Eve rubbed Adam’s hand. Mason stared in voiceless intensity. Gorban rubbed his neck and squinted. And Calebna stared at his own clasped hands.
Then something unexpected happened. Adam’s eyes stretched and breath burst past his lips. He was struggling, and for the first time in days, he spoke two words, though they were barely audible in the hush.
“My Abel.” And tears welled in his eyes as he rocked.
The room was filled with the throbbing ache of loss, and Lukian saw the damage rifle through them all. He wondered at his grandfather as the man swayed. What had drawn those words, the first he had spoken since the storm subsided?
Lukian’s eyes widened. Was that the first time in all these days that anyone spoke Abel’s name in front of Adam?
He watched Adam’s twitching figure. After an awkward silence, Eve led him away. She looked fatigued, but Lukian knew she would not sleep. Instead, she would watch Adam’s face and pray for her husband to return, but as had happened every day since Abel’s death, his eyes would open and she would look into them and find only emptiness.
Adam has lost himself to desperation, Lukian thought. And I must draw a similar desperation from the others. Not too much and not too little. The battle is not yet lost. He bit his cheek. I fear it has only begun.
After Adam and Eve disappeared, the group trickled away until only Lukian, Mason, and Gorban remained.
Lukian cleared his throat and brushed at his tunic. Storm clouds churned in his skull, and he stood and walked from the Temple, barely aware of his feet touching the ground. On the road, Lukian heard footsteps behind him.
“Brother,” Gorban said. And he repeated it as if unsure what else may be said.
“I know. You, at least, I would never doubt. I am going to walk the inner wall.”
“I will follow.”
For a time they were silent, but questions remained.
“What is going to happen?” Gorban asked.
“We will survive as we always have.”
“How can you be sure?”
“It is the only choice we have.”
Again there was silence until Gorban shifted. “They are afraid.”
Lukian’s sandals clapped the road.
“They will fight in the end.”
“Let us hope it won’t be too late,” Lukian said.
“But what about the food? How long can we survive before it runs out? And then what do we do?”
Lukian stopped. “There is always a way.”
“Most of the forges were destroyed in the flood. Your sons and I checked them today.”
“What remains?”
“A few on the outskirts appear usable, but they’re small,” Gorban said.
Lukian nodded. “Could you prepare one by tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“The days ahead will be long, but not long enough. We must jolt them from slumber.” He grabbed Gorban’s shoulder. “We cannot afford to wait.”
As night fell over the horizon, Gorban, Lukian, and his children congregated by the wall, kept watch, and burned fires to keep warm. For a time, Lukian was hopeful his other brothers and nephews would come.
None did.
26
Gorban inhaled the hot air belched from the forge, and was content for the first time in many days. As he hammered redhot metal, the flames in the furnace licked the sweat from his skin and dimmed the world behind the flash of molten metal. A song floated through his mind, and he scooped it up and let it burn his tongue. He remembered only a shard of one verse, after which he went on humming, but the words spilled like gold into the mold of the meter.
The green grass that covered the hill,
Near the dark forest ere winter’s chill,
Berry bushes and thickets tall,
And the oak and burdock in the fall,
As he repeated the words, Calebna appeared in the doorway. The man’s hair was tied back and cascaded like undyed silk, and his reedy face seemed tighter than usual, though he tipped his head in greeting.
Gorban wiped the grime from his hands.
“I hope you’re keeping a few tools for their original purpose,” Calebna said.
“Taking new interest in the business of men?”
Calebna cleared his throat, grabbed a hammer, and tested its weight. “Peaceful tasks are often most difficult in times of disquiet, so I understand in part what you attempt.”
“The forge is hot.”
He chuckled and seemed to search Gorban for sarcasm. “I’ve never had the gift for plain speech. Maybe you could teach me.”
Gorban folded his arms.
“I’m here for the people,” Calebna said.
“Having trouble?”
“It’s the question of leadership.”
“Adam hasn’t improved?”
“I thought you knew.”
“I’m busy,” Gorban said.
“Do you not care?”
“I’m no healer.”
“Well, you will be glad to hear he hasn’t worsened, but whatever ails him seems reticent to relinquish its grip. Many of us have little faith it will pass, and as your brother so eloquently illustrated, that leaves us with the question of headship.”
Gorban cursed, turned to his work, and said, “Drawing substance from you is worse than cleaning a wound.”
“It will be a few days until we decide, but the people are concerned. The weapons, the talk of fleeing into the wilderness, it has them worried.”
“I don’t know why it would.”
“There’s concern that if a choice of leadership were put through, violence may arise.”
“You know that wouldn’t happen.”
“I would hope it wouldn’t.”
“Lukian is a good man.”
“I know he is.”
“Why are you wasting my time?”
“The people just want to know you still have their best interest in mind.”
“We do.”
“All right.”
“All right.”
Calebna placed his hands on his hips. Gorban could see thoughts brewing in his eyes, in the way his mouth hung open as if ready to make a pronouncement. He was always making pronouncements.
“I will do whatever it takes to keep my family safe.”
