“It is the test that he needs,” replied the Creator.
“And my sheep, Lord?”
“Their descendants roam the meadow just outside the gate of Eden. They will follow you.”
“I never said good-bye to them.”
“Others will come along, Kole. I have watched over your sheep for you. Now you will watch my sheep for me.” Kole blinked back the tears that rimmed his eyelids. Tears for the loss of his small herd, tears for the responsibility that the Creator was entrusting him with.
The two men rose and embraced. “You must leave the garden now, Kole. The gates are closing, but I will see you again. Hold fast to your honesty and your courage, and pray often to our Father who hears and blesses.”
“There are so many things that I still want to ask you. Will I have children? Will they have children? When is the time of the end? How long from now is it? What happens, and why is it the end? The end of what? Then what after that? Nothing?” Kole gasped, breathless.
The Creator smiled. “You will know love, Kole, but you will know loss. Your days will be long upon the earth, and you, of all people, will desire the end to come, for you will understand family and what the Father has in mind.”
“Thank you.”
The Creator held out His hand to Kole. Resting upon his palm was a small, wooden bird that Kole himself had carved. A hole had been bored through the center of it and a strip of leather had been threaded through it.
“I thought you might like to have this back as well before you go,” He said.
Kole started to tentatively reach for it, but his hand stopped halfway. “Has it really been a hundred years? Will they even remember me?”
“It is time you went back to your family, Kole,” He said, taking the small bird and hanging it around Kole’s neck. “There are many things to be done, and much has changed. Always remember, Kole, you are loved.”
Kole pondered this, watching an ant on the grass and feeling as if he should be nothing more than an ant to the Father. But he was loved by God. Loved! When he looked up to speak again, the Gardner was gone.
Kole looked down on the valley that separated his brothers’ sacrificial hills. It was hard to believe it had been a hundred years. No longer were they cleared and cultivated. No sheep roamed the grassy slopes, no crops ripened by the riverside. Both his brothers were gone. But there was more than memories in this place. Kole stood beside a stone marker, Cain’s altar. It was still standing in its symmetrical, flat-topped, triangular shape after all these years, the grass and ivy around it grown nearly half way up.
From here Kole could look across the valley and see the rock that one day, long ago, he had leaned against while he witnessed the saddest day of his young life. Kole glanced to his right and saw the hill too upon which Abel had offered his acceptable sacrifice to the Lord. No homecoming would suffice unless he visited that place, a place that held one of his last few memories of his brother.
He started down the hill and stopped when he got to the shallow brook running lengthwise through the valley. He had forgotten there was another place that held memories for him. He looked down at the ground that had been Abel’s final resting place in life. This is where he fell, he thought. I miss you brother.
He crossed the water and hurried up the hill toward somewhat happier memories. The ground leveled out near the top, and Kole slowed and looked around. He did not see his brother’s altar. It had been more diminutive in stature and had not survived the years. Then, with his new gift of vision from the Creator, he noticed the aura of rock amongst the aura of grasses and bending down, pulled the waist-high grass apart. There he found what was left of Abel’s cairn. It had fallen over at some point in the past and had obviously been used by chipmunks as a nesting place for generations. Dry nut shells lay cracked on the ground all around it, and nesting material had been stuffed in all the cracks between the stones.
Kole spotted a rather odd stone half buried in the ground and bent down further to examine it. Nearly as long as his arm, from shoulder to fingertips, it was the same in height and girth. A black, flat piece of fieldstone nearly square shaped; although how much more of it remained underground was a mystery. Kole was intrigued by the rock. Before him was possibly one of the last things his brother had touched before death. A smile played at Kole’s lips as an idea crossed his thoughts.
Abel must have thought this rock was peculiar, shaped and colored so. I shall return for it someday and set it up as a monument to my brother, so that all who see it will pause and remember. Remember Abel, when they see the stone of Abel, a brother as unique as this rock.
He stood in quiet reflection for a moment before heading back down the hill. He walked the familiar path back to his parents’ camp along the stream, unable to shake a feeling of fear for what he might find. Behind him, scattered across the landscape, were several hundred sheep, ewes and rams as well as lambs.
Kole had been startled to see the size of his flock. After he had stepped out from under the shade of the trees of Eden, he had been pleasantly surprised to see nearly 700 wooly heads stop munching the meadow grasses, turn in his direction, and bleat a greeting.
He wondered then how he would ever shepherd them all. Seventeen had been easy, but this herd seemed unmanageable. Yet they had not slowed him down. As he had started to jog across the meadow toward the cave exit the nearest animals to him turned and followed, though at a much slower pace. As he passed more animals, they too had followed.
Kole had set a hard pace home, stopping only for water. He traveled late into that first night and rose early the next day. His thoughts propelled him; thoughts of the garden and what had been revealed to him there about his future; thoughts of his family that he had unintentionally left behind for a hundred years.
