As people began to settle down and plans were made for temporary lodging for the displaced family until repairs could be made to the collapsed home, Kole wandered off into the darkness. He found a place to sit beside the slow moving stream, and wept.
He had only seen one person die, his brother Abel, and his mind was unprepared to see another death. He still bore a grudge toward Cain for that loss, and he did not know how to handle the fact that he had nearly found himself in the same set of circumstances. As a person who had taken the life of another.
“Kole,” a soft voice, at once familiar and comforting.
“Mother,” said Kole.
“My son, why do you weep? It’s a blessing that the Lord has chosen to spare young Cayel, to protect his life. We should be rejoicing and offering thanks, not lamenting an ill-fate that has been averted.”
“It’s not that, Mother. I am happy the child is alright. It’s just that…”
“Time and chance happen, Kole. We do not attribute every bad thing to the Lord. Not every trouble is a test. But we do count it all blessings when good things happen. Every good thing is from our Creator. If I’ve learned anything from your father, it’s that. Hardships beset us, and we endure. What we learn from them strengthens us and how quickly we give our thanks to God humbles us. It is our blessing and our privilege to have such a merciful Creator who forgives our weaknesses and does not blame us for them.
“But Mother, you don’t understand, I am to blame. This was my fault.”
“I don’t see how that could be, Son. The hill collapsed, the boy was trapped. No one could have known such a thing would happen.”
“Oh, Mother. How can I explain?”
“Just try, Son, if you must.”
“You are right that no one could have known such a thing would happen. I certainly did not. But you are wrong to say that the hill collapsed. You see, the problem is in the fact that it was not a hill. Not a hill at all.”
“I don’t understand,” said Eve.
“A hill is made by the Creator. That hut was made by human hands, Mother, it was not a hill.”
“Kole, I don’t see…”
Kole, his feeling of responsibility overwhelming him, interrupted her. “Ever since I went to the garden I’ve been able to hear things. I’m not even sure if I’m supposed to talk about this or not, but I don’t know what else to do. I nearly killed that boy because I don’t understand the person that I’ve become.
“When I see you and Father, and everyone, I hear a certain kind of music. Your music, the music of each part of who you are, who father is, your life, it vibrates in my ears, it sings an eternal song to the Creator, it joins with the song of the grass, the trees, the sky, the earth. All these join voices and sing with the stars of heaven. Everything, humming and thrumming, sounds, tunes, songs, like whistling or like instruments playing, each a part of one grand song. Its there, always there, weaving in and out of itself, spilling across space, like this meadow, reaching, racing ahead through time, an eternal combination of sounds, playing to the Lord, praising him above all else. Each tree with its own music—the cedar, the pine, the fruit tree; yet also a music that means “I am tree;” each blade of grass, each hill. Mother, the hills, they sing; they sing a song of leaping and bounding, they sing a yearning song of freedom and joy. I hear it when I look at them.”
His mother put her hand to her mouth in wonder.
“But the hills of houses, the man-made hills, they do not sing the song of their brothers. I hear the grass upon them, I hear faintly the wood within them, but the hills themselves are silent. They are silent.”
Eve was silent for a moment herself. Finally she spoke. “Kole, I do not pretend to understand the fullness of what you are saying. Perhaps this is something your father would better understand and be able to advise you on. Perhaps not. Nonetheless, hearing what you have to say, I do not see how hearing the hills in any way makes you responsible for what has happened here tonight.”
“But don’t you see, Mother? I was hearing the hills and then noticed the lack of sound coming from the homes. In my mind, I began to sing the song of the hills with them, and I sang it to the false hill that fell. I somehow showed it how to be a hill, and it fell in on itself as if to crush out everything artificial from within itself and to assume its true form. I somehow shared with it a more natural state of being, and it complied. I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know that would happened, but that doesn’t change the fact that I nearly killed that boy. I nearly became like Cain.”
“Kole, I will tell you two things,” said Eve. “and then I am going to go to sleep. First of all, with our Creator all things are possible. If you have even the smallest amount of faith that He is there for you, you can move mountains as well as hills. Do not let this experience frighten you, son, learn from it. You have been sanctified by the Creator for a special purpose, and you are going to be calling upon every gift the Lord has bestowed upon you many times in your life. Use them. Learn how to use them wisely, but don’t ever bury them in the earth and attempt to flee from them. They will be a light to you in dark places, and a light is no good to anyone if it is not kept bright.”
Kole nodded.
“And second, you are not like your brother Cain. Don’t ever think that.”
“Mother, Cain did not mean to kill Abel. He lashed out, but it was not with the intention to kill; maybe to hurt, but not to kill.”
“Kole, Cain has changed in the last hundred years. He is no longer the brother you once knew. He may never have been the brother you knew. I do love him, I always have, but I will not go to that city of his ever again. He has taken what was true and hollowed it, weakened it. Like our homes are different from true hills, so are those that live with Cain. He has pushed in a different direction than your father has led the family. Those that live with Cain, although they are our family, they are a different people. The things they care about and hold dear are not the same as the things we cherish. I barely recognized him the last time I saw him, although he looked the same. And Kesitah, oh my lovely little Kessie,” Eve sighed.