Gorban motioned for the hammer still in Calebna’s hand, and the man handed it to him. “So will I.”
Calebna folded his arms. “You know how I feel about violence.”
“Times have changed. Why don’t you make yourself useful?”
Calebna’s lips tightened. “I will do what I must and no more.”
“What about your vow?”
“Violence is not the only means of resolving a dispute, and there are those who would fight to defend the innocents that Lukian is jeopardizing. He does not hold everyone’s attention. You are his brother. Tell me, why is Lukian doing this?”
“I’m busy.”
“Busy or hiding?”
“Ask him yourself. Or are you afraid?” Gorban shoved a half-made weapon into the furnace.
Calebna cleared his throat, looked sidelong at Gorban, then nodded and turned. In the archway, he stopped. “I remember the green grass on the hill. But lately it’s been hard to shut out winter’s chill. You should sing more.”
Gorban scowled and doubled his pace for the next hour.
“Something’s happening at the wall.”
“What is it?”
Gillian, Lukian’s eldest, looked afraid to say. “Fog.”
Lukian jumped up and followed his boy, who held a spear in his hands and the shadow of a beard on his face. The winding stairwell echoed with their footsteps as they ascended the parapet, and when they reached the top, the doorway opened to a divided sky. A pillar of Fog reared on the far side of the inner wall, and the outer wall, merely a waist-high mark of the extreme limits of the pasturelands, was completely consumed by gray mist.
Lukian followed Gillian to peer at the moisture. It seemed to loo
m over the wall, though it was only a trick of the eyes. His son pointed and Lukian noticed the reason for his fear. Countless eyes glowed like flickering candles in the gloom.
“They grow more numerous with each passing hour.”
Lukian’s hands gripped the wood of his weapon, but the sensation was dull. Old emotions tumbled through his chest like broken cinders as he looked at the clear sky over the City and realized the heat of the sun was mild, and the smell of spring was thick. He and his twin brother Lamech were playing at the river, skipping rocks through the reeds and imagining felling a Jinn with each throw. Lamech lifted a small boulder and stumbled with its weight in his eleven-year-old arms. After repositioning, he swung it into the river with a tremendous splash, though he couldn’t keep himself from being pulled in after it by the momentum. Water dripped from his hair as he jumped up laughing, and Lukian fell back and offered the sky his giggles.
“I know a place we can see one in the flesh,” Lamech whispered with squinted eyes and dimpled cheeks. “I saw it last week, but Father told me to close my eyes and forget. I counted our steps and marked the turns, and later, when he was asleep, I came back and killed one.”
“Your words float like a pile of rocks.”
Lamech shrugged and smiled. “But I did find it again.”
“If you get caught wandering off …”
“It’s not far. I could show you where it is.”
Lukian sat cross-legged, tearing grass up and staring at the water.
Lamech smirked. “Father will never know.”
“How do you know you weren’t looking at a wild dog?”
“I saw its eyes.”
“You didn’t see a thing.”
Lamech smiled as only an elder brother could, and Lukian knew. Father would understand, but Lamech wouldn’t.
Lamech turned, started walking, and waved for him to follow.
Lukian did.
As they arrived and peered over the edge, Lamech drew an invisible line with his finger, and Lukian’s excitement calmed.
“Fog? That’s what you came here to show me?”
“Its eyes burned like lanterns in the mist.” He continued in an excited whisper, “You should have been there! If I’d had a weapon, now that would have been something. I would have rammed that Jinn through the eye and stood over it just like this.” He donned a pose they once saw Cain assume over a dead Jinn, one of the first they had found in the wilderlands.
Lukian pushed his twin’s face. “You are full of lies.”
They stayed awhile longer, lying on the grass and peering into the Fog. Then Lukian spoke the deadly dare. How could he have known that would be the last time he would hear his brother laugh? God knew he hadn’t wanted his brother’s insides torn and thrown across the ground. God knew he hadn’t wanted to drive a thorn into his parents, but the pain had changed the way Cain looked at him, and the way Sarah looked at Cain.
“Father?” Gillian was looking at him.
Lukian closed his mouth, turned away, and tossed the memories over the edge of the wall.
“What are we going to do?”
“We will wait in the City, and if they break through the wall, we will do what we must.”
“That’s it?”
“What else would you have us do?” Lukian’s mind churned. They needed his brothers and nephews, but to belabor the fact was foolish. He could speak no word of their need. They would not survive any wavering.
If only we had run when we’d had the time, but we are trapped. We could never outrun a Fog this large.
Upon reaching the bonfire, they exchanged no words. Gillian sat with his arms folded, and Lukian stoked the fire from time to time, adding wood to entertain the blaze. The chill in the air felt like the beginnings of winter, but it would be many days until that season should begin. As the sun began its descent, Gorban returned from his labor at the forge. His arms were filled with weapons, and he set them in a heap.
“Where’s Mason?” Lukian said.
“Guess.”
“It is time someone spoke with him.”
Gorban’s breath hissed from his nostrils. He slapped the metallic dust from his tunic and left. Gillian followed, likely excited to hear what Gorban would say to the mute giant.
