THE FALL (Rapha Chronicles #1) (The Rapha Chronicles) (19 page)

Chapter Seventeen

Sacrifice

Their simple home continued to take shape. Day by day they became more of a team, looking after the other’s needs and actually enjoying the hard work of scraping an existence from the stubborn land. They had a decent store of nuts gathered, but the berries were scant and shriveled, and a chill they had never known was in the air. Eve had cultivated a small plot of her favorite roots and greens, but a morning came when the tender leaves were dark, stiff and cold. What was happening?

The animals were on the move. Daily now flocks of birds flew overhead and herds of hoofed creatures moved hurriedly southward as if outrunning some evil of which the humans were unaware. Should they follow? Adam tried to keep his worries to himself, but their accustomed food sources were exhausted and the air grew ever colder. Also, his mate’s belly was swelling day by day. He had observed the ways of the animals enough to know what was happening. She had a baby growing inside her. They spoke of this a bit but both felt unprepared. Their only comfort came from the fact the animals surrounding them seemed able to raise their young. Surely they would know what to do when the time came—right?

Daily Adam’s fear mounted as their rations waned but, amazingly, Eve was content. She was fascinated with the miracle taking place within her body and would cry out in astonishment and grab Adam’s hand to share the movement when her belly moved of its own accord. Like the mother birds, she prepared their home, continuing to fill the chinks with clay to make it snug and laying aside whatever she could gather of the scant food.

One morning Adam rose early, gazing with tenderness on the girl-woman who slept on in the pre-dawn light. He had been taught so much about how to manage animals and nature, but how could that knowledge aid him when he simply needed to keep food in their mouths? How he wished for Adonai’s limitless wisdom that he had enjoyed in the garden. He recalled their conversations. They usually followed a simple line. He would ask a question and the Maker would answer, sometimes with another leading question, sometimes with a story.

“How I need You, Adonai,” he intoned without thinking. “I can’t believe You have forgotten us or didn’t have a plan for our survival here. You know everything. You are so kind and good. It is just so much harder to believe in You when I can’t see You every day. But I know You. You would not want her to be hungry. You would show me a way if You could. I know You hear me, but how do I hear You?

He recalled the words Adonai had spoken when He had joined them as man and wife. How did that go?

“For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and cleave to his wife and the two shall become one flesh.”

At the time Adam had not understood the meaning. Now those words made sense. He and Eve had finally become true mates when ties with their old life were severed and they were forced to rely on each other. There had been nowhere to run when their pain had bubbled over. They were forced to trust each other with their vulnerability and therefore they had melted into one—just as surely as two mounds of precious metal became one when Rapha had placed them in fire.

So this was part of Adonai’s plan? No, Adonai could not intend evil, it was not in His nature, but He had known. He had known everything that was to come. He had even known their love would flourish outside the safety and ease of the garden. So, could Adam surmise that Adonai’s plan was still unfolding according to its purpose? Could he hope that he and Eve had not completely failed? Hope warmed him. Was Adonai so powerful He could even work beauty from their utter failure?

That thought almost choked him. Shouldn’t he hold that failure close to remain truly sorry for it? Wasn’t it his future to dwell in that failure forever? He could not fix it, he could not turn back time and undo it, but was it possible he needed to let it go?

He hopped to his feet, pacing as the rim of morning sun blazed out to greet him. He caught his breath at its beauty. Overhead a flock of ducks flew east and appeared to be swallowed by its brightness just as a fresh breeze, like a kiss blown from Adonai’s mouth, brushed his cheek.

He recalled another conversation with Adonai when he had questioned why the sun appeared and disappeared each day.
“It is a picture of my love, that my mercy is new every morning, that no matter how dark the night may be, a new day awaits and my love is renewed.”

Those words had carried little meaning for a young man wrapped in the lap of luxury and contentment but now he grasped them like a lifeline. Adonai’s love was new every morning. Every day He offered a fresh start—even for a cocky manchild who had to lose everything to realize how much he had.

Then it hit him. He felt renewed much like he had after lounging in Adonai’s arms in Eden. He had asked and Adonai had answered! All the words from their many conversations were in his heart, just waiting for him. They were like the seeds placed in the ground, hidden but taking root, growing in secret until finally their meaning broke through the soil of his stubborn mind. Gratitude flooded his being and he cast himself to the ground. Adonai was here, unseen but still present, still available to give counsel and comfort.

Hardly realizing why he did it, Adam started gathering stones and placing them one on top of the other. He wanted to remember this moment. He wanted to have a visible reminder of his first conversation with his Maker outside the garden.

The sun continued to climb, chasing away the night’s chill as Adam, sweat trickling into his eyes, continued his backbreaking task, invigorated by Adonai’s presence. For the first time in several moons, his heart felt light and… filled—in the way only Adonai could fill it. He had thought he would never have that sensation again.

His conversation with the Almighty continued as his muscles strained, groaned and rejoiced. Amazingly, Adonai felt just as near in his work as He did in Adam’s repose. His whole body wanted to dance and—and—
fly!
But his feet were rooted to earth so his hands worked while his soul soared.

There were still questions and practical matters to address. How was he to feed his mate? He had seen their store of nuts and dried berries. Only one handful of each remained. He paused in his work to push the drenched locks from his forehead.

“Do you bring a sacrifice for Adonai?”

The voice startled him and Adam spun to face the speaker. The morning sun was in his eyes but he made out the figure of a man outlined in the brightness.

“Who are you, Lord?”

“I AM His Word that sustains you,”
the puzzling answer flowed over Adam’s trembling body and he fell face down to the ground.

“Do you bring a sacrifice?”
the shining One asked again.

