“What then?”
Calebna chuckled. What couldn’t it be? “I wouldn’t leave you like that, not for such hopelessness. Lukian is just trying to be a man of action. He’s trying to fix things.” A pause. “He’s trying to be his father.”
“So who are you trying to be?”
“I don’t know anymore. A good man.”
“You are a good man.”
He searched her face. “What is good?”
“You are.”
“I mean what is good?”
“I don’t understand.”
Ben was crying again. Terah’s hand left his as she went to their infant, cooing as she gathered him in her arms. Calebna watched her, but his mind was fixed. He had thought the Almighty was good. He had thought living in safety was good. He had thought peace was good. He had thought a happy life was good. But all of that was gone.
Ben’s cries continued. Calebna stood and paced the room. He wanted to speak to Lukian again, but what would he say? He shook his head. Lukian wanted a fight. He would enjoy a fight. But part of Calebna would enjoy it as well.
No, he thought, I am no longer that man.
“Are you all right?”
He was looking at the floor, resting one hand against the wall while the other fiddled with the medallion around his neck. He looked at Terah and nodded, assuming a more relaxed position and taking Ben from her. Calebna held him out and watched him writhe and wail, his tears dripping down his fat cheeks.
If only Ben knew the real horror of life. If only he knew the pain he would endure, the anxiety of danger, the ache of loss. Maybe there would be moments where the sun would warm his toes, but there would be so much more sorrow in a world without God.
It would be better if he were never born.
Terah snatched Ben back and held him upright on her shoulder, rubbing his back. “What has gotten into you?”
He hadn’t realized he had spoken his thoughts.
“Don’t you dare say such things.”
“You’d rather he live in hell?”
Her mouth warped as if ready to retort, but she whipped around and ignored him instead. Ben was crying louder, disturbed by the angry tones.
“I didn’t mean it spitefully,” he said.
Terah didn’t respond. She was bouncing Ben, who had found his thumb and sucked, barely breathing past the mucus in his nose. His wet cheeks dried against Terah’s hair, and his eyes looked like washed crystals. Such innocence. Such purity.
“I’m just angry. Not at you.” He paused, searching his reasons. “I don’t know what I’m angry at. I just don’t want him to taste pain.”
Still bouncing her son, Terah said, “He already has.”
Calebna regretted what he had said. He was weary, that was all.
Terah’s eyes flamed. “Don’t say that again.”
“All right.”
“I’m not a fool.”
“You’re not.”
“I know the world isn’t going to be good to him. It hasn’t been good to me either. You’re not the only one suffering, not the only one who’s lost someone, who’s lost hope.”
“I know.” An admission.
An uncomfortable silence followed. Calebna leaned against the wall and his wife sat and cradled Ben in her lap. Ben settled and drifted to sleep. Terah looked at Calebna from time to time. Her gaze was hard but, somewhere beneath, filled with affection.
“Love is.”
He cocked his head. “What?”
“Love. Love is good.”
He nodded, though the statement begged the question, what, then, is love? He thought about asking, but didn’t have the energy. They remained as they were, though she turned so he wouldn’t see her cry.
Someone knocked at the door and Terah stood and sniffed away the wetness. Calebna rose and cracked the door.
Calebna saw Lukian’s face through the gap. “We need to talk.” Lukian peered over Calebna’s shoulder.
Calebna filled the gap with his body. “Not here.”
“Follow me.” Lukian turned and walked three steps away.
“Wait.”
“There’s no time. Come.” His eyes widened. “Now.”
Calebna glanced behind him and heard Ben start crying again. He paused, stepped out, shut the door, and chased the sounds of Lukian’s footsteps.
They walked down corridors and descended stairs to storage compartments that smelled like incense and mildew. Lukian placed a torch in a receptacle on the wall and shut the wooden door behind them. “I didn’t think you, of all people, would stoop to such tactics.”
“I’ve done nothing.”
“What do you think you will accomplish?”
