Before the Fall (10 page)

He placed a hand on Jeremiel’s broad shoulder. “You have grown to be a fine young man.”

The door slammed and Raphael turned to see Lahash standing in the middle of the room.

“Lahash!” Jeremiel went to him. “You’re late. You better hurry and get ready. We’ll be leaving soon.”

“What is this? You’re finally letting me compete this year, Father?”

Raphael stiffened at the way Lahash spat the question at him. Ever since Jeremiel had started to compete, Lahash had asked to join him. Raphael had refused to let him. Since Lahash was a small boy, he was stubborn, always challenging his father’s authority. Though Jeremiel was bigger and stronger than his younger brother, Raphael didn’t trust Lahash to hold back his gifts.

“Not this year. You must tend to the herd.”

“That’s Jeremiel’s job.”

Raphael frowned. “Yes, but as you can see he’ll be busy today.”

“I don’t have to go.” Jeremiel started to unstrap the sword from his waist. “You go. I will go tend to the herd.”

“The herd can wait.” Lahash went into the corner of the room where his sword, a gift from Rebecca, lay. “I’m coming with you.”

“Lahash,” Raphael warned, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “You must stay.”

He turned, his eyes blazing. “Every year you let Jeremiel go while I am left behind to do his work. Not this year.”

He grabbed his sword and headed toward the door. “Come on, Jeremiel.”

Raphael grabbed Lahash’s arm, squeezing it so tight that Lahash winced. The sword fell to the ground.

“You
will
obey.” He was surprised by the rising anger he was feeling. Lahash had a way about him that always seemed to bring out the worst in him.

His hazel eyes darkened. “Release me!” He jerked his arm away and opened the door.

“No!” Raphael quickly went to the open door, slamming it shut. The sound of splintered wood reverberated through the room.

Jeremiel and Lahash jumped back, surprised.

Rebecca rushed in. She looked at Lahash and then Raphael. “What happened?”

Raphael looked at her and his anger left, replaced by guilt.

“I was asking Lahash to stay and tend to the herd,” he said.

She looked at the way Jeremiel was dressed and the sword strapped to this waist. “The competition. It’s today, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Raphael said.

She picked up Lahash’s sword and placed it into his hand. Then, she brushed his dark wavy hair off his face just like she used to when he was a little boy. “You have grown so fast. Sometimes we forget that you are a man.”

Raphael stiffened at the way she gazed at his dark-haired son. She loved Lahash deeply, as any mother would, but all he could see was the young man’s stubbornness and how much he was like Lucifer in that moment.

“Please, Raphael. Let him go,” she said softly.

“If he wants to be a man, he must stay with his responsibilities, and right now that means he must tend to the herd. Jeremiel is first born. And soon, he will take on his own household. Lahash still has much to learn, including respect for his elders.”

“But—”

“It is no use speaking to him, Mother. I have always known where his affection lies.” He kissed her cheek and then walked out the door.

“Lahash! I forbid you to leave.” Raphael was about to go after him when Rebecca took hold of his arm.

“Don’t, Raphael.” Her eyes pleaded with him.

He looked down at her and his heart broke with the look on her face. He hated that he was the one that brought such heartache to her. Over the years, he had tried his best to be a loving father to Lahash. It was a struggle for him every single day. In his heart, he knew Lahash could feel that he kept his heart closed when it came to him. More and more, he turned his attention to Jeremiel, lavishing obvious attention on him, and Lahash knew it.

“Jeremiel, go with your brother. See that he brings no harm to others,” he said.

Jeremiel looked at him sadly and in a deep voice said, “He would never bring shame to our family. His compassion runs deep. I hope you will see that someday.”

L
ahash’s feet pounded the dirt. Each slap of his foot on the ground felt good as he pushed himself forward, getting as much distance from his father as he could. It wasn’t the first time he had defied his father. From his earliest memories, his father had treated him coldly, always reserved and aloof. So different from the warm love his mother basked on him. He couldn’t understand why. He tried being the son his father wanted him to be. He tried being more like Jeremiel: obedient, following all the rules that his father set for them, even if he didn’t think they were fair or rational.