“I will get her, Mother.”
“No!” said Eve sharply. “You will not. Kesitah is Cain’s wife now, Kole, like it or not, and you will not bring down the wrath of the Lord upon us, as I did. You may have issues with Cain that need to be worked out, but you are not to touch your sister.”
“I cannot promise that, Mother. I cannot.”
Eve looked up at him, looked deep into his eyes. What she saw there may have frightened her, but she gave no indication. Nonetheless, she seemed to be done talking.
“Good night, Mother,” said Kole. He kissed her lightly on the forehead. He felt her hand brush his softly as he turned and walked off into the night.
She watched him until the darkness hid him from her view. Then her head tilted forward, and her hair spilled softly down over her face. Not for the first time, Eve cried for her sons.
Kole was wet. The grass he was lying in was still damp from the early morning mist that rose from the ground to water the whole face of the earth. It lay in shimmering jewels upon the green blades as the sun rose slowly above the horizon, tinting it a salmon pink. Why anyone would want to go hunting at this time of the day, Kole could not begin to fathom. Game was not so scarce near the home camp that it required lack of sleep and physical discomfort to feed the family. But his father had insisted that whoever wished to participate in the hunt get an early start. Adam wanted to have all the animals cleaned and cooking for a late breakfast.
Kole had postponed his trip to the land of Nod, to the city of Enoch, another day to join the hunt. His father had not been subtle when he encouraged Kole to delay his journey in order to ponder his motives for going. Possibly also to clear his head of all distraction and ungodly thought, as well as to consider the situation from the point of vi
ew of each person involved.
The situation, Kole thought, adding it up in his head. Cain had killed their brother Abel, shamed their parents, run from his duty, stolen Kole’s future mate, Kesitah, and distanced himself from his family. In so doing, Cain had declared his enmity toward God.
The attitude that Kole witnessed in Cain all those years ago, when the Lord found his offering unacceptable, had apparently not matured with the passage of time. The only difference was that now Cain was the head of his own family, indeed his own city, and as such was now passing on his flawed way of thinking to his children and his children’s children; young men and women who had no other better example to compare Cain’s teaching to, and thus would adopt his actions as their own and think nothing of it. Perhaps Kole could go there and make some sort of difference. Perhaps he could remind them of God’s plan for them and for their future.
A movement caught his eye, and he turned his head but saw nothing. His father remained motionless and hidden from his view twenty cubits to his left. Somewhere out there were nine other pairs of men, crouched down since before dawn, awaiting the arrival of the herd of hrak. Each was armed with a spear or two, and some had bows, made from tree branches and animal sinew, that would shoot an arrow a far distance with considerable force.
Kole had only seen them demonstrated the night before, and had been quite impressed with the accuracy of such a tool. But very few of the men, or women for that matter, were proficient with the bow. His brother Jaben’s son, Ruahad, had only just introduced them to the family two moons ago, and they were still catching on. Most of the hunters still preferred their fire-hardened spears for large game, even though some in the family had been exceptionally skilled with a sling and stones for years.
Kole had overheard them discussing the various merits of the tools, inwardly amused when Jorel had called the bow an unfair advantage over the animals, claiming, “God gave us dominion over the beasts, but we should at least give them a fighting chance.” When Jorel had turned to Kole to find out where he stood on the matter, Kole had raised both his hands up, palms out, and claimed ignorance.
“I’ve been away for a hundred summers. I would probably have a hard time hunting nuts and berries.” A burst of laughter rippled through those gathered around.
It had been three days since his talk with his mother, since the hill-home had caved in, nearly crushing young Cayel. Each day Adam had proposed a new reason why Kole should postpone his trip to Enoch to confront Cain and reclaim Kesitah. At first it was that Adam had wanted to show Kole the surrounding lands, sharing his admiration for the hills and valleys, lakes and streams, as if he had created them himself.
Adam and Kole had walked far and wide that day and it was nearly dusk when they returned to the family camp. The next day had been the Sabbath, and Adam had insisted that Kole not start his journey on the Sabbath day, so Kole had spent the day resting and refreshing his spirit. At his father’s insistence they had sacrificed a freewill offering to the Lord on a natural, flat spike of rock located not far from the family’s homes. The blackened rock stood as mute testimony to many previous such offerings. Kole had been surprised when his father had kindled a fire and lit the offering wood himself.
“Does not the Lord reserve the right to burn his own offerings?” questioned Kole.
“The Lord has been quiet lately,” was all Adam would say.
