Cain: The Story of the First Murder and the Birth of an Unstoppable Evil

by McPherson, Brennan

  Someone slipped loose rocks from the cliff, and the sound of them skipping into the valley of the City of the Almighty echoed on and on. Cain turned. Lukian had pulled himself over the lip and brushed sand and dust from his tunic. Kiile and Mason followed and lifted Gorban, whose leg remained unusable.

  The people had grown soft in the comfort of nearly two years of safety, but the awareness of life in the wild would wake them soon.

  “Lukian’s mind is burning against you.”

  The Abomination’s words kept breaking through his thoughts. He was angered by it, but felt the sting of its perception nonetheless.

  “Learn your place,” he whispered. “It is early still. He is my son. My eldest …”

  “Now you taste power, but can you swallow it?”

  His tongue tingled with the sensations. It was like tasting blood, like drinking life. He looked at his gray skin, saw the paleness, and wondered how many more days he could wait. Would he need to slip away unnoticed?

  Mason dipped to help Sarah up. She clutched his arm as he lifted and set her atop the cliff. She stood tall and erect as she let go of her son’s muscled arm, and her dress rippled against her slender frame as she stumbled on a rolling stone. Mason caught her by the forearm, but still she looked so elegant, notwithstanding how gaunt she was from days of starvation. He noticed the nearly imperceptible bump of her lower abdomen growing to accommodate what developed inside.

  Pregnant, Cain thought. My unborn child grows, just as she said. I knew it was more than a dream.

  “So why will she not look at you, let alone touch you?”

  He clenched his hands as the Abomination returned to wag its tongue in his ear.

  “She should fear you. It is better yet that she hate you. You cannot allow any to become too comfortable in your presence. That was the mistake the Almighty made. They slipped from his grip and began to question him. And they will question you too. Suffering is the only true teacher. Be free with your rod.”

  He realized he was nodding, and Lukian was watching. Their gazes met, and Cain could hardly hear anything beyond the Abomination’s exclamations. He quieted it and, with great struggle, rejected its grab for power. It had become so difficult to maintain control, and doing so now squeezed sweat through his pores. He wiped his face and shifted away.

  The Abomination. Bloodthirsty destruction manifested in personhood. It wanted to consume—to grow—but the time was not yet ripe. The Abomination thirsted for the human soul above all else, and he could pacify it for a while with animals, but there was a chance that Lukian might still prove useful. Cain hadn’t yet been able to test the Waters for the certainty he needed, but he had sensed the possibility.

  He chuckled, though he knew the Abomination heard and rightly divined its cause. The trouble with possibilities is they contain both deliverance and danger. I must wait. I must endure the chaos. Just a little while longer …

  Lukian stared at him, and Cain turned eastward, determined to focus on their destination.

  Towering trees and leaves like fans in the morning. The smell of damp life, the relief of shade, and the touch of cool water bubbling from deep underground. A place we can begin anew. A place to observe the New Religion.

  “The place where I am God,” he whispered, resisting the foreboding he sensed from that place beyond Time.

  The desert wilderness made him long for green life. He thought back to the days spent in the underground City of the Light Bringer, and how the relentless stone and pale light had grown to a buzzing drone. But he bit his cheek upon thinking of the dark chamber and the goblet of blood. Cain was no longer the same boy straining for Adam’s acceptance. The Abomination had changed him.

  Or had he changed himself? Upon giving himself to the Abomination at the edge of his life in the wilderness, both his person and body had become something new, but where had the opportunity for that change originated? Cain and the Abomination had merged in an unholy coupling, like naked bodies in the dark, and yet even then the change had not been fully realized.

  He breathed and flexed his forearms to feel the strength that coursed through his veins; part gift of the Almighty, part human evolution. He savored it as he savored its beginnings through the sound of a breaking skull. He had done it. He had proved his supremacy and gained a power none had imagined.

  Now he was God. He was Satan.

