strong hands caught her.

  “We must hurry to leave.”

  Her brother’s words held no meaning. A detached silence engulfed her as her mother gathered herbs and bandages then raced out of the house.

  She said nothing as Cain threw belongings in a pack. Some his, and some her own.

  Her mind reeled trying to imagine an existence without tenderhearted Abel. As Cain guided her toward the door, reality slapped her like a splash of cold river water on a hot day.

  She pulled her arm from his grasp. “What are you doing?”

  He faced her. His skin turned an angry red, making the oozing lesion stand out even more.

  “Have you not been listening? I’ve been banished. You and I must flee this valley. God sent winged beasts with fiery swords after Meve and Padam. I won’t wait to see what he sets on me.”

  “But Cain, why?”

  “I told you.” The look in his eyes scared her. He tightened his grip on her wrist and pulled. “Abel’s dead, and God blames me. Now come.”

  “No. You’re hurting me, and I will not go anywhere with you acting like this. How can our brother be dead? And why would God send beasts to harm us?”

  She resisted as best she could, but he dragged her onto the porch. “I don’t want to go, I want to understand, Cain.”

  The wound blazed then seemed to cool to a deep shade of ochre. His voice softened a bit.

  “We were fighting. Abel fell on a rock that split his head open. His blood seeped into the ground.” He pointed to his own head. “God did this. I barely escaped with my life. I must leave. Now. And you are coming with me.”

  “But why, Brother? Why does the Almighty blame you? And why were you fighting?”

  “You have no brother, only a husband now. You are to follow me.” Cain glanced over his shoulder then back to her.

  “But what did you quarrel over?”

  “You. We fought over you. Your dear Abel couldn’t bear the fact Padam would give you to me today, that you would be mine instead of his own. He started the fight, but I finished it.”

  “You finished it?”

  His face fell as if in sorrow, and he spoke in the softest, most tender voice she ever heard from him. “Now, I’m banished just like He banished Padam and Meve from Eden. I must travel far from the valley.”

  “But can’t we at least –”

  “No. I’m leaving, but not without you.” He pulled her to his chest and hugged her. “We must hurry, wife.”

  Sheriah leaned back. Tears wet her cheeks. “What about the feast—all the plans?”

  “Abel has ruined them. Go back inside and take what food you can carry. I’ll fill the bladders at the stream on the way.”

  She obeyed then let him lead her away. Her heart ached, but she went. After all, she was to be bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh.

  Just as the sun kissed the western horizon, the last of God’s awesome glory lifted from the mountain. In the twinkling of an eye, Adam knew what his eldest son had done as though he witnessed it all.

  Tears filled his eyes then trickled into his beard.

  “Oh, Lord, my children. All lost. Will it ever be as sweet again as it was?”

  A cool wind stirred, but no answer rode on it. He waited a few silent heartbeats, gathered his prayer shawl and blanket, then trudged down the mountain. Halfway, it struck him that Eve must know.

  Picking up his pace in the day’s waning light, he reached the well-worn path and sprinted towards Cain’s far field. A mournful wail traveled on the soft breeze. Moon shadows danced ahead as he neared the place where his son lay.

  Eve sat next to the boy, stroking his hair and moaning the rueful t
une. Adam sank to his knees next to her and wept. Deep into the night, he cried and wailed his lament over Abel’s death.

  In the light of false dawn, a vision unfolded before Adam’s inner eye; not like the knowing on the mountain which came upon him in an instant, but more as one of Sheriah’s plays.

  It passed, and he stood, extending his hand. “Come, wife. We must prepare to return our son to the earth.”

  She lifted her head from Abel’s chest but continued to stroke his hair. “In the ground? Are you mad?”

  Reaching for her, he took her offered hand and gently lifted her to her feet. “One day, we will go to him, but he cannot return here.”

  She jerked away with a fire in her swollen eyes. “How can you say that? He is dead. Our son is dead! As dead as your precious sacrificed lambs.” Her eyes turned toward the sky. “Yes, I will go to my beloved son.”

  “But that’s many years away, my beloved.”

  “I pray I should die that this pain in my chest would cease! Then would I be with him?”

  “In God’s time, Eve.”

  She collapsed and draped herself over the cold, stiffening body. “No! I cannot bear this!” She lifted her head off her son’s chest and screamed to the heavens. “Do you hear me, Abba? I cannot! My son is dead!”

  “But he lives, wife.” Adam bent to touch her cheek. “Abel lives.”

  She turned to him. “Has Abba blinded you? Do you not witness the stilled body of our son? He has no breath, no life left in him.” She lifted Abel’s arm then dropped it. “See? Where is his strength, his warmth, or his laughter?”

  “Still in him.”

  She leaned over his face and stared intently. “His eyes. They are dull. Where is their sparkle? Answer me. Where is his smile?”

  “Dear Eve, this is only his body. Like the shell of an egg crushed and thrown into the yard for the chickens. His shell has died, but Abel’s spirit lives with all that made him our son. He is alive this day in a beautiful place called Paradise.”

  “Paradise, you say?”

  “Lion and Lamb are with him. I saw him there.”

  Her eyes cleared and brightened as warm as the morning’s eastern sky. “Where is this place? When may we go? I can be ready for travel by high sunrise.”