THE FALL (Rapha Chronicles #1) (The Rapha Chronicles)

by Chana Keefer

  However, now that there was some distance between him and the couple’s overwhelming emotions, Rapha could detect more on the cool night breeze than the musty spice of pine and shuffle of nocturnal creatures. A fearful, angry, wounded ego was creeping closer.

  Rapha rose noiselessly and crept toward the source of this disturbance, guided by the panting breath of a dog and the pounding of a young heart bent on revenge.

  Threading his way through the undergrowth, Rapha paused behind a tree trunk to watch the cloaked figure and accompanying canine creep closer to where Auda and Rafe lounged against a rock, her slender body tucked close to his side, her small hand entwined with his as they continued the quiet conversation and laughter.

  For a moment the intruder observed them, but when Rapha saw the hand reach back, spear poised for flight, he leapt to wrench away the weapon and pin the would-be attacker to the ground.

  In the ensuing scuffle, the cloaked figure struggled while the dog crouched and snarled. But the creature maintained a safe distance from Rapha, obviously remembering their earlier encounter.

  “Stop fighting and you will not be harmed,” Rapha instructed as the hood fell back to reveal Elden, face flushed, eyes wild with fright and fury.

  “If that thing has harmed her….”

  “Quiet, Elden!” Auda commanded as she entered the clearing and strode to face him. “Call him ‘that thing’ again and I will kill you myself.”

  “You will join with it by choice?” Elden said with a look of disgust. “It is an abomination!”

  Her fist moved with the speed of a striking snake to connect with Elden’s nose. “He is more of a man than you will ever be!”

  “You whore of giants!” Elden cried as he cupped his bleeding nose. He was given no chance to continue the insults since he suddenly found himself looking at the sky, held aloft by Rafe’s hands.

  “This abomination can tear you in two,” Rafe’s voice shook with fury as he tossed Elden into a thorn bush. “I will try to understand your anger at losing her, but call her that again and those words will be your last.”

  Rapha rushed to lend a hand to the bleeding Elden. “Your family needs you. The true enemy will be upon you in two days!”

  “There is no proof of that!”

  “When you have proof it will be too late.”

  “For too long have we run from his kind,” Elden nodded toward Rafe. “We will not abandon our home and fields.”

  “Then your fields will burn and your family will be slaughtered, or tortured in ways you cannot imagine,” Rafe said.

  But Elden would not listen to reason. “Giants lie! Giants charm, and then destroy. You are no different from all the others! And you,” he turned to Auda, “are worse. A traitor to your own kind!”

  Rafe’s hand went to the knife at his belt, but Rapha forced himself between them, “Enough! We will overlook your words because you are angry and young—but do not deprive your family of an able protector with your foolishness. Now go to them. Get them out of that valley or they will die!”

  In the end, Rapha, Rafe, and Auda rushed to help Elden’s family when stormcrows were on the horizon, forcing the stunned group to abandon their fields and flocks.

  “Leave it. You must not be seen,” Rapha ordered.

  “You think us cowards?” Elden accused.

  “No. Just a fool if you do not take your women to safety now!” Rafe lifted the youngest child and handed her to Auda even as the child cried to bring the baby goat. “No! Nothing must slow you. Go!”

  As the family followed Auda to safety, Rapha and Rafe were left with the unpleasant task of destroying what would have fueled the marauders for weeks. They built fires, and then directed the blaze toward the ripened fields that flared and spread with a wind that flowed from the mountain. It was heartbreaking to witness the panic of the stock animals set free from their pens and maddened by the flames. At least they would not remain to feed the enemy.

  But Rafe could not help himself. As he and Rapha ran toward the shelter of the trees, he scooped up the bleating baby goat and placed it on his shoulders.

  As they watched from a high hidden cleft, the enemy swept into that valley with all the fury of hell itself, led by a huge being who swung a spiked club the size of a tree.

  “Oh no,” Rafe breathed.

  “You have seen this one before?”

