ASCALON

Karkryan and AriEva ventured out into the vast unknown world beyond the protective confines of the meadow. Because of their disobedience to the High King, they were forced to leave the quaint dwelling they called home in the meadow they had always known and loved. They wandered for a time before settling in a beautiful and spacious valley. Here, Karkryan and AriEva built another home and established a means of livelihood to sustain their needs. In the course of time, this new home was blessed with a child. They called him Arvad, which means exiled, because he was born after their disobedience. Arvad was a healthy, stout baby and grew into a strong and vibrant—but restless —young man.

Soon after Arvad’s birth, AriEva gave birth to another son whose countenance was happy, exuberant, and loving. This child took her breath away, so she called him Hevel, meaning breath. As Hevel, and his brother, Arvad, grew into young men, Karkryan taught them the value and necessity of work. Gone were the fun and lazy days of chasing each other through the valley, playing games of hide and seek, or fishing in the stream.

As young men, they were expected to do their share of the work and assigned duties. Their father, Karkryan instructed them in formal worship: how to confess their bentness and ask the High King for his forgiveness and a blessing, and best of all, Karkryan demonstrated how to love the High King. As part of their worship, the High King expected gifts given out of love, sacrifice, and obedience. He instructed Karkryan concerning the details of the gifts for worship. Because of the parents’ bentness and banishment from the meadow paradise, an acceptable offering was needed to convey they understood the seriousness of their betrayal of the High King.

The young men each excelled in their chosen industry; Arvad became a farmer, growing grains and fruits of all kinds. Hevel loved animals and chose to be a rancher, raising cattle and sheep.

And then one day everything changed . . .

—-

Arvad sat in the shade of a fruit tree and sulked. His face was downcast, eyes glaring, and lips pinched. Once again, his brother’s worship offering was accepted with joy by the High King while his offering was rejected. Overhead, the sun rode high in the blue dome of sky, its hot rays warming the air as heat flared in his chest.

What does it matter, anyway? Nothing I have ever done has been worthy of any praise, he thought, whipping a stone from his hand and watching it skip across the ground. I am the elder brother but only Hevel finds acceptance and praise from Father and Mother. Even the blasted High King respects him more than me. I offered a portion of my crops while Hevel brought a cute little lamb. His fingers scratched deep furrows in the grass as his breathing grew ragged.

So what if that lamb was Hevel’s prized possession? The fool cried as he offered it for worship. I am not going to waste the best of my produce to give to that doddering old King. The King should be happy to receive anything at all, he thought, his anger seething.

His hand clutched a tuft of grass and ripped it from the ground. He shredded the green blades and flung them aside. His arms shook and his hands clenched as he spotted Hevel on the hillside, herding a flock of sheep down the slope toward the stream that ran through the valley. He watched as his brother knelt and stroked the head of a young lamb. The lamb bleated. Hevel laughed, shooing the creature toward the stream to drink. It ran and joined the flock.

Arvad’s eyes narrowed, his nostrils flaring. A shadow passed over him and he looked up. The High King stood smiling down at him, his splendid robe gathered around him. He seemed impervious to the warm temperature.

“Why are you so angry, Arvad?” asked the High King, concern filling his eyes. “Your very countenance has fallen; your face is brooding and dark. Tell me, child. What is wrong?”

Arvad turned his face away from the High King, and avoiding his gaze, refused to answer. His sullenness should be answer enough.
“Arvad, if you do what you know is right, will you not be accepted? But if you choose not to do what is right, even then bentness is crouching before your door. Its desire is to destroy you, but you must overcome it, child. All you need to do is love and obey.” The High King waited, hoping for a sign of penitence from Arvad. He extended his hand, offering to lift the young man up but Arvad turned farther away. The King’s hand dropped.

“Child, I love you with an everlasting love—all I ask is that you love me in return and show me the respect due my position,” said the High King.
“Why must we follow all these decrees and laws, anyway?” said Arvad, glaring up at the King. “I am intelligent. It should be my decision what is good enough and what isn’t. It’s my life anyway.”

“I have established these decrees and laws for your benefit,” said the King. “They are given to increase your knowledge and help you obtain wisdom. I have taught your father, Karkryan, to carefully observe them and he has then taught them to each of his children. There is freedom in obedience, Arvad. It leads to understanding by which you may live your life to its fullest. Do not allow the evil of bentness to overtake you.”

