The Fall - By Chana Keefer

CHAPTER Twenty-Two

Discord



Rapha inhaled heaven’s scent. It revived him, renewing his hope and bringing peace.

A moment later, frightened cries greeted his ears as the heavenly guard drove the pursuers back down the mountain. He breathed his thanks even as his hands continued their ministrations to Cain’s torn body. If only he had access to a certain plant that had flourished in Eden….

The sweet fragrance flowed around him once again and his eyes were drawn to a spot of bright light a few paces away. Once again he breathed his gratitude just as Abel reappeared.

“Rapha! It was amazing! The wind blew and there were noises and voices in it and the dogs ran away and the men screamed and—”

“I saw it, too,” Rapha said as he pointed toward the light. “Bring me some of that plant. Quickly.”

Abel grew quiet at the sight of his brother’s broken frame and hurried to obey. Rapha rinsed Cain’s wounds with the fermented juice he kept in the small flask attached to his waist, then applied the new plant’s sticky, cleansing sap, pressing torn flesh together as if a layer of protective skin had been applied. When Rapha reset the bones in Cain’s arm and leg, the boy came to painful awareness, but long draughts from Rapha’s flask numbed his pain.

It was the head wound that worried Rapha most. Once again he sought heaven’s assistance and focused on the cleansed area that continued to swell until, finally, a new stream of fluid flowed from the wound and the pressure eased. Although this was the least obvious of the day’s miracles, he sensed the direct presence of Adonai, knitting what Rapha could not see.

Rapha felt a bit of the tension relax in his shoulders. He took a deep breath and sat back on his heels. “Thank You, Adonai.”

“He’ll be okay?” Abel whispered.

“He will mend but we must hurry. We have to carry him.”

By the time they were pulling Rapha’s cloak tight over the frame of branches they would use to move Cain, the sun was high in the sky. Then, as they groaned and lifted Cain’s weight up to their shoulders to struggle through a steep cleft, a horn’s blast echoed from the cliff walls around them, followed by the excited baying of dogs.

“What will we do?” Abel asked, voice cracking, muscles straining and eyes wide with fright. “They are all around.”

“Pray and keep going,” Rapha stated. “The rocks are deceiving your ears. They are not as close as it seems and there are none directly ahead.”

“But they can move much faster. What will we do if they catch us?”

“Have you forgotten so quickly how Adonai drove them away? Pray and keep going,” Rapha said again as he was forced to use one hand to climb and the other to steady the heavy frame.

But as the sun inched toward the west, their path remained rocky and steep while the sounds of pursuit grew nearer.

“What did you do before to make the wind rush at them?” Abel asked as they paused at the top of an especially grueling incline. “Perhaps you should do it again.”

“I prayed,” Rapha adjusted his grip on Cain’s bed, “Adonai and the celestial host moved the wind.” A shout of triumph sounded from below. “We have been seen,” Rapha stated.

They began moving uphill but their path led over open terrain with another steep, rocky hill at the far end. “Perhaps we can slow them down,” Rapha said when he spied a circling hawk far above. With a thought, Rapha summoned the bird.

“You just called him, didn’t you,” Abel stated.

“I pictured him descending to us.”

Abel squinted up at the hawk that began spiraling toward them. Soon it landed a few feet away, one bright eye fixed on Rapha.

“He is impatient and wants to get back to his hunt, right?” Abel whispered.

“Yes,” said Rapha, “now I am asking for his aid.”

Abel stared hard at the hawk that gave one “Skree!” and flapped into the air.

“He agreed, didn’t he,” Abel stared, awestruck, after the bird. “That was amazing. It was more feeling than words, but I got it!”

Rapha took a tighter grip on Cain’s bed, “Be amazed later. We must hurry or the diversion will be in vain.”

As they raced over the level stretch of ground the hawk’s cries continued and were joined by the squawks, chirps and caws of other birds. By the time they reached the cliff, the noise was almost deafening as a feathered cloud amassed above them, growing steadily as birds continued to materialize from the surrounding trees and rocky crags.

