Eve

by Wm. Paul Young

  Lilly was about to close the dresser when it attacked. From somewhere in the dark recesses of the drawer emerged the snake, striking directly at her face. Instinctively she shrieked. Her arm rose in time to catch the first blow, the serpent’s fangs sinking deep into her arm above her wrist. She screamed again, flailing as the creature continued to slither out. It was massively long and began to wrap its coils around her, pulling her from the chair and onto the floor.

  Rearing back, its hood fanned out, it poised again to strike when a brilliant, blinding light flashed through the room. The door burst open and shouts of voices followed. Lilly was paralyzed, unable to move or see, only her hearing unimpaired.

  John was yelling directions and Lilly could make out other voices, including the Scholars and Letty.

  “This is not a seizure.” Worry was heavy in John’s voice. “This is something else. Don’t move her until she has been examined by a Healer.”

  She could sense him close as he whispered gently, “Lilly, can you hear me? Are you able to open your eyes?”

  Frozen, she could not respond, could not feel his touch, but his presence filled her with relief.

  “By the tears, I believe you can hear me, Lilly,” John reported, his voice husky with emotion. “We have you, you are safe, and there is nothing you need to do right now.”

  “What happened?” Anita said from somewhere near.

  He paused. “No one knows yet. Letty blasted through here like a whirlwind yelling something about the Refuge being compromised and then disappeared in a flash of light. We heard screaming and found Lilly lying on the floor frozen like a stone, but nothing else in the room seems disturbed.”

  “We’re ready to move her to her bed,” an unfamiliar voice said. “We need to raise her core body temperature, quickly.”

  Lilly felt nothing except a sense of being weightlessly euphoric. Whatever it was that owned her in this moment had some benefits. But slowly and unexpectedly, one feeling did return, as two holes of fire bored into her wrist where the serpent had buried its fangs. Why haven’t they noticed?

  “Simon, the top drawer of that dresser is open. Would you please tell me what’s in it?” Frustration was evident in John’s tone.

  A moment later, Simon said, “There’s nothing in this drawer except for what looks like a personal journal. It appears to be locked.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Nothing else.”

  Where were the other gifts? The ring, the key, and the mirror? Lilly could now hear the hammer of her heartbeat accelerating, the pulse extending from the bite and flowing into her body, drowning out the conversations. Panic replaced all sense of blissful floating. She tried to scream but couldn’t.

  “She’s crashing,” someone yelled. “Letty?”

  And then another flash of blinding light and all went dark.

  Nine

  * * *

  SHADOWS OF TURNING

  Lilly, still frozen and immobile as stone, slowly opened her eyes. She stood in a glade facing away from the undulating walls of Eden. Before her, Adam’s attention was on the serpent, but the snake was looking at Lilly as if not a heartbeat’s moment had passed. The burning pain in her wrist continued to pulse, but the weight of Eve’s hand on her arm seemed to lessen its intensity.

  “We have to stop this,” Lilly whispered through gritted teeth. “Something terrible is going to happen.” The serpent’s tongue flickered out and tasted the air as if searching. Lilly stepped back and deeper into the assurance of Eve’s presence.

  “No,” Eve responded firmly. “It is not time.”

  The beast gave the young man its full attention once more.

  “Since you are the son of God,” it spoke respectfully, lowering its head in homage, “I will humbly and forever serve you.”

  Adam sat back on the ground, and with a rush of emotion Lilly could feel what he was experiencing. He was intrigued.

  “How is it that you speak?” Adam asked, curious.

  “All creation speaks,” it answered. “Perhaps as you mature, I may impart such knowledge to you. Knowledge that will open up your eyes to see and ears to hear.”

  “Have you not been inside Eden?” Adam gestured toward the pulsating wall of energy. “There is knowledge there. I have a Tree of Knowledge.”

  “You have a Tree of Knowledge? That is good. With knowledge comes dominion,” answered the serpent. “Like you, I was created outside Eden’s wall—”

  “Like me?” Adam laughed, and so too did Lilly, not understanding why. “I thought you didn’t know who I am, and yet you know I was birthed outside Eden’s boundary?”