“We have only a handful of nuts and berries…”

“Bring what you have,”
came the gentle request.

Adam’s forehead wrinkled in confusion, “Surely You dwell in Adonai’s abundance, and our scant offering cannot compare.”

“What you have is sufficient.”

There did not seem anything else to say so Adam ran to the shelter to retrieve the last of their rations, nearly bowling over the still groggy Eve. “He’s here! He is on the hill! Come and see!” His excitement was so great he almost forgot their tiny store of food. But when he checked the basket, not a single crumb remained.

“Where is the food?” Adam asked.

Eve’s face flushed with guilt. “While I slept, I dreamed of feasting in Eden. When I woke I was so hungry. I tried to wait for you but you were gone so long….”

“But He said to bring it. Now we have no sacrifice.”

“I’m sorry. I was just so hungry,” her eyes welled with tears.

Adam pulled her into his arms. “All will be well even if we are empty-handed. But come, He is waiting.”

“Who? What is his name?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then how do you know he is good?”

“When you meet Him you will see.”

“What did he look like? What did he say?” Her questions would have continued if the trek up the hill had not made it difficult to breathe as she wrestled with her own clumsiness.

Thus the trip back went much slower than Adam desired and a few sharp words flew between them before they finally crested the hill and she beheld—a pile of stones. Adam searched and called while Eve, hungry and tired, slumped against Adam’s stone monstrosity. So this is where he had been all morning. “Adam, you must be exhausted. Perhaps you fell asleep and dreamed.”

“No! He was—” Adam froze as the man’s last words rang out in his heart,
“Whatever you have is sufficient.”
And there was his precious Eve, hair tousled and cheeks rosy from exertion, leaning against his monument to Adonai. She was the only thing in his life of any worth, the only thing worthy of his Lord. For the second time that morning he fell to his knees.

“What is it?” Eve rushed to his side, frightened by the horror on his face, but he did not answer; he just clung to her. Finally, when he did speak, the words were not for her.

“But what else is there?” He gasped, the loneliness of his life without her already consuming him. Clearly, he pictured the baby monkey when they were in the garden and the mother’s trust as she handed him to Adonai. The gift was accepted and then returned. Perhaps Adonai would be gracious? Just as quickly, he remembered the lamb. Adonai had given no guarantees. He was simply asking obedience.

Adam’s body trembled as the war raged inside. A picture of Eve’s lifeless body stretched upon the stones assaulted his mind. How could Adonai require this of him? Was this the price of his sin, to lose what he loved and spend his days in grief? Did he really want to be joined to such a bloodthirsty God?

No. Adonai was kind and generous and it was His love that had created Eve. Without Adonai, there would be no life. It came to this. This was the moment that separated bone from sinew. This was the crisis of his heart. Over and over he had failed the test. Over and over he had come up against the wall of his will versus Adonai’s. Would he serve himself or his Maker? From this defining moment on, who would be Lord?

He wept with so much remorse it seemed his life’s blood would drain away with the tears. Good. Better him than her, the one who had become the center of his world.

“There! Look!”
He heard Adonai’s command as the wound was ripped aside to view the disease. Words spoken by his Master in the garden flowed through him,
“My gifts are to be held with an open hand. Whatever is not entrusted to My keeping will turn to poison. The enemy prowls to discover and exploit that weakness.”

Through tortured eyes he looked up and cupped her cheek in his hand. “I have to give you back.”

He did not need to explain. His torment had forewarned her. Amazingly, she was not frightened—but could she be as brave as the lamb? It seemed such a cruel thing to ask when they had at last found the wonder of Adonai’s intended love. “Why?”

“It is my fault because I have put you before my devotion to Adonai.”

“If that’s the case, I am guilty of the same offense,” her eyes flashed with anger. “Should we
not
love so Adonai remains unoffended?”

“No. He once told me that to love best, we must love Him first, for only His love is unending. Only in that way will the love remain pure because we show our trust most with what we treasure.” The words were correct, but they cut in a way he had never imagined.

“But what of the life growing in me?” She placed his hand on her swollen belly, “The child kicks as if fighting for life.”

He had no answer as the frantic movement beat against his hand. Then, grasping at a thread of hope, he offered, “Adonai breathed life into you once. Perhaps He plans to do so again.”

She laughed through tears. “If Adonai, the giver of life, decides to take it back, does He really need my permission? He could take it before my next breath. The lamb took my place once. Adonai has proven His faithfulness when I did not deserve it. Shouldn’t I trust Him again, even when I don’t understand?”

The fear in her eyes fled. “I don’t see any reason to wait.” She gulped, “How?”

“The stones. I… I saw you… l-laying on the stones.”

She strode to the monument that reached her chest in height and tried to climb onto it but her swollen form was cumbersome. Finally, she turned her back and attempted to clamber up. When she almost pitched forward, Adam was there to steady her. “Yes, I mustn’t get hurt!” But her laugh was hollow. With a kiss to his forehead she lay back on the stones with her hand still holding tight to his.

And they waited. A sweet breeze blew across them, filled with the spiced scent of Adonai’s embrace. Stillness grew in Adam’s heart, a peace that made no sense whatsoever.

“I-am-given,” Eve whispered in a groggy voice. Suddenly her hand tightened on his and she cried out as if in pain. Then she was still. Deathly still.

“Eve?” Adam squeezed her fingers. No response. He reached for her cheek then drew his hand away in dismay and gazed at her face. He laid his head on her chest and was silent a moment but soon his shoulders shook with sobs and he buried his face in her neck. “My Eve, my love,” Adam choked out as he gathered her into his arms and rocked, wailing with grief.