But their pursuers were closing in. As Rapha and Abel struggled to heave the unconscious Cain up the cliff that barred their way, the dogs reached the base and the golden-haired leader was standing at the edge of the trees, a rallying cry on his lips.

Many things happened at once. Several dogs yapped and struggled to climb, their powerful jaws snapping at Rapha’s feet. Cain groaned and Rapha discovered the boy’s eyes were open—just as Ish-el burst from the trees, screaming commands and racing ahead of his men onto the grassy expanse. But Ish-el’s voice, in turn deep and resonant, then cracking with immaturity, was swallowed up in screeches as the cloud of birds lowered and became a barricade of flapping, clawing cacophony. Dogs yelped, men screamed, and the birds, a darting, undulating mass, fed the frenzy.

But Ish-el raised a hand toward the diving flock and, as if a mighty wind blew them off-course, the birds in that direction were scattered.

Cain and Abel gasped. “Did you see that?” they asked in unison.

“Do not stare! Climb!” Rapha commanded the awestruck Abel. “They will continue to dive until we are away.”

“Make the birds stop. The men are stabbing them!”

“Abel, we have to get Cain to safety.”

“But the birds are not hurting them.”

“Which is what I instructed,” Rapha heaved himself up to another foothold.

“It’s not right,” Cain pleaded weakly.

“Rest, Cain,” Rapha said, “there is a place close by. I will tend you there.”

But Cain’s eyes were riveted to the drama below. “No!” he strained against the straps holding him to the bed as a harsh “Skree!” filled the air. “You!” Cain yelled, “Get him!”

Rapha turned, following Cain’s gaze, and the situation was all too clear. Ish-el had skewered a hawk and, with a shout of triumph, was swinging the still-shrieking bird in the air like a banner, unaware that a monstrous eagle, talons extended, bore down toward his golden head.

In an instant the sharp claws were imbedded in Ish-el’s bare shoulders and blood poured down his back as the bird pecked and dug. Ish-el flailed his arms and screamed.

“Cain! Tell him to stop!” Abel begged, just as the eagle’s beak aimed for Ish-el’s eyes.

“No! Peace!” Rapha’s shout reverberated around them, echoing and multiplying from rocks, trees, and hills, building until the command became the voice of an army of thousands raised in one accord.

All fell silent.

Men and birds gazed around them in stunned confusion.

It was Ish-el who broke the spell. His gaze locked on Rapha and, with muscles straining and veins bulging as if the very air resisted him, he lifted his spear and aimed it toward the eagle that had broken off its attack at Rapha’s command.

But the eagle snapped to sudden attention and dodged the spear, then extended its talons toward Ish-el’s eyes.


As Ish-el’s panicked cries filled the air, men and birds glimpsed the horror of his bloodied face and resumed their attack, more fierce and deadly than before. Soon the ground was littered with the feathered, maimed bodies of man and beast.

With a mighty effort, Rapha shoved Abel and the cumbersome bed up the remaining portion of the cliff, then commanded the stunned Abel across several hundred paces of rocky terrain and into a maze of caverns.

As soon as they lowered Cain’s bed in a narrow alcove with faint light filtering down from an opening in the rock above, Abel turned his face to the wall and his shoulders shook with sobs.

Cain’s gaze was still unfocused. “Stop it, Abel,” he gasped as he tried to turn his eyes toward his brother. “They would have killed us. This way, it’s… over.”

“No.” Rapha paced back and forth, the carnage of the men and birds replaying over and over in his mind. “No. It has begun… once again. Lucifer’s ways are loosed on another age. By using your ability to command the bird to attack your enemies, you continue a horrible inheritance of man slaying man, of war between man and beast, of might triumphing over weakness, of flesh ripping and tearing flesh in self-preservation and fear.” Rapha’s voice caught on a sob as he relived the endless years of striving, celestial brothers at war, the waste of ruined creation, of distrust and fear being their daily food.

