What had he been thinking? He loved her. He had always loved her. And he always would. She had been good to him. Maybe too good. His mind was stressed, being pulled in many directions at once.
He didn’t hate her.
And yet he hated her.
He loved her.
And yet he could not love her.
“One day,” he whispered and thrust a loaf of bread into the satchel. One day he would heal the old pains, the disappointments. They would all be replaced.
He tossed the bag on the ground and pushed away the temptation to believe he could avoid damaging her. He had struggled with the decision for many days, but even if it would break her, he would rather her experience pain, than have to live without her.
He rubbed his eyes, unable to remember what else he needed to pack. It felt as though insects were burrowing through his legs. He cleared his throat and started pacing.
He had so carefully calculated each step, his reaction to every possible inquiry. Even so, there had been complications. His family had grown suspicious too soon. The rain had not come. Adam was searching for Abel. And there was the voice. Yes, that was what had thrown him. He had let it creep under his skin and push him to talk with Sarah for comfort, like a fool.
Too much weighed against his will. He was losing acuity, becoming distracted. He could wait no longer; it was time to act.
I will come back for you, Sarah. I will. I must.
6
Adam scratched the jaw of a young sheep looking up at him through rectangular pupils. It chewed on grass as if indifferent to the world. Its relatives stood about doing the same, and scattered between them were gnarled trees. They looked old, maybe a few as aged as he.
Life had moved so quickly in the century and a half since walking in the Garden. And how long had they lived inside it? He remembered the strange speed at which time seemed to flow there. With unending restfulness and peace in the Light of the Almighty’s presence, they had labored hard and yet all had been joyful. In the Garden, work remained no more than a building block of satisfaction.
Then their world had crumbled.
He looked at the flock of sheep again. Few of them could have been more than several years old, yet who knew what the eyes of the eldest sheep had witnessed? In a world so much more temporal than the Garden, the curse was felt by all with deadly force.
His brow furrowed as he noticed a lump on one of the sheep’s shoulders. He touched it and the sheep jerked away. As it did so, Adam noticed another lump on the side of its head.
I will have to show this to Abel when I find him.
He had never seen an animal suffer from such a malady before. None of their animals had taken sick since wandering the wilderness, and the Almighty had assured them their animals would remain healthy within the City’s walls.
So what then was this?
He patted the tangled fur on its shoulder and attempted to reason it away. He should talk to High Priest Calebna after he found Abel.
He resumed walking.
He and Abel used to walk together often. And when Abel grew old enough to compete, they raced. The first time Abel beat him was on the outskirts of a desert whose creeping sands had slowly encroached on the niche they had carved into the cliffs. That day the dunes reflected the sun like so many mirrors, and the blue sky was devoid of blemishes. Abel had turned and slapped his hand, and they had walked home to find Cain had abandoned the herd of sheep once again to scout the wilderness for game.
Truthfully, Adam couldn’t remember the last time he and Cain had done anything. And the last time Abel provoked Cain into competition was when Cain still found joy in how Abel looked on him with shining eyes.
Cain. A leader in all things, even from the beginning. What had happened?
“I am my own man, Father,” Cain said. “I am not, and do not want to be, anyone but myself.”
“You are destroying relationships, and for what reason? To keep your pride? Give it up. Stop fighting against everyone. None of us desires it. We just want peace, we want to be a family again.”
“As do I. But you won’t find it by trying to change me into something you prefer more. If I am not good enough, so be it.”
Adam frowned as his feet slid through the grass. Remembering the fight angered him. It had only served to increase the tension between Cain and the others.
Everything I do fails to make an impression. Such thick-headedness. Such stupidity.
The problems had yet to resolve themselves as he imagined they would upon returning to the Almighty. Now he wondered if they ever would. And even though it gave him no comfort, he continued praying.
He crested a hill and saw a valley spread away filled with grass and freckled with trees. It was the space between Abel’s pastures and Cain’s fields, and he descended into it, making his way toward a patch where the grasses looked depressed. The dark clouds rendered light little more than shadows, but as he reached the clearing, he saw spots of color, as if the grass was sickly. The spots were positioned around a pool of liquid that lay beneath crushed grass, and he stopped and ran his hand over the stalks to break the surface of the liquid with his fingertip. He brought it to his nose, and as the scent entered his lungs, his scalp tingled.
Blood?
Looking around, he found clumps of hair. Picking them up, he rolled them between his fingertips. More blood came off them, and the hairs themselves were light. Very light.
“My God,” he whispered as shadows encroached on his vision. “What is this?”
Adam rubbed his face. He was becoming paranoid. Lilleth’s fear had planted the seeds of unnatural thoughts. You only fear danger to your son because you have been searching for him.
But what could explain the blood? And hair? What animal had such light hair and with such a texture?
He noticed a faint trail ahead, and he sidestepped the blood and followed the trail toward the line of trees that veiled the river in the distance. The grasses bent as though something had been dragged this way. The Almighty had never sanctioned the killing of animals unless for sacrifices, and surely no animal was allowed to be slaughtered in the fields and dragged so far, even here, between the inner and outer walls that the Almighty had built as boundaries to the City and the pasturelands outside it.