  But inside there remained turbulence. With so much power, how could he not calm the Waters? Why had everything become so much more perilous?

  Because you’ve set yourself in the Abomination’s crucible. You’ve used it to gain supremacy, but at what cost?

  He did not know. Perhaps the Man would have known, but the Man was dead.

  Kiile whispered to Gorban, who hushed him, and Cain turned and spoke so they all could hear. “If we continue at the same pace, we will arrive a day early. Though it will be a strain on the wounded, I assure you it will be worth the struggle. The haven I have prepared for you is without equal.”

  Sarah shifted her eyes away as Cain neared. He was captivated by her neck and shoulders, the way the musculature wove under her delicate skin, and how the artery rolled to the rhythm of the Music—or was it the other way around? He averted his gaze and cleared his throat. “I assure you that when we arrive, everything will become clear.”

  Cain sensed Sarah’s gaze flick his direction, but only for a moment, and looked in time to see her twirl away. Mason observed him, then turned and followed his mother.

  Cain stared at the space she had occupied. The others watched him, and he suppressed the Abomination’s motion for control. “We rest for the night.”

  43

  The Temple entrance loomed as Seth reached for Ayla’s fingers and remembered the smell of the air as they stood before the mouth of the ruinous Shrine of the Song. “The last time we saw this Temple, it was shrouded in darkness and storm.”

  Ayla nodded. “I barely reached you in time. If I hadn’t seen you hobbling into the storm and followed after, what would have happened?”

  “I wouldn’t be here. And neither would you.”

  She brushed the golden doors. “This world feels so unreal in comparison. I keep wondering if maybe I am sleeping on the Sands and dreaming of us being in this place. That maybe you really are dead, as you should have been after that terrible machine …”

  “You know this is real.”

  “So what was the Shrine? What was the Music? What was the machine, the forest?”

  “That too was real.”

  “I saw it stab you. I held my hand against your deadly wound and felt your blood between my fingers. If that was real, then how are we here? Why are we here?”

  “I don’t know. But we must behave as if both worlds exist in more than just our minds.” He quieted and thought once more of his nightmares.

  Ayla said, “Do you think we will find ourselves there again?”

  “I hope not.”

  “I keep thinking of what the machine said about another City where a different Music plays.”

  “I remember it speaking of Watchers as well, but we saw none. Maybe the City is nothing more than a myth, something the machine used to entice us deeper into the Shrine.”

  “Maybe,” she said. “But what if it does exist? What if that City, and the Music that plays there, was what we failed to find in the Shrine?”

  Seth remembered the sensuous pull of the Song, how he had longed to give in, and where those desires brought him. What could war against such darkness but Light itself? He smiled, feeling a bit of the normalcy between them from before they opened themselves to the Music. “I thought I was the positive one.”

  “That’s why you smile so much.”

  Seth’s ears retuned to the deafening silence, and his smile faded like the color of the world they inhabited. He grabbed the handle of the Temple door and swung it wide. Together they entered and shut the door behind them.

  After their eyes adjusted, Ayla said, “Someone is in the sacr
ificial chamber.”

  He strained to see past the ghosts of sunlight. “What do you see?”

  “Torchlight, I think.”

  Slowly, a dim glow appeared at the far end of the room, as if from around a bend.

  She squeezed his hand and whispered, “Someone is here.”

  He hushed her. “Don’t speak until we know it is safe.”

  “Why?”

  “Do you not remember what happened before we first came to the Temple in the storm? If everything we heard was true—as I believe it is—if Cain murdered Abel and the Almighty is gone, then this Temple is no longer what it was.”

  “The Almighty isn’t gone,” Ayla said.

  “What do you mean?” he said.

  “You say everything we remember is real.”

  “We saw his empty throne, his bloodied crown and robe.”

  “We saw a Place that should not exist,” she said.

  “What about the silence of the City of the Almighty? The dead grass and trees?”