“But he deserved what he got,” Cain said. “He was about to kill the bird. He would have killed us.”

“It would have been better if he had!” Rapha turned to glare at Cain. “We do not defeat evil by becoming even more evil! Have you learned nothing from your father, Adam? He is a man of peace. He loves and serves you and your mother with selflessness. He does not demand a crown or a kingdom. He only desires what is best for you, just like Adonai. That is your inheritance. That is the hope you should be passing on to future generations, not the continuation of war and the shedding of blood!”

“But it wasn’t right,” Cain tried to move but a wide strap secured his head. “You told the birds not to harm them?” He tried to reach toward his head with his good hand but another strap around his chest prevented it. “They needed to protect themselves.”

Rapha reached to untie Cain’s cords, “How many birds were saved by fighting?”

Cain was silent.

“None,” Abel’s ragged whisper, spoken to the wall, reverberated around them. “None were flying. All were wounded… or dead.”

“And the men,” Rapha asked, “were any saved by commanding the birds to attack?”

“Why should I worry about those who want to kill us?”

“Because,” Rapha stopped working at the knot securing Cain’s arms, “they are part of Adonai’s creation and He loves them.”

Cain sneered, “So we should love them so much we allow them to kill us?”

“If that is Adonai’s desire, yes.”

The conversation ceased a moment while Rapha checked Cain’s splints and bandages.

“Why is Adonai so weak?” Cain accused through gritted teeth as Rapha dressed his abrasions again.

“Are you weak because you feel pain?” Rapha asked.

“No. I am weak only if I cannot endure it,” Cain answered.

“Then Adonai is strongest of all because He endures the most. Only in Him can we be strong enough to love even those who hate us.”

“Then the ones who hate would win,” Cain observed, “because they would kill those who obey Adonai.”

“No. God’s creation is built upon laws. When you sow seeds, you expect to see more of what was planted, right? Therefore, if you sow violence, you will reap it. And if you sow peace….”

Cain’s jaw jutted with stubbornness and he looked away.

“You reap peace,” Abel’s quiet voice supplied.


In the coming days, their mood was somber as they kept a wary watch and waited for Cain to heal sufficiently to walk. Gone was the easy camaraderie and sense of adventure. Cain was sullen as if he blamed Rapha for his wounds. Abel was quiet, obviously lost in thought. Rapha was grateful to begin the long trip home. But, though he was eager to deliver the boys back to Adam and Eve with every limb accounted for, it seemed their hearts remained behind on a lonely mountain pass.

When Rapha and the boys were still far from the house, Adam and Eve came running to greet them. “I thought we had lost you,” Eve sobbed as she clutched her sons.

Adam too was overcome with emotion, “Welcome home,” he said as he grasped them in a powerful embrace.

Even as Abel responded with tenderness, Cain was stiff and unsmiling.


Rapha opens his eyes to the ruin Earth has become. Over and over in his thousands of years in this tired body he has had to witness hopeful beginnings, fresh young faces so full of promise, so committed to Adonai, so fervent in their commitment, yet, at their core, flawed. Over and over he abandoned hope, even abandoned faith in his Maker, as his heart broke with each betrayal of Adonai’s ways.

The faces parade before him: Esau, Saul, David, Solomon, Samson, Absalom, Judas; so many hopes crushed, so many mistakes, so much pain.

But Abel… Rapha had such hopes for the boy. Abel was gaining understanding. He would have raised his children to know Adonai’s heart. But Rapha just didn’t see it coming.

Or was it that he did not want to see?

His mind races back to the dawn of Cain and Abel’s thirteenth year. Like every other day, Rapha began by communing with Adonai, by gathering news of their borders from the birds and roaming beasts and speaking the ancient words of protection over their domain.

Had he become complacent? Had he watched so carefully for invasion from outside that he had ignored the growing threat under his nose?

Alas, on that day, the scales were ripped from his eyes.