  “All creation was formed outside Eden’s walls. Your breath and life may come from God, and my wisdom from creation, but we both were made from the same dust. Then you were placed within the garden.”

  “But not you. Is there death in you?” he asked the creature.

  “There is no life or death in me, young Adam. I may be subtler and craftier than all other field beasts, but I too am a part of God’s very Good creation.”

  “It lies,” growled Lilly.

  “It does not,” whispered Eve. “Not until Adam lies.”

  Lilly could feel and see that Adam was entranced. Here was a creature of the field with whom he could converse. He was both mystified and elated.

  “Why have you never been through Eden’s gates?” he asked.

  “Your domain is Eden. My habitation is the rest of creation,” it stated.

  Adam thought for a moment. “Adonai told me that I will expand Eden to include all creation.”

  “That is why I work: to prepare a way and place for you and your dominion.”

  Lilly knew that Adam thought this was fascinating and wonderful, to have an advocate already within creation.

  “Are there more of your kind?” Adam wondered.

  “There are many of my kind outside Eden. Are there more of yours?”

  There had been no accusation in the serpent’s question, but Lilly could feel it catch Adam by surprise. He appeared baffled and thoughtfully stared at the ground while the creature waited for his answer.

  “No, there is no other of my kind,” Adam finally admitted, a hint of sadness in his voice. “But tonight I will speak to Adonai to extend an invitation to you.”

  “If Eden is your domain, is it not your right to offer invitation without counsel? Why not clothe your childish weakness with your own authority? Perhaps this is a test of your maturing, to encourage you to act within your own right as son of God, since you alone are son of God?”

  A frown crossed Adam’s face. He stood and walked toward the snake until only inches separated them.

  “I am created and born of Adonai’s eternal being!” Adam sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “I live by the very Breath of God.”

  “God is not alone.”

  “I am not alone!” Adam shouted, but even as he did, Lilly knew that the question had taken root in his mind. “I have never been alone. I trust in Adonai’s Love and Word. I am the son of Their delight.”

  Lilly was transfixed but could also feel Eve’s agitation increasing, the grip on her arm tightening. Finally, the woman drew Lilly close and spoke directly into her ear.

  “Now it is time. One of us needs to find Adonai, and tell Them this is happening.”

  “But don’t They already know? Aren’t They already here?”

  “Yes, but we are also here and our participation matters. Go to Adonai, Lilly.”

  Something small had changed between them, like an unexpected note in a familiar song. “Don’t you trust me, here alone with Adam?” Lilly asked.

  “I trust Adonai.” Lilly felt a stab of disappointment. She couldn’t argue with Eve’s response, but she felt as if she had been pushed away.

  “I’m staying with Adam,” Lilly decided. Immediately, her injured arm began to throb but she ignored it.

  Adam meanwhile had fallen silent, feeling for the first time a hint of a new emo
tion, loneliness. Lilly knew it well and shared his pain, her heart breaking as she watched him turn to walk away, his head downcast.

  “Before you go,” the serpent called, “I have a gift.”

  Adam turned. From the nearby undergrowth the serpent pulled a sack of twisted vines and woven reeds and tossed it at the young man’s feet.

  “What is this?” Adam withdrew an object and lifted it into the light.

  “Pull it from its covering like a field creature from its hole. It is called a blade, and this one has a name: Machiara.”

  Lilly recognized it and shrank back. It was the same knife that the Anointed Cherub had used to sever Adam’s cord and free him from the earth. As Adam drew it from its sheath, it flashed in the afternoon sun, causing him to squint and lose his grip. The blade sliced across his palm as it tumbled to the ground.

  “What!” Adam yelped, watching the blood trickle down his hand. He glared at the snake. “What kind of gift is this? A gift to cause me pain?”

  “A gift to bring you life. Machiara has been used but once.”

  “For what?” asked Adam.

  “To separate the son of God from creation’s hold.”