“I’m fulfilling my responsibility.”
“The demonic Fog has amassed near the eastern wall.”
Calebna’s throat felt cold. “And?”
“Stop playing the fool. I saw them. Jinn. Hundreds, maybe thousands. Look for yourself if you’re unsatisfied with my word. There are so many …” Lukian shook his head. “More than I’ve ever seen before. We cannot do this alone. Not anymore. And you’re dividing us.”
“Me? Everyone is here in the Temple except the men you’ve recruited to your bonfires.”
“Why do you think we’re out there? To relax in the warmth of firelight? This Temple won’t save you. They’ll tear its roof down on top of you. You’re a fool to think otherwise.”
Calebna slowed his words and sharpened their edges. “I’d rather be a righteous fool than a clever wicked man.”
“Would you murder your family to be named righteous?”
Calebna’s scarred leg ached as he remembered what the Jinn had done to him. As a young man he had grown bitter about his wounds and had harmed Terah as a result of it. He could never let that happen again, but to think of what the Jinn had done to Lamech, whom Calebna had loved in childhood …
“You don’t have the luxury of living in black and white anymore.”
“I have already chosen.”
“The Jinn are going to break the wall, and when they do, this Temple will not save you. Who will you blame when your infant and wife are crushed before you?”
Calebna’s eyes narrowed.
“We have no hope while divided, but together …”
Calebna nodded slowly.
“The death in my words is as real as the breath in your chest.”
“God will deliver me. What about you? What do you hold onto? Yourself?”
“I will not apologize for putting my family first. The Almighty never loved me. He never loved any of us. If he had, he wouldn’t have let this happen. And you’re following in his footsteps, abandoning us in our time of need. You are free to stay in your Temple, but you’re not free to decide for them.” Lukian approached and thrust his finger into Calebna’s chest. “Gorban told me about your visit.”
Will this come to violence? Calebna wondered. He examined the empty storage room and listened to the silence, suddenly fearful of it.
“He said you claimed you’d do anything to defend your family.”
Calebna backed up until he leaned against the wall, but could not quell the beating of his heart. What would happen if I killed in defense?
No, I cannot not choose that way.
“I challenge you to prove your words hold meaning.” Lukian leaned forward and Calebna felt his hot breath on his ear. “If you don’t, I will.”
With that, Lukian spat, smeared it across the floor with his sandal, and strode away.
Calebna stayed until the torch nearly petered out. Thoughts rumbled in him, and for the first time in years, he pondered violence.
Love. Love is …
He stared into the darkness. Love is what?
29
Gorban cursed as he flung the Temple door open.
I’m not a fool. If Mason weren’t Mason, there’d be no difficulty finding the proper leverage.
Lukian was right, of course, which made Gorban all the more irritable.
They needed their brother. If he just weren’t so attached to Sarah.
That’s an unworthy thought.
And yet I thought it.
Gorban tried the door he thought was the correct one only to receive Philo’s hand in his face. “Out, out. What are you doing?”
He apologized and doubled back, feeling heat on his neck. Two more tries in the labyrinth and he succeeded, thinking, The Almighty’s obsession with symmetry runs deep.
Mason knelt as before, petting Sarah’s hand in the dim room that crackled with warm smells, not all pleasant. Lukian’s wife, Keshra, stood by and watched for signs of cognition. Sarah’s eyelids were ashen pale against the silhouette cast by the flames, and seeing her frailty stirred deep emotions within Gorban. He cleared his throat and knelt at Mason’s left. This time, his hand was allowed to perch on his brother’s shoulder. “How is she?” His voice was reverent as he nodded to Keshra, who bowed and left them.
Sweat darkened Mason’s bed-of-snakes hair.
Gorban nearly spoke several times, but words seemed to fall short of communicating what he desired, as they so often did. Finally he chose to say something, anything. “I am sorry I wasn’t there.”
Mason offered a wary glance.
“I—we need you. Our danger grows.”