Three full celestial cycles and several moons had passed since that harrowing flight through the mountains and slow journey home. Life had resumed its ebb and flow; sowing and reaping, tending and building; the seasons marked by the regular pilgrimage up the mountain for the sacrifice of blood that secured their covenant with Adonai.

Tomorrow marked the day the boys would bring their own sacrifice, the day when they shouldered responsibility for their relationship with Adonai.

How Rapha’s heart went out to Abel who planned to sacrifice his special pet, a yearling calf fed and coddled by the boy’s hand from birth. All the family loved the spoiled beast who had a habit of poking his head through the stone window of Abel’s room each morning to wake him and request breakfast.

Rapha looked down the hill where the brothers were having a contest with their spears, this time a test of accuracy. Cain went first, his muscles rippling as he grasped the weapon, his eye riveted to the target, a particular knot on a tree. With a grunt of effort he stepped forward and released the spear that flew, unwavering, slicing the morning’s quiet with a whiz and thud as the point landed in the direct center of the knot. Cain leapt and gave a shout of victory. Then, laughing, he stepped aside for Abel to have his turn.

Rapha watched Abel take aim. Like Cain, Abel was stunning. Tall and perfectly proportioned, the lad cut a slightly leaner figure than Cain whose muscles were thick from working the land. In wrestling and contests of brute strength, Cain continued to hold the advantage while Abel remained quicker and more agile. Both boys had abundant hair they kept secured at the base of their neck. Although Cain’s hair remained lighter, both sported locks that reflected the sun’s rays with multi-hued brilliance.

The most remarkable feature for both, however, was their eyes, eyes that fluctuated in color according to whether the day was overcast, misty, or sunny, growing more colorful when the light was bright and dimming to a uniform darkness when it was faint. And when the boys stared into the sun or even watched flames dance in the fire, light would stir in their eyes until they blazed with an answering glow.

Now, Abel had his eyes riveted to the mark where Cain’s spear yet quivered in the sun’s rose-colored glow. Though the scene around them was tranquil, a just-waking world of mist-shrouded mountains and a lazy breeze, Rapha leaned forward, left hand clenched as if it bore the spear’s weight.

When the spear flew, Rapha once more marveled at the perfection of Abel’s technique, graceful and effortless, every movement flowing like a dance down to the extension of the fingertips that remained poised in the air as if willing the shaft to his desire.

Rapha gasped. The spear was slicing toward its target, closer and closer on an impossible collision course until, with an audible crack, it splintered the shaft Cain had thrown, knocking it aside and taking its place in the center of the tree’s trunk. With a whoop of joy, Abel ran to reclaim his weapon.

But Rapha’s amazement turned to shock when he looked at Cain. The young man’s eyes were narrowed and his lips were pulled back in a feral expression while every line of his body strained toward Abel, a beast lunging against invisible bonds. However, when Abel turned toward his brother, the tension was gone as if it had been a mirage and Cain was simply a disgruntled brother conceding defeat.

The lightning transformation was alarming… and familiar.

Was this talent to mask feelings ingrained or taught?

The second possibility sent a grim shiver down Rapha’s spine. Could it be Lucifer had gained access to the boys—under his very nose?

Rapha continued to study them. This time, Abel was first to throw. As the lad focused on the mark, Cain stood a few paces behind, weighing the heavy shaft in his hand. When Abel raised his spear, Cain matched the movements, his eyes riveted to his brother’s back. Time seemed to slow as Rapha felt cold dread grip his being. Cain’s arm was back. He was stepping toward the point of release. His shoulder rippled with power as the shaft passed his ear, its point still aimed at Abel.

Cain was extending, mirroring Abel. A cry lodged in Rapha’s throat just as Abel released his spear… and Cain completed the movement, spear shaft still gripped in his fingers, its length pointing at Abel.

When Abel’s spear embedded in the direct center of his target, Cain smiled, his eyes still on Abel’s back.