What would they think of him? What kind of greeting awaited him through these trees and down by the riverside? Kole’s pace slowed a bit, unnoticeable but for the heaviness that had taken over his legs. For all his former eagerness he was now reluctant to face their looks of shock or to hear the news of events that had slowly unfolded over the course of a hundred years of his slumber. It was while in the midst of these thoughts that he had reached the hills where Cain and Abel had so long ago offered their first sacrifices to God. His home was now very near.
The path from his brother’s former site of calamity, the valley of death as Kole thought of it, seemed to meander slowly through the woods as if it too were hesitant about the impending homecoming. The forest was still, the air calm. If a breeze had blown it might have brought Kole some sense of relief, some cleansing air of reassurance. But all was silent about him, as if the trail were passing through a realm of insecurity; as if bird and beast both were unsure of announcing his arrival. Then the stillness was rent by the scream of a child.
Kole had been so absorbed in his own thoughts that he had not seen the small girl picking flowers on the path just ahead. His sudden appearance had startled her, and he quickly stopped and held his hands palm out to her. “No, its okay, young one. I am sorry to have startled you,” Kole said, even as a man materialized out of the woods to her side.
“Greetings, stranger” said the man. “I am Jared, tenth born to the mother and father. You must be of the line of Cain, although you are unfamiliar to me, and you approach from the wrong direction. I apologize for my daughter’s lack of manners. It is just that so few travel from the city, and we have had no guests for many moons.”
“Greetings to you as well, Jared, although I would call you brother rather than stranger. I am looking for Mother and Father, and it may be fortuitous that you are here just as I have arrived, to guide me to them.”
“You call me brother?” asked Jared. “How is it that you call me thus? For I know all my brothers and do not know you, sir.”
“My hope is that you will know me, if not by acquaintance, than at least b
y name. For if you are truly, as you say, the tenth born to Adam, then I am your brother Kole, just returned from the garden and eager for familiar faces.”
The look on Jared’s face, and the young girl’s as well, was a profound dumbfoundedness, as if a dream had just come to life before their eyes. “Kole,” he finally managed to stammer. “Kole, the first son, garden-born, quest-bound? Can it really be true? I have heard stories of you all my life. Indeed, I tell them to my own children—stories of your childhood and youth and stories of your disappearance. Our children are taught to behave lest you come and carry them away with you to the garden, never to be seen again. Although I must confess, Father frowns on that story. But there are many other tales of you. Father speaks fondly of you climbing trees and racing deer, throwing berries at him and carving wood in the shapes of our sisters. We have all laughed many times when mother tells of you pissing on the fire during your fourth winter. Pardon my language.”
“Why would I pardon your language, my brother,” laughed Kole. “It is true what she says. But does she also tell you that she had just put the family’s dinner on the fire, and we all had to go fishless that night. Dad was not always the fisherman he is now, and those particular river trout were unfortunately seasoned that evening.” He smiled, and Jared snorted a chuckle.
“No, in fact she hasn’t. That part of the story was never accurately described. But come, I am a poor host. Have some water to drink, and let us go return you to your family. I have kept you standing and talking for far too long, and your most recent journey must have been thirsty work.” He pulled a water bag from over his shoulder and held it out to Kole. Kole took it with thanks and drained it nearly dry. He hadn’t realized how parched his mouth and throat had been. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and passed the skin back to Jared, who was staring at his robe.
“That is a fine garment,” he said. “I have never seen it’s like…as if you are blanketed in a cloud with the yellow sun in the hollow of your throat.”
“It is a coat from the Lord,” explained Kole. “And I no sooner had it on, but I spilled fruitjuice upon it,” indicating the stain upon his left breast.
“That, to my eyes, is no blemish,” said Jared. “It is but another mark of honor from God; and a tale to be told. I am eager to hear more of your quest, Brother, but for now I will set aside my selfish curiosity and ask you to grant me the privilege of announcing your arrival to our mother and father. There will no doubt be many celebrations for your return.”
“Yes, please,” said Kole. “Lead the way.”
Jared nodded and took his young daughter’s hand in his. Looking back over his shoulder and indicating that Kole should follow him, he led him down the path toward the river. As they exited the trees, Kole’s throat constricted with memories. The sight of the water, the smell of the cook-fires, the sound of human voices talking while routine tasks were happily performed. There was the rock his mother used to serve the family’s meals upon. There was the cave across the river where his brother…
There was the stockade against the face of the cliff. And just down the beach, a bit further than he remembered, were more people than he had ever seen. Men fishing, cutting wood, carrying stones, carving, laughing; women cooking, washing, walking with babies on their backs. And children, oh the children, running and playing happily amidst all the toil, yelling, screaming, crying. Mothers kissing scratches. Fathers or older brothers with young boys riding on their shoulders. Toddlers sitting plump and smiling on blankets, slurping on thumbs. Young ones chasing each other, giggling, throwing fruit back and forth.
Kole stopped and stared. So many, he thought. Can there truly be so many? And even as he stared, those in the camp became aware of Jared’s return with a stranger. All activity ceased. Almost as one, hundreds of sets of eyes stared at him in return.
Then Jared broke the spell. “It is my great privilege and honor to present to you one who has been absent for far too long. Behold, my family, the firstborn of our parents. This is my eldest brother, Kole.”