The hairs. The fine, light hairs. Each second stretched into hours. The Jinn, those demonic half beasts, could not have entered this far. Surely with the Almighty’s protection, humanity was safe. Had he misunderstood?
He scratched his beard. No, the reason he agreed to come back to the Almighty was for the relief that very promise offered his family, who were so burdened by the unnatural pressures he had purchased them by tasting the fruit they should not have tasted.
He reached the river and found footprints in the mud. He bent to one knee and examined them. They were human and fresh, maybe a day old. He traced his fingers over the curvature of the arch, the five toes and shape of the heel.
Droplets fell from the sky as he ran his hand across his forehead. What had happened? No animal would be thrown in the river. Such wastefulness was not only sinful, but it was foolish. Abel would never do such a thing, would he? He had buried every animal that died under his care with honor and solemnity. And sacrifices were given with equal respect.
His eyes widened. Could it have been Cain?
Cain had been gone earlier, and Sarah had acted strangely. It certainly was possible Cain had been in the field and slaughtered one of Abel’s sheep. But why? Retribution for the sacrifices the day before?
What if it had been someone else?
But this was Abel’s pastureland, and his flock was still here, and both Cain and Abel were gone. Cain’s hair was black as coal. Abel’s was almost white. The hair he had found was not an animal’s, and Abel would not have harmed himself, and couldn’t have dragged himself to the river. Whoever made the footprints was uninjured, and whatever was dragged had been large.
He could not admit that Cain may have ha
rmed Abel. But what if he had?
Adam squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed them. How could he think such blasphemy? The Almighty held them safely. He had promised. Was he then a liar? “Let me die before I entertain such thoughts.”
He turned and started for home, his knuckles white from unanswered questions. He sped until he was jogging, anxiety growing until his breaths came in shallow pulls. Then he sprinted, pushing his legs until they burned with exhaustion. Drops of rain fell faster. One landed on the bridge of his nose, and others came until the storm matured and fell in sheets.
PART TWO:
RETRIBUTION
Then Satan answered the Lord and said, “… Have you not put a hedge around him and his house and all that he has, on every side? You have blessed the work of his hands, and his possessions have increased in the land. But stretch out your hand and touch all that he has, and he will curse you to your face.” And the Lord said to Satan, “Behold, all that he has is in your hand. Only against him do not stretch out your hand.” So Satan went out from the presence of the Lord.
—JOB 1:9–12 ESV
7
Cain stood in his bedchamber and shoved the last few items into the satchel as he recalled a moment eight nights earlier when he had surrendered to his murderous desires and embraced the decision to plan his brother’s death; when his mind had plunged into endless darkness, and hours later he woke naked on the stone floor of his house, wondering if he had already committed the act. After actually consummating the sin less then twelve hours ago, he felt the familiar sensations creep up the back of his skull. The strange itching ballooned in his mind as he felt himself slipping, falling into that nameless space he had come to know and hate.
He screamed and thrust his fist into the wall. The voice pulled at him, wagging its tongue in his ear, but Cain pressed his palms against his head. Leave me!
But it would not. It was inside of him. Its desires throbbed against Cain’s mind like a beating heart. Beating. Beating. Beating!
This isn’t how it is supposed to be. I wanted freedom from the Almighty’s tyranny, from the expectation to live in impossible perfection. Instead, I am teetering on the borderlands of madness.
A chill scuttled through the building and under his clothes. The whispering grew until it was all he could hear, and he squeezed his eyes and fists shut and waited for the darkness to swallow him.
Instead, all went silent.
He waited. No voice. No itch. No burning passion to consume life. He opened his eyes and sensed normalcy like an infant waking from a dream. “Hello?”
The room echoed silence. The dark corners feigned calm, but he sensed with a shiver something was present. For a moment, he wondered whether it was paranoia.
“Give it to me.”
He spun to the voice. His mind stumbled, but after blinking he couldn’t deny that he saw what appeared to be a little boy with silver eyes, silver hair, a tall forehead, and an elongated nose above a set of thin lips. Its neck was tall with dark arteries, and though it stood before him as if it belonged, something he could not place rendered it alien.
“There’s no more time.”
The hair on the back of Cain’s neck prickled. He knew that this had been the itch in his mind, the voice he had obeyed the previous night as he dragged Abel’s body to the river. The fact was disturbing, and he felt nausea ride up the sides of his stomach. Words circled through his mind, but only three found their way to his tongue. “Who are you?”
“You will know me in time. But now, you must obey.”
The creature seemed surreal, but Cain could not doubt its reality, for he saw it with his eyes and felt it with his soul. The thing’s lips curled like straw in fire—a convulsive, flashing expression.
Saliva pooled in Cain’s mouth. His face twisted and his legs burned to run, but his body would not respond. He was locked in place, forced to stare into those eyes as he felt the world buzz. The Almighty’s warning one day earlier returned. “If you do not do well, Sin is crouching at the door. It desires to devour you, but you must rule over it.”
“Is your name Sin?”