As the day progressed, so did Rapha’s concern. Later, he approached the wall of smooth stones that enclosed the nursing ewes and their lambs in time to hear Cain’s teasing voice say, “That is just because she preferred me.”

“How would she know who she preferred? I never even spoke to her.”

“Because you ran away,” Cain laughed, “a scared little boy.”

There was a “whump” as Rapha rounded the wall in time to see Abel launch himself at his brother and push Cain’s face into the dirt. “I’ll show you who’s scared,” Abel declared.

Usually Rapha would have had a vicious struggle before him to end the brothers’ fight but as soon as Abel was aware of Rapha’s presence he jumped off his brother, face flushed and surprised. Cain leapt to his feet, a calm expression flowing over his features like a mask.

“Rapha,” Cain began brushing dirt from his garment. “Did you need us?”

“No. I was coming to retrieve the lamb for tomorrow’s sacrifice.” Rapha paused, “Who is she?”

Abel shot a glance toward Cain whose face remained serene. “Our mother, of course. What other ‘she’ do we know besides cattle?”

And Cain had looked calmly into Rapha’s eyes, without a shred of guilt for the lie.

That night, when Adam gathered the boys to impress once again the importance of the sacrifice, Rapha’s apprehension increased.

“Tomorrow, you are responsible before Adonai to provide your own sacrifice,” Adam stated. “Your mother and I pass that responsibility on to you. In this way you choose obedience to Adonai and continue the protection from our enemy.”

“Yes, father,” Cain interrupted. “You have told us the story many times. We know.”

“But it is good to hear it again,” Abel cut in, “since we need to remember, without the shedding of blood, we are vulnerable.” His eyes shot toward Cain who smiled and ruffled his brother’s hair.

“Have you decided on your sacrifice, Cain?” Adam asked. “The animal will need to be prepared….”

“All is prepared, Father,” Cain cut in. “As you have said, it is my responsibility,” Cain’s words were clipped but he added a smile. “It is a surprise.”

“How about you?” Adam turned to Abel. “You know, son, another calf would do. There is no reason it has to be—”

“Should I choose what means less to me?” Abel asked. “No. This one has been committed to Adonai before his birth. I will fulfill my vow before the Most High. Only the most precious is worthy to be placed upon the altar. Anything less would dishonor Him.”

Adam clapped Abel on the back as Eve choked back a sob and leapt to embrace her son. “We are so proud of you.” Unshed tears glistened in her eyes as she kissed Abel’s cheek.

Even Kal had turned away, wiping a sleeve across his eyes.

But Adam’s gaze had followed Cain’s quiet exit, his brow knit with concern.


The next day unfolded in a cacophony of beauty, triumph… and pain.

At midday, they prepared to trudge the path to the family altar, each accompanied by their sacrifice: a milky white lamb for Adam and Eve; a strong ram for Rapha; a gentle goat for Kal, which he carried across his shoulders; and, of course, Abel’s calf, who trotted beside the boy without harness, happy to be next to his master.

But no Cain.

“Where is your brother?” Adam asked Abel.

“He refused to come, father,” Abel replied. “I tried. I begged. But he wouldn’t listen.”

To Rapha, it felt as if the sun had just been stolen from the sky. Never had the trek up the mountain seemed so steep or grueling as each step widened the gulf between Cain and his family.

By the time they reached the summit and the stone altar lay before them, each member of their party was stealing glances back down the path. As the animals were fed their final meal, choice grain mixed with plentiful fruit of the vine to calm them, Eve’s tears flowed. When the other sacrifices had been offered and Abel led forth his calf, all were weeping.

Just as Adam spoke the sacred words and lifted the knife to slay the calf, his upraised arm froze and the others turned to see what held his gaze.

There was Cain trudging toward them, two large baskets hanging from a pole across his shoulders. They rushed toward him with joy, relieved he would not remove himself from Adonai’s protection. Then, one by one, their steps faltered and confusion replaced their relief.

“Son, where is your sacrifice?” Adam voiced the question on all their minds.

