Unholy Empire: Chronicles of the Host, Vol 2: Chronicles of the Host, Book 2 Read Free Page B

sons, Cain and Abel, playing in the dirt. “How nice it would have been to raise our children in such a place.”
    Since being forced out of Eden, the two humans had wandered about in a strange state of exile; their once perfect home no longer welcomed them. The thought of the two very serious angels guarding the entrance into Eden was more than enough to overcome any delusions of a return. Eden was finished and that was that—and nothing caused greater heartache than living in one’s loss, especially when the loss might have been avoided.
    The lush forests of Eden with their gentle breezes and fragrances had given way to the ugliness brought on by sin. The earth, which one time yielded an abundance of fruit, now was stingy with its produce, cursed forever to all men. The joy that could have been childbirth had given way to a bloody and painful entrance of children into a fallen world. All of these realities were consequences of that dreadful day in the garden so long ago. But there was one consequence that far outweighed the loss of home in paradise—and that was the loss of heart with the Father.
    A’dam longed for those days of fellowship and closeness with his Creator. He ached for them. Sometimes when the wind was just right and the wilderness quiet, or at night when the heavens blazed God’s glory, A’dam remembered how things once were—how he had walked hand-in-hand with his Father; how he had shared great dreams of destiny; how he had ruled in his Father’s authority. What sweet fellowship that was! Now A’dam’s Father’s ears seemed deaf and His Presence was as distant as the evening star.
    It was in these moments of thought that A’dam most hurt. He would have given up everything now—all that God had given him—if only he could feel the love of God as he had once felt it. Sometimes his heart trembled with a violent pain as he contemplated his life. “If only” had become a pitiful lament that haunted him daily. And always the lament led to the same refrain: What if Eve had not disobeyed his instruction to her? What if he had been with her that day before the serpent had sunk the venom of his persuasion deep into her heart? If only…
    A’dam looked with gentle compassion at his wife, who was tending Abel. He had long since healed of the anger he felt toward Eve. For many months after the expulsion he had said scarcely a word to her. He brooded. He seethed. He sulked. He put off her constant begging of forgiveness and let her stew in her guilt.
    In time, however, he realized that whatever their plight, she was still “bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh.” The Father Himself had created her out of A’dam’s very substance. They were forever united by that connection. More importantly, he had finally given voice to the galling feeling that had plagued his mind since that horrible day—the inescapable truth that ultimately the verdict of guilt rested squarely upon him. It was easy to pass the guilt on to Eve. Even now he felt the old anger stirring. After all, she was the one who…
    A’dam caught himself, the questions begging to be asked but never voiced by Eve: What if he had held up
his
responsibility as law-keeper in Eden? Should he not have rebuked the serpent and with his obedience possibly atoned for the sin of his wife? Instead, to his utter shame and the ruin of all humans, he had himself transgressed God’s sacred law. Thus they both scratched about on an unyielding, unfriendly, unholy world.
    Eve noticed her husband’s melancholy demeanor as he stood over the thorny garden that helped feed their little family. She watched A’dam, knowing that at times like this it was best to remain quiet. The mood would pass; it always did. She understood that it wasn’t simply the thorns that were causing his current mood. He was missing his Father.
    Eve didn’t really understand the depth of A’dam’s loss. She sometimes longed to know how he felt, but she could never get at the heart