Mason could be so inscrutable. It made Gorban itch to leave. He scratched his leg and his voice grew sharp. “Will you abandon us in our need?”
Mason glanced at Sarah as if to ask, “What of her need?”
“Keshra and Peth can tend to her. Healing is women’s work.”
Mason shoved him away.
Gorban smacked the dust from his hands and glared at the back of Mason’s head. “Never claim I didn’t try.” He threw up his arms in mock surprise. “But I forget—you couldn’t if you wanted.” Gorban spun on his heel, making sure to accentuate the slap of his sandals against the floor.
As he slipped out of the room, he realized the need to invent an explanation. Lukian wouldn’t be happy. Then again, Lukian was never happy.
Lukian found Kiile and Machael, as expected, huddled together and attended by their wives and children. Kiile lounged against a cushion, his limbs splayed and his mouth filled with racket. His children stood in a ring, laughing and nudging each other while a pair of the youngest wrestled and exchanged blows. Machael sat cross-legged beside his wife, Zillah, and watched with those sleepy eyes. His children stood and pointed from time to time, looking unimpressed, as usual.
“I expected you sooner,” Machael said, his voice slow and deliberate.
“I could say the same,” Lukian said.
“You know it’s too much fun to hear Kiile chastised by the others’ wives. It’s like the old days when we slept huddled together and traveled in a group through the wilderlands.”
“In more ways than one.”
Machael nodded and seemed to grow drowsier yet.
There was a roar of applause and a few moans of dissatisfaction as Kiile’s youngest wrenched his brother’s arm back and slammed his face into the floor.
“He’s like his grandfather, that one,” Machael said. And then he added, “Are the weapons ready?”
“They’re piled against the inner wall.”
“Some are too young,” Machael said.
Lukian pointed at the littlest boy, who strutted about slapping the hands of his elder brothers. “That one fights like a badger. By your own estimation he’s useful.”
“It will end in grief,” Machael said.
“Another one of your premonitions?”
“Just a feeling.”
“If it weren’t for the gift of speech, I’d doubt you had feelings at all.”
“Kiile will be eager to see his weaponry. He’s stayed with Elsa, but his mind is with you.”
“He’s chained to that woman.”
“At least they retain a connection.”
Lukian huffed.
Machael’s oldest, Madai, tapped his father on the shoulder, “May I participate in the wrestling contest?”
“Change out of that tunic first, and wash it and hang it before the night comes.”
Madai bowed, smirked, stripped his tunic off and left to join the raucous ring.
Machael turned to Lukian. “Others will come. And soon.”
“Another one of your feelings?” Lukian said.
“A premonition.”
Kiile welcomed Madai, noticed Lukian, jumped to his feet, and called out as he approached. “Brother! Come to clean the dirt out of your bed?”
“Only to place it in yours.”
“I can always rely on you.” They embraced, and his smile faded as quickly as it came. “They’re prepared?”
Lukian nodded.
Kiile cursed and thanked the Almighty in the same breath, then lowered his voice so his wife wouldn’t hear. “I’m worried about Elsa.”
Lukian said, “Calebna won’t let her leave?”
“That’s not it. God knows he would restrain her if he could—he’s policing everyone with increasing intensity—but she’ll slip a knife in him to be next to me when the battle comes.”
“If Calebna hasn’t the strength to restrain her, Terah will,” Lukian said.
Kiile laughed long and hard. “Maybe.”
“Eve made the pronouncement after hearing word of the Jinn. No women are to leave until Calebna deems it safe,” Machael said.
“What of the boys?” Lukian asked.
“Calebna will let them choose for themselves.” One of Machael’s eyes awakened and bored into Lukian. “Every boy must learn to be his own master. Eve could not disagree, and yet she could not let her daughters go.”
“Ah … and if Kiile takes the boys from Elsa?”
His eye fell back asleep. “She will stay.”
Kiile grimaced and said to Machael, “I like you better when you don’t talk.” Then to Lukian, “Did Gorban make it how I asked?”