“Here.” Cain whipped out a dirt-encrusted harvest tool from the sash at his waist and sliced the ropes that held the baskets to the branch across his shoulders. Leafy vegetables, fruit and grain spilled onto the ground at Adam’s feet. “Father.” The defiance in his eyes begged confrontation.

“Why you foolish—” Kal leapt forward but Adam held out a hand to restrain him.

“Cain, I don’t think you realize—”

“What? That this is not the way things have always been done? Maybe it’s time for change.”

“But, the sacrifice—” Eve began, but Cain cut her off as well.

“Is right here.” He waved a hand over the spilled produce. “I know what I am doing, Mother.” He looked toward his brother. “Do you?”

Abel glanced with regret toward the calf that bawled on the altar.

“If Adonai loves you so much, why would he cause you pain?”

Abel doubled over with a sob.

“That’s enough, Cain.” Adam strode forward and stood between them, “On this mountain we worship Adonai with our best. You dishonor Him with those words. You dishonor us.”

“No, it is a good question. I have wondered the same,” Abel admitted. “I don’t understand.” With slow steps he made his way toward the calf and reached a hand to scratch behind the animal’s ears. Immediately the lowing ceased and the liquid eyes fixed on his master. Although Abel was encased in the body of a man more than three hand breadths taller than Adam, in that moment he was just a boy grappling with powerful emotions as large tears coursed down the still-smooth cheeks.

“Adonai asks for obedience, not understanding.”

After a long moment, his left hand remained stroking the calf’s head, but with the other he reached toward the knife still grasped by Adam, and, meeting his father’s eye, gave a slight shake of his head.

Adam struggled to mask his shock. He placed a hand on Abel’s shoulder. “You can choose another. Adonai will understand.”

Abel wrenched the knife from Adam’s hand.

“Then we have truly failed,” Eve whispered.

“Think of what you are doing,” Kal shouted.

“Yes, brother. It’s time to throw off barbaric practices,” Cain said.

Abel leaned down and kissed the calf’s head. Then, with one hand over the animal’s eyes, the sacrificial knife fell.


Silence.

For a moment, all were too stunned to move or speak.

The boy froze, still gripping the knife that was wedged in the calf’s heart, a mask of pain on his young face.

When Abel melted over his calf and wept, a white mist that hummed with power descended on the mountain and all fell to their knees as a piercing light from on high settled on the grief-stricken boy.

Then came a voice that shook the ground.

“You are fully Mine. Your stain is cleansed. The favor of The Most High is upon you. From this day forth, the blood of your sacrifice shall resound throughout the earth.”

As these words yet rang in the air, Cain began to back away.

“Cain,” Adonai spoke again, “what is this you have brought to my altar?”

“My… sacrifice,” Cain said. For a moment he stood, eyes locked on the ground. Suddenly Cain threw up his hands and turned away, his face tight with anger.

“Why are you angry? You know what is required. You can yet choose to turn from evil.”

“I have made my choice,” Cain said through clenched teeth.

“Please, son,” Adam reached toward him, “it is not too late.”

“I am not your son!” Cain spun to face Adam. “And I will not be kept from my true father any longer.”

“Lucifer will consume you, Cain,” Rapha warned.

“Don’t be a fool, boy,” Kal growled.

“Cain! Please!” Eve sobbed. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

For a brief instant, regret filled Cain’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Mother. I can’t… I’m… sorry.”

Then Cain turned and ran back down the mountain path.

Cain still had not made an appearance when the sun began to sink behind the mountains. Kal and Adam set off to seek him.

“Watch over Eve,” Adam instructed Rapha as he slung an extra skin of water over his shoulder.

“What will you do if you find him—put him in bonds and drag him back?” Rapha asked.

“I see no problem with that plan,” Kal mumbled.

“Maybe he will not return but I must do all I can,” Adam replied, then marched off into the fading light with Kal. When Eden loped from the dwelling to join them, Adam knelt down and caressed the shaggy head. “Stay here. Comfort her.”