  “I killed his brother—and, uh, set… fire… to his hair,” he glanced at Rapha’s surprised expression. “The flaming arrow was meant to kill him. He must have called reinforcements.”

  Rapha was grim as he took note of the well-armed troops and their leader, the crazed giant with a head that resembled a scorched hillock. The fire drove the giant to such fury he swung the club at his own troops, skewering a dozen with each sweep of his arm.

  “Today is not our day of victory,” Rapha said, “unless victory is measured by survival. Come.”

  Luckily, the sound of the goat was drowned by destruction as Rapha and Rafe made their way to meet the others, little realizing how many seasons would pass before they once again walked freely under the sun.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Full Circle

  Seventy years later…

  Rapha watched the caravan coming closer like an ever-lengthening snake in the desert sand. How this land had changed since he had explored these hills with the young Cain and Abel. It was where their home had stood and where their flocks had grazed, but then the valleys had flowed with streams and the trees had been home to innumerable species. Today the scars of ceaseless war had rendered the land barren and desolate. However, since ruined, at least no one fought over this valley, thus there was a momentary peace. Perhaps it was the peace of death—but any reprieve was welcome. Not to worry. Rapha knew where water was available, enough to make this land flourish once again.

  A glimmer of bright orange, like a miniature tongue of flame, caught his eye and Rapha watched as a desert flower opened its petals to the warmth of the rising sun, a vibrant defiance to its bleak surroundings. Hope brushed Rapha’s heart as he pondered the miracle of that seed. Through destruction and drought it had waited, a germ of life unquenched. This tiny flower was the first of spring’s blooms that lay just below the surface, sleepy but growing, thriving. Soon these hills would be ablaze with their short-lived triumph.

  He glanced up again, shading his eyes against the sun’s rays. He had distracted himself with an hour’s concentration on the blossom but grew impatient. He had been so for weeks, ever since the raven had carried her message over the mountains.

  His reply had been brief. “Come home.”

  Ah! Good. The caravan was making steady progress though the trek through deep sand was slow, and camels, as a rule, did not like to be rushed. Anticipation of this meeting made his heart race. A feeling of youthfulness flushed his ancient veins. He hardly dared to name the emotion. He did not even trust the wind to know that Rapha, demoted angel, had reason to hope.

  He studied the procession until he detected a diminutive figure swathed in white with a canopy suspended above. That must be her. Not able to contain himself any longer, Rapha directed a command to the camel that bore her, chuckling as the beast broke into a run and the white-swathed figure shook a fist toward Rapha. He began to stride across the sand toward her. He had waited almost eighty years for this meeting. That was long enough.

  Finally.

  The camels were unloaded, servants were deposited in their tents, everyone had received their fill of water and, when the coolness of evening descended, the old friends could speak freely.

  “Not quite the same land you left behind, eh?”

  “Nothing stays the same for long. It is the one thing on which I can rely.”

  “Except for Adonai.”

  “Yes. Adonai never changes. He has been my sanity and my strength,” the still lovely face smiled, bringing a glow to the golden eyes. But a hint of great sadness hung about her like a cloak.

  Rapha leaned into
the cushions and studied the woman before him. She glanced up and met his gaze. “Counting the new lines in my face since last we met?”

  “No. Still I see the tree-climbing girl in you. Would your servants be surprised to know how unrefined you once were?”

  “Every day I would climb, but it was the stairs to my roof where I would go to look in your direction and dream of escape.”

  “I was happy to assist in that regard.”

  “Yes,” she laughed, “the crows, ravens, and vultures that blanketed the city were very convincing. The darkest symbols of their superstitious fears come to life! They were willing to speed me on my way with Cain’s body. By the time the new king had changed his mind, deciding I would be a fitting sacrifice to appease the gods, I was already far away with Rafe.

  “Tell me of Rafe.”

  Joy flooded her features as she spoke, bringing to mind the teasing girl who had mesmerized the young Adam. “Rafe’s land is fruitful, his family flourishes and, best of all, they are hidden. Even my eyes were covered as we passed through the deep caverns leading to his kingdom.