Lukian looked at his remaining children, Jubal, Irad, and Zachariah. Together, they numbered six armed warriors, yet still a pile of weaponry remained unused, and Zachariah, his youngest, had barely reached fifteen years. If they fought alone, they would die. But if they hid in the Temple, they would succumb to starvation in a matter of weeks.
Mason would come eventually. But what about the others?
27
Mason stoked the fire and felt the flame burning in his mother’s cheeks. How many times had he done this? When he found her floating in the water, it had almost been too late. Then the flame ignited, and she burned with hungry passion in the deep sleep that continued to devour her.
If I could but speak words of comfort, he thought. Since being taught as a boy, he whistled to fill the silence, and he did so now as he replaced her bandages and tended her ribs. The marks were black, and her toes kept their gruesome color. The skin on her fingertips was peeling, but would be usable in time. As long as the fever left. But that was why Calebna was praying.
The Temple. It seemed appropriate that what once had been their spiritual refuge was now their physical asylum. Built on the highest hill, it had remained safe from flooding, and that alone was reason enough to seek shelter within, after a significant portion of the City was destroyed. But more than that, Lukian had been right. They needed each other.
He stabbed at the burning wood. Calebna’s youngest cried in the hallway, and he wondered if those sounds reached Sarah’s mind. Was she paralyzed, cognizant but incapable of moving?
Her brow furrowed, and sweat beaded on her cheeks.
Fight the burning. Don’t let it consume you.
Sometimes, when he dreamed, he could speak and sing, and upon awakening the realization always stung like an open palm. It was easy to forget his strangeness, but the dreams always reminded him.
What did she dream? That her words were stopped?
The irony slipped down his throat like alcohol as he brushed his thick fingers through her hair. Veiny muscle contrasted with pale, tender skin. He promised he would be her strength as long as she needed. He would stay if all others left. He would—
Calebna’s child wailed louder. Why did it cry? Was it uncomfortable? Hungry? He wished someone would tend to it.
The door opened. “Mason.”
He did not turn.
“How is she?”
With a glance, Mason saw Gorban standing in the doorway, hardly filling it with his compact frame and black hair curling like vines around his trunk-like neck. Gillian peaked his mousy head from around Gorban.
How could Mason communicate the few times Sarah had woken, that in those moments he had only the time to give her water before she fell back asleep? He dabbed the sweat from her eyelids.
It’s been nearly three entire days since last you opened your eyes. Why won’t you wake?
Gorban said, “There’s Fog at the wall. It’s time. We can’t wait any longer.”
Sarah’s hands clenched and Mason took them in his fist and carefully pressed his thumb between her fingers until they relaxed.
“Brother.” A hand warmed Mason’s shoulder, but he shrugged it off. He could feel Gorban staring, but he remained obstinate, and soon Gorban’s footsteps shuffled out the door, leaving him and Sarah alone again.
I will stay. You’re going to be well again. You will. You must. They don’t realize why. But I do.
And he pulled the covers over her belly.
“Where is Mason?” Lukian said.
“He wouldn’t leave.”
“I told you to talk with him.”
“I did,” Gorban said.
“We can’t do this alone.”
“He’s as immovable as a boulder.”
“A stick can push a boulder if the right leverage is applied.”
“What of the Fog?”
“It has kept its distance, but the Jinn are amassing.” Lukian’s eyes were tired, and his shoulders sagged. “You remember how to use a spear?”
“Old muscles forget slowly.”
“Calebna still thinks the Temple will save him. The fool will kiss my feet before this is all over.”
“He came to talk to me the other day.”
“Ah?”
“Said he was there for the people, that they were worried about the threat of violence if a choice were made for a new leader. He wanted to know you still had the interest of the people in mind.” Gorban sucked his teeth. “He implied you wouldn’t be his first choice, and that God knows you wouldn’t be theirs either.”
Lukian smiled.
“He threatened you, in his roundabout sort of way.”
“Thank you for telling me.”
Gorban shrugged.
“I would love to see him fight again. That would be something worth my time.”
“Is Adam doing so badly?”
“No signs of improvement. The others have made perimeter checks, but the Fog is only on our eastern flank. We can’t afford to spread thin anymore, so until something happens, only one group of two will walk the inner wall in intervals.” Lukian nodded. “We ready ourselves for confrontation, and for what might come after. A decision over leadership will be unnecessary if this goes as I expect.”
“Many respect Calebna.”
Lukian lifted his hammer and tapped Gorban’s chest. “Worry less of me and more of how you’re going to get Mason out here. And don’t worry if you return before me. It’s time I apply some leverage of my own.”
28
You made the right choice.” Terah’s hand slipped into Calebna’s and squeezed.
Calebna laid his head against the wall of the prayer room. Lampstands stood beside a small cushion set atop an ornate rug of gold and violet, and next to them lay the bed he and his wife had slept in since the storm subsided. “That’s not it.”
Cain: The Story of the First Murder and the Birth of an Unstoppable Evil Page 12