  “We died, but now we’re alive,” Ayla said. “You know as well as I do that we should have sunk into the depths of those Waters. Something took hold of us. That’s why I let go of you.”

  It would make a terrible sort of sense if he weren’t able to remember the nightmares that had thrown him into seizures before they passed into that world beyond worlds. “You may be sure, but I’m not. Just trust me.”

  She paused long, then said, “I will.”

  “We stay to the shadows as much as we can. And don’t let go of my hand. I will not be separated from you again.”

  He thought she nodded, but heard no response. He sensed in her silence, in the way she moved, that she knew he was keeping something from her. He wanted to brush it off, but could no longer behave as if the world were no more than a reason to smile. He had seen the future and experienced the Song, and for her own sake, he could not tell her much. Because telling her would change her behavior and influence the outcome, and she would not survive it. However, silence held its own dangers—some that he couldn’t avoid.

  Seth pulled her closer as they edged through the hallway. There was a sharp smack of metal against stone, and she jumped. It happened again, and they flattened against the wall of the hallway where the shadows were deepest. Again a loud smack, and with it a grunt and the sound of toppling tables or lampstands.

  He slipped past Ayla and motioned for her to stay, though she followed anyway. As they reached the end of the hall, they both peeked around the corner. She breathed sharply, and he clamped a hand over her mouth and pulled her back.

  Ayla pushed his hand away. “Is that …?”

  He motioned for silence, but said, “Calebna.”

  Calebna had carefully gathered the rugs, tapestries, lampstands, tables, and benches, and placed them in front of the altar that was still dirty from the celebration that marked the beginning of the end of his life. Calebna had to scoot the ashen bones of Abel’s sheep in order to make room for the items, and still pieces tumbled down the sides.

  “Sacrifice.” The word echoed through the chamber, brilliant and brief, like a spark underwater. “The last servant of the Almighty stands where all things have come to an end. Here, he will join his God.”

  Calebna walked to the wall where the torch sat, wrapped his fingers around the wooden handle, and lifted it from its receptacle. He stood watching the flames drip, then walked to the pile and touched fire to oil. Flaming tides swept up the heap, and the fabrics burned and crackled and sent sparks to the ceiling like dying stars. Calebna stood back, raised his arms to the blaze, as if listening to some far-off Music. Oil dripped from his hands as he closed his eyes.

  “As evil was born through one decision, so it will be destroyed through atonement.”

  Atonement. The exchange of life for life. An endless cycle.

  Today, for Calebna at least, that cycle would end. He opened his eyes and walked closer, his sandals crunching glowing ashes. “They left me because I believed in you.” He wiped his face with his forearm, feeling emotions claw out of hiding. “I lost everything for you. For a lie.”

  Calebna took another step forward. The heat of the flames urged his eyes closed, but he spread his arms wide. He thought of Terah, Jacob, and Ben. It had been two days since they left, and though he had been sure Jacob, at least, would have returned, he hadn’t. No one had.

  This was how God rewarded the faithful. This was the lot of the righteous. He had done everything he could to serve God and lead his family in the way the Man commanded, yet he would die alone.

  By my own hand, and in the time of my choosing.

  “Now.” He let the word linger amongst the sizzling refuse, as if the flames would listen. He opened his eyes to examine the force that would unite him with his God. The heap was a molten, slumping mountain. Tongues of fire licked the air, and beyond them …

  What is that?

  He squinted and discerned an upright shape in the hallway beyond the sacrificial altar.

  He stepped back from the flames and shuffled past the pile to see more clearly. Yes, he could see a man standing in plain sight in the entryway. A man he recognized, but who could not be there, because he had been dead for weeks.

  “Seth?” Calebna’s lips dried, and he passed his hand over his eyes. The man was still there. “You died. You were dead. You should be dead.”

  Seth stepped closer.

  “Stay back,” Calebna said.

  Seth raised his palms. “I won’t harm you.”

  Calebna pointed at him. “You came to take me with you.”