  “His kingdom,” Eve mused. “Rumors had reached my ears even in the palace, impossible tales of the might and riches of a people hidden in the depths of the earth.” Again she grinned. “Rafe was pleased to hear how he sports venom-filled fangs and prefers human flesh to that of his friends, the vicious beasts he controls with his mind who stalk any who are cruel to animals. It was a tale I told to palace children I caught throwing rocks at a sickly dog—the pampered, mean-spirited brats—and now it is repeated as fact.”

  “And Auda?”

  “She is the daughter I always wanted.” Eve paused to wipe her eyes. “The virtue of Rafe’s land, its healthful water and rich soil, prolong her life, Auda’s children adore her, and she reigns supreme in Rafe’s eyes. Never have I seen two people more in love, except for….” Eve’s voice trailed away and the shroud of grief again settled over her.

  After a moment’s silence Rapha asked, “You brought Cain with you?”

  She nodded, “It was his final request, to be returned to the land of his youth.”

  “It is the answer to countless prayers.”

  “Yes. I learned to praise Adonai for my captivity, for it put Cain in my sight. I could pray and love daily. And, when he was ready, I was there to lead him back to the arms of Adonai.”

  “What of his wives and children?”

  “They were poison to him, for that is what he made them. The son who murdered Cain was murdered by the next in line for the throne, and so the legacy continues. A mold of his body was made many years ago so they yet have his image of gold to worship, to remind all of them of their own importance—whose blood runs in their veins—of their right to continue his oppression.”

  She sighed and took a sip of wine from her trembling hand before continuing. “Oh, Rapha. How I wanted so many times to flee that place. Innocence is consumed so quickly there. It seems babes come from the womb ready to devour everything within their grasp. Cain’s children, my own family, were corrupted, and continued the tradition before my eyes. It became impossible to watch them and keep my food down. Such hopelessness. Such foolish waste.”

  The tears ran down Eve’s cheeks as she unburdened herself of the years of residence in Cain’s kingdom, of the horrors visited upon the helpless, and the delight taken in cruelty toward man or beast—in the name of spectacle, sport, or even worship. “My protests were met with scorn, just the ramblings of the king’s eccentric mother. Very few were saved by my efforts. Even the slave girls assigned to me would heed my teachings only until they were taken to the pleasure palaces, where any purity was burned from them. I felt almost cruel to offer hope since I knew what was in store.”

  She paused, the bleakness of those years haunting her eyes. “There was one, Leda, she reminded me a bit of Sheatiel, who listened to my ramblings about the garden and Adonai’s plan for redemption. How her eyes lit from within and how she grasped my hands and asked me to whisper tales of the One True God’s love, for we did not dare speak of these things aloud. But we were found out. She was taken, and, when she claimed allegiance to the ‘God above all gods,’ she was included in the next public sacrifice—burned to the ‘glory of the gods.’ After that, I was given only deaf and mute serving girls.”

  She glanced up with a hint of joy. “Now the truth of Adonai thrives among those who cannot hear—who in turn pass on that truth to the outcasts: the blind, the crippled, those with wasting disease. They are shunned and despised, even feared—not useful for profit or breeding—therefore they enjoy freedom in their poverty. I consider them my true offspring in that country. They suffer horribly, their lives are often short, but their faith is pure.”

  When Rapha questioned whether she was included in the breeding program, Eve laughed. “Oh no. Cain would not allow it. He alone could claim to have issued from my loins. I was placed in a seat of honor at all the public functions, revered as a wife of the gods—but was absolutely off-limits since it was well known any man who touched me would be burned with fire from heaven.” She notched her chin higher as if she would have ensured the burning with or without heaven’s assistance. “But enough talk of that hateful place.”

  The old friends spoke deep into the night, enjoying a depth of communion they had been denied for decades. At last, when a dim gray light shone through the flap of their shelter, Eve found the courage to ask what was foremost in her mind.

  “Have you heard aught of Adam?”