Then that night, Adam had insisted that Kole partner with him for the next morning’s family hunt. Kole thought about refusing, but the look in Adam’s eyes had been such that Kole had reluctantly acquiesced. He was eager to put this business with Cain behind him and to begin living again. How good it would feel to find Kesitah and finally have the family so long denied him. Perhaps Kesitah’s sons would come with her and help Kole to build his own city, a city to honor his new wife. These thoughts kept Kole warm while the sun slowly climbed into the heavens, even as the dew on the grass chilled Kole to his bones. It occurred to Kole that even while the mind might supply warming and pleasant thoughts, the body’s actions, lying in the wet, morning grass among other things, could cause discomfort. The significance of this bothered Kole in the back of his mind.
Again he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. This time when he turned he saw a gray blur and a twig on a nearby bush springing back into place. He fixed his gaze on the bush and this time was rewarded when a small bird landed once again on the branch. The bird cocked her head to one side and regarded him thoughtfully, as if wondering whether she was a safe enough distance from this strange man who seemed to enjoy lying all morning in the wet grass.
Kole was tempted to whistle to her but refrained, knowing that strict silence was key to not giving away his hidden position to any of the soon to be approaching herd. But the little bird had other ideas and sang a short four-note song that stunned Kole. His mouth dropped open, and his eyes grew large. He knew that tune, in fact. He had made it up. Or so he thought. He stared dumbfounded at the little bird.
There was no way that this could be the same little gray bird that he had whistled that very tune to during the days that he had travelled to the garden in Eden. That had been well over a hundred years ago. Did birds even live that long? Kole could not remember ever seeing a bird that had died of old age. He had had sheep that had gotten old, had slowed down, and eventually not woken up. He had seen other animals that had died, not from injury or sacrifice or for food but just from… Well, he didn’t know. He had assumed their time had just run out.
But surely his little gray travelling companion from a hundred summers ago was not this same little gray bird in front of him. He heard her whistle the tune again, then cock her head the other direction at him as if to say, “What do you think of that?”
Kole was not sure what to think. If this was the same bird that he had known so long ago, then surely this world would never cease to surprise him. But if she were not, then what explanation was there? Could that small bird from his pre-garden life have passed his song on to her chicks? Then they in turn passing it on, so that the tune that he created survived countless generations of birds, preserved still in this present moment?
Kole glanced around for someone, anyone of his family who may have also heard this small, feathered fowl sing her oddly out-of-character notes, but the landscape was empty of any obvious human presence. When Kole again found her tiny form among the leaves of the bush she once more sang his song to him, twice in quick succession, then leaped from the branch and flew off into the surrounding foliage. Kole hoped to see her land again nearby, but she did not return.
He knew he would miss her now, more for seeing her the second time than if he had not seen her at all. In fact, he had not thought about her once since returning from the garden, and marveled that he had connected the two occasions so quickly. The reunion held a strange significance for him that he couldn’t shake, and it was only at that moment that he realized he was indeed thinking of her as being the very same bird who had accompanied him to the gates of the garden. He convinced himself of it but did not know what that truth might portend.
That animals lived and died but at differing lengths of life? And which ones lived the longest? And how did their life spans compare to that of man? And in fact, how long would a man live, before he eventually slowed down as well and ran out of time?
Kole had, in fact, also never seen a person die of old age. Could they even die from old age? Was there a limit to the life of a man? If his time were not cut short, would a human being just continue to live forever? The Lord had said, “Do not eat from the tree lest you surely will die.” But only two people had ever eaten the forbidden fruit. His mother and father, they would surely die, but when? Maybe the when depended more on the how.
But what of everyone else, the offspring of his parents? What time was allotted to them to live upon this earth? Mankind had been given dominion over the things of this world, over things t
hat filled space. But man was not given dominion over time. Time was to be dominated only by God. Man would always be at its mercy, captive in the corral of time like sheep in a pen. Kole looked around at the vast land around him and suddenly felt less free, more confined. The world had quite abruptly become a stranger to him.
Down in the valley, near the lake, Kole noticed movement. The herd had arrived.
The beasts were enormous, taller than Kole at the shoulder and nearly as wide as Kole’s outstretched arms. They were huge, dark brown behemoths with dense, shaggy hair on their heads and haunches. Their shoulders wore a mantle of the same tangled mane, matted and clumped from the dust and the mud, twigs and leaves adorning the fur like buttons and beads. Their hind legs were thick with meat and heavy with muscle, rippling and contracting as they moved into and out of the water. When they shook their heads, their long hair flung beads of water that caught the morning light and drenched their neighbors.
There was a great jostling and pushing going on among the herd as each animal tried to slowly push their bulk nearer the shore. Even from this distance Kole could see the pale stripes of lighter colored fur along their spines and hear the great sucking noises as their hooves stamped and pulled out of the muck along the muddy beach. But most impressive of all were the immense horns that stood up from their foreheads.
Located just between the ears, the hard bone of the curved horns sat at a wicked forward angle, an appropriate compliment to the beast’s obviously aggressive temperament. As Kole watched, two of the bulls in the herd, blacker in color than the reddish-brown females, clashed horns and knocked heads. Kole could hear the muffled thud of it as they pushed and butted each other for several minutes before one wandered off unsteadily in the opposite direction along the bank.
All Living : A Seedvision Saga (9781621473923) Page 14