  Adam faltered. “But I am the son of God.”

  The serpent bowed its head toward Adam’s face. “You bled then as well. Your life is in your blood, young son of God.”

  “In my blood? Then this blade might kill me.” Rubbing his hand into the clay caked on his body, Adam stopped the flow from his cut. “Or do you mean to say that living blood can destroy death? That this blade has the power of both life and death?”

  “Only the son of God can say such things. You have dominion. You will determine its purpose.” Its tongue flicked out to touch the human’s cheek. “Unless you are unworthy.”

  Lilly felt she was being swallowed inside Adam’s thoughts, utterly alone and desperate to prove her own worthiness. She wished Eve would return.

  “Me?”

  “Yes.” The snake moved away. “Once you were one with us, but Machiara separated you. Now it seems you are alone and in between, not God and not creation. Go eat of your Tree of Knowledge and return when you are worthy.”

  Again the young man faltered. “I cannot.”

  The serpent was silent. Adam returned the knife to its sheath and without another word, turned and walked toward Eden. Lilly also turned and watched him go.

  “What are you and why are you here?” The snake was right behind her, and Lilly closed her eyes, too terrified to face it. The fire of its bite began to spread up her arm. The pounding in her head accelerated. But woven into the dread she felt was a subtle sweetness, an underlying haunting melody that called to her like the stirring of deep waters. Lilly was about to give herself to it when two familiar hands grasped hers. Startled, she looked up and into the eyes of Eve.

  “Shhh. Lilly, listen. The snake cannot see you clearly but in some strange way knows you are here,” the woman stated quietly. “Come. Follow me!” And by the hand Eve led Lilly away from the serpent and back toward Eden.

  When they were at a distance, the girl finally exhaled. “Is it gone?”

  “Yes!”

  Lilly stopped and pulled away. “Mother Eve, where were you? You left me with that thing. And where is Adonai?”

  Eve looked puzzled. “Lilly, we were present with you the entire time. Could you not see us?”

  “No. I thought I was alone. I felt abandoned and completely on my own.” Lilly lowered her head again and began to cry. “I was so scared and felt terribly lonely. It was awful.”

  “Lilly, you were not only feeling your own sorrows but Adam’s. Dear one, you are also his daughter.” Eve now sighed deeply and hugged the girl close. Her voice was hoarse with emotion. “Lilly, you felt the despair of Adam’s turning; he has made the choice to believe he is alone. You are indeed your father’s daughter.”

  “What happens now?” Lilly wondered as she regained control, a sense of emptiness lingering in her words.

  “Tonight you will witness the first Great Sadness.”

  Eve was right. That evening there was none of the usual play or banter between Adam and God. Something had changed in the rhythm of their relationship, and Lilly could feel Adam withdrawing into turbulent thoughts. Although he and Adonai walked silently hand in hand as they moved into the dark, it seemed that Elohim was absent. Even when the breeze played with Adam’s hair, he now thought it probably was only wind. The questions that had capsized his soul had become suspicions, and these slid into the center of an unspoken conclusion: he was alone.

  Adam said nothing to Adonai of his visit with the serpent, and Lilly knew why. Unspoken secrets burned inside them both. Yes, she was her father’s daughter.

  “Would You love me . . . ,” Adam finally began after a long silence, “if there was darkness within me?”

  “My love for you will never be conditioned by anything, not darkness or whatever may be found in you,” replied Adonai, squeezing Adam’s hand. “I know the truth of who you are.”

  “Would You turn away, if I would turn away?”

  “No, my son. We will never leave you nor forsake you.”

  It was a comfort to hear it, and enough for this day. No further words were spoken as Lilly witnessed Eternal Man hold His son and weep while Adam slept.

  “It has begun,” said God, “the Sadness of the Turning,” and God agreed as They comforted Each the Other.

  “This is the first Not Good,” lamented Adonai, “that Adam would choose to believe he is alone and live outside the only love that holds him day by day. We will fashion from him another power, another face-to-face, before his turning is complete.”