“You know your preferences better than me.”
Kiile searched for and caught Elsa’s gaze. He nodded as if she knew what he wanted to ask, and she frowned in response. “What?” he yelled. “If the sun sets and darkness touches my toes, I’ll cut them off for you.”
She twisted her hair and secured it in a bun with a bamboo rod. “Promise me the feet!”
Kiile smiled, then glared at his brothers. “Well? Show me my weapons—and quickly!”
30
The touch of clothing on Eve’s skin gripped her attention with painful intensity. She looked down and saw her thinness exposed by the ever-loosening dress. She no longer remembered what she last ate or when. Her stomach didn’t even ache anymore, and she was reminded of the years spent in the wilderness, carrying twins and living a hunted life.
She breathed in, then breathed out. The very twins whose fates have been twisted down to Sheol.
She rubbed her arms. Through the years, the Jinn had grown greater in number. At first, avoiding them had not been difficult, but as they multiplied, so did the danger.
After obeying the summons and coming back to their Creator, they had thought themselves immune. Now they were trapped.
Eve tipped her head and caught Adam sitting against the wall. She stared at the creases in his robe, the way his hands twitched in his lap, and how his eyes squinted at the lines in the wall. In all the madness, all the confusion and danger, he had done nothing.
“Wake up,” she whispered. She wondered what would happen if she shook him, if she grabbed him by the tunic and threw him to the ground. Nothing, she answered. He would do nothing. She crossed to him trembling. “Wake up.” She slapped his face, and the sting echoed in the skin of her fingers.
Do I hate him?
I hate his not being here. I hate his silence. His love for Abel.
“Yes,” she said. “I see you loved him more than you loved me, for you left me in order to somehow find him, to reconstruct him from your memories—the only place he still lives. But I can’t follow you there.”
Eve swallowed the anger as new emotions arose. Some she recognized, others were muddled. Her hand reached, then retreated to rest on her sternum. She said, “Truly, I love you more than I could ever express,” but those words dissipated like fogged breath. “How could I not after so many years? After knowing the life I have was crafted from yours? I couldn’t let you waste away alone. That’s why I have stayed, but still …” The bitterness burned, and out of the ash came something familiar. She thought it pity, though it could have been shame.
I see now where all this violence was born—all those years ago in the shadow of that cave, and his worshipping that little babe.
“How could you do this to me?” Tears dribbled down her cheeks and neck. “Look at you. You’re a wretched thing, dead but still breathing.”
She crouched, paused, then slid her arms around him and laid her head on his chest. It was warm and solid, and it rose and fell and thumped out a rhythm.
This is the man I was fashioned from, the man I was created for.
How foolish her anger was. He had failed her, but she had failed him too. Leaves, falling in the autumn wind, shimmered as if branded into her eyelids, and she winced at the memory.
The Serpent. The coppery flavor of forbidden fruit. The red-black juice leaking down my hand as I push it toward Adam and offer him a taste of death. The burn of the sun on my naked flesh as I breathe in the sensation of terrible exposure, and the genesis of darkness in Adam’s eyes as he takes in my figure and for the first time I feel the fear of a man’s desire.
A hundred and fifty years passed and Sin had stolen her children and killed her God. And when she needed Adam most, he was lost in his mind.
His tunic was wet with her tears. “Please,” she implored as she clawed his back. “I know you’ve carried the guilt of that moment all these years. I could see it in your eyes, I could feel it in your touch. You took the shame, and accepted my own, but I shouldn’t have made you do that. I was just scared. I loved you too much to admit I had harmed you.” Her words were swallowed by sobs, but somehow she managed to say, “I’m so sorry.” The moans forced the words out until she nearly screamed, “Can’t you see that I love you? That I never blamed you? But I let you suffer alone all these years. How could I leave you alone? And now …”
Cain: The Story of the First Murder and the Birth of an Unstoppable Evil Page 13