  Rapha related the tale told to him and Auda by Ochim and his family. He sighed before continuing, “Since then, only rumors from the ravens of a tall specter who hides from God and man alike and resembles a great, walking tree with bushy hair sprouting from his head and face. Even heaven is silent about him, as if he exists somewhere between heaven and earth.”

  Eve’s eyes swept the dim horizon, visible through the open tent flap, “Cain had hoped to see him once more. In fact, I bear a message from Cain for him. He said, ‘Tell Adam he was the best of fathers.’”

  The talk of Adam appeared to have drained the last of Eve’s strength so, with a hug for her old mentor, she slipped away to rest saying, “I think I shall sleep tonight.”

  And she did.

  Rapha did not see her again until the sun rose on the third day.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Second Chance

  Once Cain’s bones were buried next to his brother’s, Eve aged before Rapha’s eyes day by day. She explained that after so many years in a hostile environment she just wanted rest, but Rapha knew better. The fight was gone from her eyes like a soldier who languishes when the war is over.

  She ate and drank only the least required to sustain life. One faithful servant remained from Eve’s years in Cain’s land; without that kind woman’s stubborn, mute insistence, Eve might not have eaten at all. The woman had been called Ilda, meaning ill-favored—resembling an old, knotted tree, her body bent and knobby at every joint—but Rapha changed her name to Isla, explaining through the signs of his hands that she had now become an island of refuge to her mistress.

  Daily Eve fought the kind woman’s ministrations, but Isla was nothing if not persistent, ignoring Eve’s hands that waved away food, anointing her mistress with fragrant oils, and maintaining the gloss of Eve’s still-lustrous hair. And when the day came that Eve would not rise from her bed, Isla concocted healthful drinks from the plants that thrived in their mountain oasis.

  But still Eve declined as if she had chosen to end her days on Earth. Try as he might, Rapha could not rally her spirits, and even his own talent with herbs and tonics was wasted.

  One night, Isla moved Eve’s bed to the opening of her tent for the cool breeze and view of the stars. Rapha joined her.

  “Look at the heavens,” Rapha said. “The celestial hosts speak of new hope and comfort.”

  “Not for me, old friend,” Eve said. “I have remained too long. I have seen too much. Evil thrives and manki
nd worships those who devour them. My comfort lies in leaving the pain of living to those young enough to hope.”

  Rapha spoke of Adonai’s goodness and power, of His love for all creation. “Remember how He made all things new, how He held you and Adam close to His breast and promised redemption through your seed.”

  “We chose evil,” her voice was flat, dead. “We are corrupt. I am old. Adam must hate me, or he has produced children with another and has forgotten me. What good can come from us now?”

  Rapha leaned forward and grasped Eve’s cold hand. “Adonai does not change. Therefore we have hope.”

  “Stop!” she snatched her hand away. “It hurts too much. I have failed Adam. I have failed Adonai. I have accepted that.”

  Rapha walked away from her tent with the despairing words still ringing in his ears. She was right. Hope was gone. Eve was far beyond the age of childbearing and, with her mate wandering the earth shrouded in madness, it would appear Adam’s line was ended, while Lucifer’s offspring enjoyed no opposition. Rapha could only imagine, with their hopes so vanquished, and his kingdom thriving, that Lucifer no longer even considered them a threat.

  But, for one fleeting instant, Rapha had seen a flicker of agony in Eve’s eyes. Good. A live coal yet burned beneath the ashes.

  A strange peace settled over Rapha as he gazed upon the bright star in the east. Adonai’s best work was always accomplished when all was lost.

  He came on a day when smokes of war hung in the wind and the sun’s heat had not allowed a whisper of cooling breeze for days. He was battered, had taken the long journey through despair and madness, but his heart had led him home.

  From his seat among the tall poplars that forever point heavenward, Rapha watched this shadow of a man stumble up the stony path toward him. Throughout the night he had waited and prayed while Adonai whispered joy and renewal. Now, the miracle stood before him.