Eden whined and licked Adam’s hand before the two men walked away, then she turned back and trotted to the dwelling.

Rapha watched her disappear into the entrance and a pall of grief descended on his heart as the late afternoon light cast shadows on what had been a happy home, a haven.

He could hear Eve praying in her room, her grief pouring from her lips in gasps. “Abba, Adonai! Save him from himself. Abba, Adonai! May Your love embrace him when I cannot. May he see through lies. May he long for You. May his heart turn toward home no matter where he goes,” she trailed off in a spasm of sobs.

Rapha stumbled as he felt the impact of her broken mother’s heart. He would go to her. She needed him.

But Adonai whispered the same directive Rapha had once heard in the Garden.

“Let it drive her to Me.”

He peeked into her window and saw Eden pressing close to her weeping mistress’ side.

Rapha stepped away from the dwelling.

In the deepening shadows he saw Abel skirting the sheepfold, his sash wrapped around his head and shoulders as if to remain unseen.

“Abel!” Rapha called.

For a moment the boy increased his pace but then he stopped, his shoulders sagging with resignation, and turned toward Rapha’s approach.

“Are you looking for Cain?” Rapha asked.

“No,” the boy answered. Then he shuddered. “I hear his thoughts. I see what he sees. I know where he is.”

“Then we will go to him.”

“He would not hear us. His mind is filled with visions of power and… beautiful women.”

“Where were you going?”

“Please, I don’t know what to do,” Abel’s voice broke. “My heart is torn, I can hardly breathe. I feel the hold on him.”

Indeed, now that Rapha was close enough, he saw that Abel appeared pale and weak. His body was quivering and a thin layer of perspiration beaded on his forehead.

“It is all right, Abel,” Rapha soothed, “Adonai’s hand is heavy on you to intercede for Cain. Go ahead and do what you must. But I will go with you.”

Rapha followed Abel across the stream and into the dense trees onto a steep path. Higher and higher they climbed, chasing the waning sun’s light.

Abel led the way into a clearing. At the foot of a rocky precipice he removed the coverings for his feet and Rapha did the same. The need of this became clear as they began to climb, grappling carefully for finger and toeholds.

Rapha followed, gripping at barely sufficient chinks. But, when they finally heaved themselves atop a sharp outcropping and paused to catch their breath, the view of their valley was breathtaking, an artist’s palette of dusky rose, gold, and amethyst that stretched as far as the eye could see.

Abel stood and squeezed through an opening comprised of a tall, standing rock and the sheer mountainside that towered on to impassable heights above. After a few moments’ passage through the narrow cleft where Rapha’s broad shoulders threatened to become wedged, they emerged into the last golden rays of the setting sun.

“He’s been coming here often in the past few years, well, since our trip through the mountains when he… was injured.”

Abel stepped forward into the sun’s glow toward a monstrous stone chair. Its back stretched high into the rock and its seat appeared wide enough for their entire family to sit side by side. “He told me he felt the arms of his true father wrap around him when he sat there. He saw pictures of his future and knew our father was calling him.”

“And you,” Rapha asked, “did you ever sit there?”

“I did once, when Cain first brought me here, but I became sick and he laughed.” Abel gripped at his stomach. “I feel it again now.”

“Then let us leave this place,” Rapha urged.

“No. Adonai has directed me here. Here I sense Cain’s thoughts even stronger. Here I can… feel what torments him.”

Abel fell to his knees at the foot of the stone seat.

Something was stirring, a power so intense Rapha desired to escape… but it was not evil. For him, the scene that followed on that mountainside would be forever etched in his memory with holiness too pure for the temporal world.

Sobs wracked Abel’s body as he cried, “Adonai, have mercy.” The moments passed, Abel’s prayers for Cain becoming more passionate until he was reduced to garbled mutters as he rocked on his knees, gripping his shoulders. “His pain,” he gasped. “Adonai, ease his pain.”