He had gifts like his brother. He was stronger than others. Why couldn’t he use them? What if he could help others with his gifts? It felt like a waste to keep them hidden.

Even after all he had done to change himself, his father could barely stand to be in the same room with him. When Jeremiel had started to compete in the city’s games, Lahash had seen the look of pride on his father’s face. If only he was allowed to participate, he could show his father that he was just as strong and skilled as his older brother.

He pushed himself faster, leaving a cloud of dust behind him. His life would be a lot easier if didn’t care what his father thought of him. Jeremiel would be leaving soon to start his own household. There was no doubt in his mind that whatever offer of betrothal Jeremiel extended, the family wouldn’t hesitate to take it. His brother was called “the golden child” and a “god among men” by everyone in Ai.

He loved his brother, but he was growing tired of living in his shadow. Once Jeremiel was wed, he would be free to leave too. Perhaps he would go to Jericho. It was only a few days’ distance from Ai. His only regret was that he would have to leave the one person who loved him deeply—his mother. He would have to promise to return for visits.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jeremiel running by his side. He ignored him, keeping his focus forward, pumping his legs. He wasn’t in a mood to talk.

“Lahash, don’t be angry. You know Father means well.”

He grunted. “He means to keep me a slave to you.”

He kept running and stopped when he noticed that Jeremiel was no longer by his side. He turned and saw a hurt expression on his brother’s face.

“I did not ask to be first born.”

“I know that.” He walked back toward him. Jeremiel was always good to him. He couldn’t help it that their father favored him. Maybe that was the way it was with all first-born sons. Maybe he would have been better off if he had been a girl.

“One day, Father will see the Lahash I see,” Jeremiel said.

He raised a brow. “And who is that?”

“Someone who loves his family deeply. Enough to put up with all the nonsense that his older brother puts him through.”

He laughed. “You mean the rotten eggs you hid in my room?”

“And the time I gave you a squashed bug and told you it was a date.” Jeremiel grinned.

“Ugh! It took me all day to get the taste out of my mouth. But, I got back at you.”

“Yes, you did. Taking Father’s flint and shaving off one of my eyebrows when I was sleeping was ingenious for an eight-year-old.”

“I thought he was going to whip me with the rod. He kept eyeballing it for days. It was worth it though.”

“And how about the time when I faked being hurt so I could beat you in a race into the city.”

Lahash furrowed his brow. “When was that?”

Jeremiel pushed him and he fell on his behind.

“Right now!”

He scrambled to his feet, laughing. “I’ll get you back for that.”

“Not if you can’t catch me!”

As they neared the city gates, Lahash was about to run past Jeremiel when a crowd of people blocked his way. He slowed down, waiting for the merchants to move their baskets as they set up their tent to sell their wares.

He looked around the city in awe of the bustle of people. It was rare for him to go into Ai. His work kept him in the hills or near the stream. When he did go, it was with his mother to help her collect water at the well.

The crowds grew larger as they neared the city’s center where the games were being held. Ai seemed to be bursting at the seams with the number of people in the square: merchants, young men obviously there for the competition, and women. There were dozens of them, each one shyly looking at his brother.

He did a double take when he noticed a pair of big brown eyes looking straight at him.

She was small with long dark hair and flawless skin. He had never seen her before, yet she looked at him as if she knew him.

She gave him a gentle smile and then made her way toward the city center. He watched her as she worked her way through the crowd. There was something strange about the way she moved. It was as if she were floating on air.

A high-pitched squeal caught his attention and he turned to see a little girl with a headful of dark curls chasing another girl through the crowds. Then the curly-haired girl ran through the brown-eyed woman.

Whoa! She ran through her!
He rubbed his eyes. There was no way that could happen.

“Goodness Lahash, if I knew you were going to cry about losing, I would have given you a head start.” His brother slapped him on the back.

He rolled his eyes. “You cheated because you know I can out run you.”