  Seth frowned as if confused. Speaking slowly, he said, “I have come to take you with me, but perhaps not to where you expect.”

  The heat of the flames seemed to singe the hair on the back of Calebna’s neck. He shook his head and dropped to his knees. “Not there. You can’t take me there.” He clenched his teeth. “I gave my life for him.”

  Seth laughed. “I’m not here to usher you into the afterlife.”

  Calebna glanced up. “Either this is a dream, or I am dead.” He looked at the fire and imagined his body lying there. Had he killed himself without realizing?

  “Give me a moment to explain. Don’t be impatient.”

  “Patience has given me only pain. I won’t be swayed by the lies of a demon,” Calebna said. Was he lying there, his skin crackling and bubbling in the heat?

  “I am no demon. I am Seth, third son of Adam, once dead and twice alive. I have returned to this world to do something. Maybe to help you.” He glanced at the flaming hump of refuse, then at Calebna.

  “If you’re not a demon, then tell me how you are alive. I helped seal you in your tomb. I touched your body after Mason found you dead in this very Temple.”

  Seth’s smile faded.

  Calebna waved his hand. “Enough lies. Leave me in peace if you won’t give me answers.”

  Seth stirred and licked his lips. “Why not put your torch down and follow me outside?”

  “Because I’m going to kill myself.”

  Seth stopped. His reaction made Calebna question if he could be real. But there had been so much death. If Seth truly were alive, why him and not Abel? Why now instead of days ago, when he needed a sign, when he pleaded for help to the point of tears? He turned away. “If only you were more than a ghost.”

  “Do you deny that a ghost could possess knowledge you do not?”

  “I deny your existence.”

  “What danger lies in following me and listening, just for a moment?”

  “The fire will only last so long.”

  “If sight and sound won’t cure your doubts …” Seth approached and offered his hand. “Touch me. Feel my body.”

  Calebna stared at him.

  “Grab my hand and tell me I’m not real.”

  Calebna reached and touched Seth’s fingers. They felt thick and warm. He retreated a step, his mind reeling for a way to explain the mystery before him. “If you’re not a dream, I must lo
ok like a fool.”

  “You look desperate.”

  “I suppose I am,” Calebna said.

  “I cannot help our family alone.”

  Could it be real? “A legion could not help them. The whole world is lost.”

  “You don’t believe that.”

  “Why do you think I’m here?”

  “You plainly had plans before I arrived,” Seth said.

  “Leave me to fulfill them.”

  “First, tell me why you paused when you saw me.”

  Calebna tried to answer, but instead swallowed hard.

  Seth continued, “What reason could there be besides that you thought it possible somehow to start over, to heal?”

  “I lost my family. My God. How can you heal what’s no longer there?”

  “I don’t know. But that does not mean it can’t be done.”

  “There’s nothing left for me now.”

  “Then why did you stop?”

  Because I hoped you were my son, Calebna thought. But he couldn’t say that. He couldn’t say anything.

  “I can’t imagine the darkness you’ve endured, but maybe that’s why I’ve returned,” Seth said.

  Calebna thought of his speech at the funeral, the way Eve had dipped to touch Seth’s cheek, and the grind of stone as they sealed the tombs. But here Seth stood with fingers that felt all too real, and a voice that reasoned just like the man he had known.

  “I was dead, but now I am alive, and I think you are the reason why,” Seth said.

  “How could I be?”

  Seth offered his hand again. “Let me show you.”

  44

  Sarah walked to the edge of the cliff. Stars dotted the sky and lit the valley beyond the drop, and in the distance lay the walled City of the Almighty. The mountains circled it like the cupped hands of God, and the river running through it shimmered like a serpent caught between his fingers.

  “It is as beautiful as when I first saw it.” Sarah glanced at Mason, who sat cross-legged at the edge. He was staring at her silently, sternly. “You were too serious, even as a child.” She nodded toward the City. “Do you miss it already?”