The glory of heaven sparkled and hummed in the air and Rapha could see dim shapes in the mist as ministering angels gathered around the boy. As Abel shook with the violence of his grief, his countenance became brighter, the pain acting as a furnace to cleanse bitterness and sorrow.

Rapha sank to his knees and gripped the rocks under his hands, sensing the need to brace for a powerful storm.

Then he was given a great gift. Suddenly Rapha was not simply an observer, but was flooded by Abel’s thoughts and emotions, swept up in the flow from the throne of The Most High. He was no longer aware of the rocks beneath his knees or the sweet scent of mountain air as he was joined to Abel’s heart’s cry. At the same time, a living line of power also connected him to the tormented soul of Cain who grappled in desolate places with an ancient malevolence that drained all purity.

Thus Rapha was assaulted by empathy that threatened to rend his mind. Yet, since the flow originated from Adonai, Creator of all the living, even as strength was sapped and awareness of his own being faded, he felt more alive—a kinship to the hours he had spent as a celestial when he would go to restore his strength before heaven’s throne.

“AHHHHHHH!”

A shriek of venomous anger yanked Rapha to consciousness. Lucifer was there, fuming and striving to gain access to Abel but the presence of heaven was an impenetrable wall. In his fury he turned on Rapha, eyes boring into Rapha’s soul, hands like unsheathed knives groping toward the former angel. Rapha braced himself, knowing he had no power to resist but, to his surprise, Lucifer could not touch him. The evil one’s rage was deflected like a stone skimming the surface of a frozen mountain lake.

With a jolt of joy Rapha shut his eyes and rejoined Abel’s lament, crying and laughing at the same time, one for the depths of their grief, the other in response to Lucifer’s ineffective attack. So he aligned himself with Abel and, with a sense of power he had never felt toward Lucifer even when he bore heaven’s strength in his body, he asked Adonai to remove the evil one from his sight. Like a mist vanishing before a rising sun, Lucifer faded.

With all noise aside, Rapha could attend to Abel. Eventually, the fervency of the boy’s spiritual struggle eased, replaced by sweet comfort and peace.

“Please, Adonai, turn Cain’s heart back to Your ways. Help him see where this path will lead. Open his eyes to the evil that tempts him. May he long for the open arms of his family.”

On and on the boy’s words flowed from a heart made fertile by grief.

But Abel’s next words caught Rapha off-guard. “Whatever it takes, Father,” he prayed, his voice steady, his features bathed in peace. “I sense Your presence and Your favor. They are more precious to me than life. However,” and here the boy’s voice broke as he gasped in real pain, “please take my favor through sacrifice so Cain will not die in his sin. Yes.” The agonized whispers poured from lips pressed to the ground. “My father’s favor rests on me and I am heir to all. Your favor flows and Your blessing is assured for my future generations. But,” the young shoulders convulsed again, “Cain suffers. Evil consumes him.” His voice became a shout of travail. “How can I dwell in comfort while he is in torment?”

For a few moments there was no sound in Rapha’s ears but the boy’s sobs.

Then Abel spoke these immortal words, “Everything that is mine by right—I reject. I count all gain as nothing if my brother would perish. I bequeath it all to Cain—even my life. Though I perish, even if I be cast from You forever,” again the voice broke, “I will trust You, Adonai.”

All was silent but Rapha could sense their Heavenly Father sigh with pleasure. The boy’s heart had conformed to the will of Adonai. His words carried eternal impact.

Wait. What had just happened? Was Adonai simply pleased with the prayer, or was He accepting its terms?

But Rapha’s ponderings were cut short by a flow of power so strong he felt his bones would melt. He gasped as he felt himself expand. His name, his past, his present, even the unending war with evil, meant nothing when compared with this overflow. Emotion was too small a word. All things were contained—love, joy, peace, hope, fulfillment, grief. Thirst and hunger did not exist. There was only that moment of breathing in as the Most High exhaled.

Abel and Rapha remained, forgetful of everything but Adonai’s embrace, until the sun looked down on a new day.