For a moment there was only silence. Silence more deep than Kole had ever heard. One child turned to her mother and said in a scared voice, “Mother, is he here to take someone back with him?” Then all the voices were speaking at once. Kole had never heard a more pleasant sound.
It was as if all his wounded thoughts of the past few days were being soothed with a balm of music. He let his eyes readjust themselves so that he could perceive the colors of each person’s being mix and mingle, cascading from the center of each one, joining and flowing across the space between them to pour over and through him. He let their sound and sight wash over him, mingle with his own song and become one.
This was his family. He didn’t know any of the faces he saw, but that was insignificant to the moment. These were of his same flesh and blood. These people were bodies resonant with the same music that was in his soul. These were people he would love all his days.
And then one face among the faces was suddenly familiar to him. The face he had most longed to see. The one face that meant his journey had reached a resting place.
“Kole, my son,” shouted Adam from their midst. He had been resting on a rock surrounded by children, all sitting at his feet. He rose and ran the short distance to Kole and embraced him in a bone-crushing hug that pinned Kole’s arms to his sides. Kole closed his eyes and lost himself in the closeness of his father. When Adam finally eased his grip and pulled away, there were tears in his eyes. “My son,” he said again, and this time the hug was more mutual. Kole was quick to get his arms up so he too could crush his dad with the fierceness of his love.
For Kole it seemed no more than a week since he had last seen his mother and father, still it was longer than he could ever remember being apart. But for Adam, no less than a century has passed since his eldest son had been so near, and indeed, it was a treasurable moment. “We can have questions and answers later,” said Adam, once more breaking their embrace. “Right now, you must come see your mother.”
Kole nodded.
His reunion with his mother was no less emotional. She repeated his name over and over as she held him to her bosom. “My baby, my baby,” she would say as well, as if to remind him of exactly who he was to her.
Eve had been further up the beach, across the river, picking wild berries with some of her daughters, granddaughters, and great-granddaughters as well. When news reached her of Kole’s return, she had dropped her basket of berries and practically ran across the top of the water to embrace him. In fact, some of her daughters would bear witness all the days of their lives that that is exactly what she did.
There were many tears—round, wet, shiny tears—impossibly big tears that rode the slope of her cheekbones and rested upon the curve in the corner of her smile. She could not quit smiling. She stared at his face through the watery veil of her tears, drinking in the image of him.
Perhaps the tears were necessary to dilute a hundred years worth of grief that she had carried for her firstborn. Tears of joy to compensate her body for all the tears of anguish she had shed in the deepest part of a mother’s lonely life. How often had she cried for him? Only Adam shared enough intimacy with her to know, and his estimate would inevitably fall far short.
There were other tears as well, Kole speculated. Tears for Abel, and tears for Cain. Three sons lost to her in a single blow. Tears wept for a future of ‘what might have been,’ destroyed and lost to all. But more significantly, and perhaps for her the worst of all, weeping to drown out the vivid reminder to her from her own children that she, of all people, male and female, could have prevented this. She had been blaming herself for over a hundred years for the absence of Kole, the loss of Cain, and the death of Able, and the return of her eldest son felt as if it were the beginning of her reprieve.
Her joy was palpable to Kole, and her beauty overwhelming. She had always been a beautiful woman, b
ut now with the lightening of her heart and spirit, she radiated an inner light that was overwhelming to behold. Indeed, most of the people surrounding them eventually lowered their eyes as this mother hugged her firstborn son fiercely in her slender arms. Finally Adam said, “Come on, my dear. He is home. Let’s get him some food, and prepare for a celebration.”
“Yes,” Eve said, releasing him. Her matronly instincts took over, and she began calling out orders to those around her, giving instructions for food preparation and cooking duties. Three young girls were sent to fetch water, three more were sent to gather herbs and wild onions. Two were given the assignments of cleaning fish, and two more tasked to clean up after the fish cleaners. A solid-looking man about Kole’s age, when he had left for the garden, was ordered to butcher three yearlings, and another two youths offered to hunt for deer before they were asked to do some less desirable chore. Suddenly the camp was a flurry of hurry, bustling about, bumping into each other, and laughing. Kole had never imagined there could be so much activity.
A young woman with a small boy in her arms walked up to him. “Hello, Kole,” she said with a shy grin.
“Hi Ko’,” repeated the toddler in her arms.
“Hello,” said Kole.
“Don’t you remember me, Kole,” she asked. “Don’t you even recognize your smallest little sky-fire?”
“Nolia?”
She nodded.
“Nolia!” Kole seemed to explode across the small gap of space that separated them. One moment he was standing apart from her and the next she was in his arms, as was the small boy.
“Oh, Nolly,” said Kole, “I’ve missed you. Look at how grown you are. You’re a woman now. You’re beautiful. How is it that you’ve grown so fast?” asked Kole without thinking.
“It’s been a long time, Kole,” she replied.
“Yes, it has, hasn’t it? And is this your son?” he asked, indicating the boy in her arms.
All Living : A Seedvision Saga (9781621473923) Page 10