“Come,” it commanded. “Give it to me and I will show you the way. He is calling us.”
Cain tried to look away but only managed to tip his head.
It frowned and arched its eyebrows with something like sadness. “Still holding on? Too proud to give in?”
Cain’s response was no more than a throaty grunt.
“I will break you.”
Would it kill him? Would those eyes, those silver rims around black holes, suck him up and never let go?
The silver boy turned and, with a motion of its hand, evaporated. Cain bent and vomited. When he finished retching, he laid down and let new thoughts enter his mind.
Which is the illusion—the Almighty or the hope of having any freedom at all?
8
Seth could not move. Nor could he quite see. At least, not in close detail. What he did see were shapes like murky outlines in a clouded pool, and soon those shapes and lines congealed and formed a silhouette, and then a face.
He knew that face. It was familiar, and yet seemed like a painted image. The painting’s expression changed, and he wondered what could be happening. Was he dreaming?
Its lips formed his name, and its eyes strung heady emotions through the holes in his soul. For a moment, all was calm. Its hair fell over him, glaring in the light, and he winced. The world rushed in with strangling intensity. Hands clamped down on his arms, and everywhere there was pain. He could hear his breathing, and that of the painting, like pulsating counterrhythms atop a symphony of winds—like terrible Music.
The world slowed and quieted. “Seth.” It whimpered as droplets of color slapped his forearm. “Seth!”
This was no painting. He shook his head. How had it taken him so long to recognize who it was? The light mellowed. The picture sharpened. With difficulty, he lifted his arm and wrapped fingers around the hand on his chest. “Ayla?” The word barely limped out.
She fell on him and wept.
“What’s wrong?” His tongue felt like wadded wool. He looked at his bruised and bloody arms. “What happened?”
“I don’t know.” She squeezed his waist. “I left to find you, hoping to join you on your walk. But then I saw you fall on this hill, and when I arrived, you were thrashing yourself against the stones. I was scared. So scared.”
He squeezed her hand and rubbed the back of it with his thumb. The thumping in his throat slowed, and the muscles in his face relaxed; but he struggled for breath, and his head was filled with painful pressure. “I’m all right. I’m fine now. I’m sorry I worried you.” His muscles ached and burned.
“What happened?” He lay frozen by the way the tears revealed the color of her eyes. She went on pawing at his chest. “Are you sick?”
He reached through the murk to grasp at his memories. “I think I had a vision. Such terrible images. I saw …” He swallowed and shook his head, not wanting to continue. “Terrible things. Can we not speak of it? Remembering makes me feel strange.”
“Of course. We don’t need to talk about it.”
He swallowed and attempted a smile, but it probably looked painful, because it was. “Can you help me up?”
She rose to her knees, grasped his hand, and helped him lean against the wall of the well. His arms and legs had cuts and bruises, and his joints felt swollen. Dark blotches appeared on Ayla’s arms and face. He pointed to her cheek and she touched the spot and winced.
“Is that from me?”
She nodded.
What had happened when those visions rushed in? They certainly had not come from the Almighty, so maybe he really was sick. He gazed at the black clouds in the sky, and a spear of panic struck him. He tried to stand, but Ayla pushed him to the ground. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m going home,” he said.
“What if it happens again?”
“You want to wait until we’r
e soaked by the storm?”
“We don’t know what’s wrong with you.”
He shrugged. “It was just a dream.”
“Does a dream overtake you as you walk? Does a dream make you injure yourself?”
The sound of sporadic droplets striking the leaves punctured the silence, and Seth wondered at how long it had taken the storm to start. “Don’t you think it odd that this storm has been hanging over us for days, but not a drop has fallen until now?”
“Is that all you can think about? You’re injured. If it happens again, you might throw yourself down a hill or worse.”
“You forget that we’re in the City of the Almighty. You’re starting to sound like Lilleth.”
“Tell me how we were protected from these.” She pointed to the marks on their bodies.
He was startled by the realization that what she said held weight. It was true that they were still in the City of the Almighty, and that the Man had promised them safety as long as they dwelt with him.
He looked at the bloody contusions on his arm. So, what do these mean?
Something was different. He could feel it in his bones.
He glanced at Ayla, whose pale face was rounded by concern. He reached up and clumsily pushed a tassel of hair behind her ear. “I will be all right. I promise. We should wait to speak more until we’ve gotten under shelter.”
Ayla stood and brushed the dirt and grass from her knees. “Father’s house is closer. We will go there, but you will not walk without my aid. And when we arrive, you will do no more than lie down and rest. Agreed?”
He nodded and smiled. She frowned. Droplets fell faster as he draped his arm over her shoulders for support, and she helped him stand.
“I will let you know when I sense the next dream coming.”
“No. No more dreams.”
The rain intensified and as they walked, his knee bothered him less, but when he tried convincing her he could continue on his own, her grip only tightened. They made their way slowly and were drenched by the time they arrived at the gray arch of their parents’ home, which sat apart from the others that knelt clustered together like so many stone bodies bowing at the foot of the Temple.
Cain: The Story of the First Murder and the Birth of an Unstoppable Evil Page 4