He looked over Jeremiel’s shoulder, searching for the woman. She was gone. He rose up onto his toes, trying to get a better look. He saw two twin giants with black eyes. They looked to be about the same age as he was except they were taller and muscular—even larger than Jeremiel.

He was taken aback when he caught their attention and they glared at him. He did not know them so he wasn’t sure why they looked at him with such loathing. They were obviously wearing their game face. He could do the same.

He crossed his arms over his chest and glared back.

“What are you looking at?” Jeremiel gazed in the same direction he was staring.

“I’m looking for . . . there she is.” The brown-eyed woman moved between the two giants, her arms brushing them as she did. They didn’t even blink and continued to glare in his direction. It was as if she were air and not even there.

“Do you know her?” He pointed out the brown-eyed woman to Jeremiel.

“I’ve seen her here from time to time. She hasn’t been here for a number of years. Father knows her. I believe he called her Rachel. Why? Interested?” Jeremiel elbowed him.

“No.” He pushed him back playfully. “She looks . . . different. She’s not like the other women around here. It’s like she’s here but not here.”

“Hmm, I never noticed that before. I wonder if—”

“Jeremiel! Has Raphael’s golden son returned to redeem himself this year?” a voice cried in greeting.

Lahash watched as the brown-eyed woman turned in the direction of the voice, her face twisting with longing. He followed her eyes to see what could make such a sweet face look like that.

A young man sauntered toward them. He almost looked like he could be Jeremiel’s younger brother—rather than Lahash himself—with his dark blond hair (worn shorter than Jeremiel’s), high cheekbones, and bright blue eyes. Lahash could see why the brown-eyed woman, Rachel, would look at this young man with such longing. A number of the women nearby had the same expression as they gazed at his brother and the man where they stood talking.

“Ah, Uriel. Come and meet my brother. This is Lahash. He’s competing this year.”

Uriel extended a hand to him. “I’m a friend of your father’s. You may not recall but you and I met once. Long ago. It was a most eventful meeting. You seemed to have an affinity for bathing nude in the mud back then.”

Lahash was shocked to hear that the young-looking Uriel had known him as a child. Though he eyed him skeptically, he couldn’t help but be drawn to the grinning Uriel. He wondered how someone as carefree as him could be friends with someone as serious as his father. They must not be close friends or he would have seen Uriel more often.

As they walked toward the city center where the city square was located, Lahash looked for the girl named Rachel. She had disappeared again.

“Do you plan on competing this year or do you still fear the might of my sword?” Jeremiel asked Uriel.

“No.” He laughed. “Someone must cater to all the pretty flowers in attendance while the men are busy grunting and sweating against each other for a bag of gold . . . and a small bag at that.”

“That means little to me,” Jeremiel said. “I’m here for the excitement, and to give Saleos a run for his money.”

“Who’s Saleos?” Lahash asked.

Uriel tilted his head in the direction of where the twin giants stood. Next to them stood someone even larger than they were. Jet-black hair hung to his shoulders. His tense jaws were smattered with a day’s growth of stubble. Every inch of him was pure muscle beneath smooth tanned skin. Dark eyes scanned over the people in the crowd as if they were beneath him and they were lucky to be in his presence.

“Saleos is Baka’s son.” He pointed to an older replica of Saleos standing in the center of the city square. His arms were folded across his thick chest as he too scanned the crowd, weighing the competition. “And the ones standing next to Saleos are his brothers, Jether and Joab.”

“Jether and Joab come every year, and each year they stand there like a pair of statues. They never compete,” Jeremiel said. “Do you think they will finally do it this year?”

Uriel shook his head. “It is their father’s wish that only Saleos competes.”

“Interesting.”

As Jeremiel and Uriel continued their conversation, Lahash looked around at the rest of the men that were in the center of the square. Some were polishing their swords. Others practiced spear throwing. A couple of them were circling around each other, crouched with arms spread out, practicing wrestling moves.  Thankfully, the only ones who looked like they were any competition for him were Saleos and Jeremiel. He had never had the opportunity to actually compete against his brother. Mostly they wrestled or engaged in sword fighting for fun. If he used all his strength, maybe he would have a shot at beating them both.