  “In the morning when he wakes,” the Wind of God whispered, “we will begin the naming.”

  A sense of hopelessness threatened to destroy the fabric of Lilly’s soul. “Are we forever lost?” she whispered to her mother.

  From the night behind Eve, arms reached around them both. Lilly knew without turning that it was Adonai, and in His embrace her desolation retreated. He stood inside her darkness and pushed it back.

  “Lilly, you are forever found,” He whispered. “Forever found.”

  • • •

  THE PALPABLE SENSE OF being held continued, even as Lilly woke to her familiar room in the Refuge. By the light she knew it was predawn, but she’d lost track of days. John was fast asleep in a chair next to her bed, and she smiled to see his hand resting on hers. For a time, she lay in the stillness, silent, letting the waves of emotions and their residue wash gently over her soul.

  When she finally moved her hand, John woke. “Welcome back,” he rasped. “You do make my life exciting, Lilly. How do you feel?”

  “Okay. Maybe a little warm.”

  “You’ve been running a low-grade fever. We can’t seem to figure out why.” He stood and smoothed his rumpled shirt. “Lilly, do you remember what happened last night?”

  “Yeah, I was bitten by a snake!”

  John looked stunned. “A snake? Here? Where did it bite you?”

  Lilly held up her right arm so he could see the two enflamed fang punctures. He looked closely, then raised the lights and looked again, then lowered her wrist to the bed.

  “I believe you, but I don’t see anything.”

  “What do you mean? It’s right here.” She pointed to the red spot that was growing larger. He touched the area and she flinched. When he glanced at her, his face was ashen.

  “Not good!” he declared. “Letty told us the Refuge was breached, but we didn’t know by what and we certainly don’t know how.” He turned toward the door, then stopped. “I need to inform the others. You’re not safe here, and I won’t risk another attack. We need to move you to the Vault, today.”

  “The Vault?”

  “It is the safest place on this island. Where was the serpent when it bit you?”

  Lilly pointed to the dresser. “The top drawer.”

  “Was there anything else in there?”

/>   “The gifts the Scholars gave me. And my diary.”

  “Your book is still there but the rest are gone.” He ran a hand over his beard. “This gets stranger and stranger.”

  John’s uncharacteristic hesitancy was upsetting. Though still recumbent, Lilly felt increasingly faint. When he noticed her distress, he immediately shifted his expression from concerned to confident.

  “Don’t worry.” He took her hand and squeezed. “The Scholars and I won’t let anything hurt you again. You’re too precious to us. Do you believe me?”

  Did she? She closed her eyes, overwhelmed by doubt, the serpent whispering in her memory. Perhaps you are unworthy.

  She managed to nod once.

  Almost as quickly as John left, the Nurses quietly entered, assisting Lilly with her morning rituals. They took care not to touch her wrist, though when she asked if they could see her injury, they too shook their heads.

  Once again alone, she rolled her chair to the dresser and opened it slowly, prepared to slam it shut.

  As John had said, the only thing visible was her journal, which Lilly removed and placed on top. She felt along the bottom of the drawer. The mirror was still there! It blended invisibly into the wood. Placing it on her lap, she rolled her chair with its back against her door. This would give her extra time should she need it.

  Pulling it from its hood, she could feel the mirror pulse to the rhythm of her heartbeat. Am I worthy of being loved? Or do I deserve to die?

  Its surface was still a swirling gray. Hesitantly she placed her right thumb on the red stone.

  “Ow!” She yanked her hand back. The mirror had pierced her thumb deep enough to draw blood, which the jewel now absorbed. As it did, the swirling surface changed, but her reflection was not what she had hoped.

  It was partially the silhouette of a young woman’s face, her own. Its jagged edges resembled chipped porcelain. But most of her face was covered by a mask of putrid lace, drooping like a rotting bridal veil, too sheer to hide her grotesque ugliness. The girl staring back at her was decaying and disgusting, damaged beyond any possibility of repair. Her vague smile twisted in seductive innuendo, one eye full of fiery hate, the other screaming shame.