“What is this bentness you speak of?” asked Arvad, brushing the dirt from his hands. “Isn’t it just another way of saying I am not worthy? You say you love me but you reject my worship offerings. You never reject Hevel.” Arvad crossed his arms, sulking, and heaved an exasperated sigh. He stared at something in the distance, guilt gripping him at the disappointment on the King’s face.

“Am I human, that I should lie, a human being that I should change my mind?” asked the King. “Do I speak and then not act? Do I promise and then not fulfill? I created this unique and special world. I have taught you what is necessary. If you are careful and do what you have learned, you will demonstrate wisdom and understanding to others. And it will show me your love.” The King paused, waiting and hoping that Arvad would accept this truth.

Arvad grumbled, “You reject me and accept Hevel, the good brother.” He wrapped his arms around his bent knees, not meeting the King’s gaze.
“Yes, I accepted Hevel’s gift. Hevel loves me, and he gave me his beloved lamb. As much as he loves that lamb, he loves me more. You, child, do not love me. Your gift of bruised leftover crops and fruits was given only to meet the requirement. The gift was rejected, not you, Arvad. However, your gift reflects the inward condition of your heart.”

“Bah! The inward condition of my heart! What nonsense is this?” spat Arvad, scrutinizing the King. Surely his continued insolence would rile the King.

“Son, I want you to obey what I have commanded, not because I am a tyrant, but because I know the harm and danger that results from disobedience. Disobedience is just the beginning of the bentness that corrupts your heart and muddles your thinking.” The King sighed as he watched Arvad rest his head on his knees. The young man’s face contorted with the myriad of emotions battling inside him.

“Arvad, you know in your heart you have made poor choices. You do not believe I love you, so you do not come to me in faith or love. My decrees are not to harm you.” The High King’s shoulders slumped, his head dipping. “You decided what is best because you want to be King. You are angry, envious, and jealous of Hevel by your own choice. It will be to your ruin.” The High King grieved inwardly, then slowly turned and went down the hill where he joined Hevel among the sheep.

Arvad watched for a long time as they laughed together and shared a comradery that he wished he could understand. He got up, spat on the ground, and strode through the trees toward his dwelling and entered. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimness, then he went to the corner table where he kept his blade. He turned it over several times in his palm, studying its details, feeling the weight of it in his hand.

This was his favorite blade. He had learned the art of blade smithing to forge the tools he needed to care for his grains and fruit trees, then continued the craft as a hobby. He had a sizeable collection of blades and swords. His hobby would now become a way to rid himself of this anger and feeling of worthlessness. He slid the blade into a notch on his belt. Squaring his shoulders, he returned to the stream where he had last seen Hevel and the High King.

Hevel was alone and striding toward him, the sun just minutes from setting. Perfect, Arvad thought.

“Good evening, brother!” Arvad called out. Hevel looked up, raised his hand, and waved. “Come, go with me out to the farthest field. I want to check the crops there before the daylight wanes. I will be glad for your company.” His brother nodded and fell in step with him as they trudged toward the outlying field, his shepherd’s hook pacing his steps.

“Have you settled your anger over the Sabbaat offerings?” asked Hevel. “I do hope so. The High King only wants us to do what is right and good. He is worried for your benefit, dear brother, as am I.” He hurried to keep up as Arvad increased his pace. The meadow and fruit trees were far behind them. The ground leveled out as the field of crops stretched in front of them.

“Oh, so I was the topic of your discussions today? Wonderful. What did I do wrong this time, I wonder? Did the old man tell you I was insubordinate again?”

“What do you mean?” Hevel responded. “The High King said nothing to me. We talked of many things but never anything disparaging. He walked with me as I herded the flock back to the hillside.”

“It has always been easy for you, hasn’t it? Mother and Father treat you like their golden child, never doing or saying anything wrong,” Arvad said. “Even the High King favors everything you do. You and your precious sheep. Bah!” He flung his hand in disgust.

“Don’t be angry, Arvad. I have always looked up to you. You’re my older brother. You are strong and a good worker. Your crops and fruits are the most flavorful in the land. I’m sorry if I upset you; that was not my intent.” He sighed. “How many times have I wished we were our younger selves again, running and playing, carefree. How I long for those days! You were my best friend but we have drifted apart. Why? What can I do?” Hevel placed his hand on Arvad’s arm, and the man whirled in anger toward him. Hevel stumbled backward, disbelieving.

“Why? Because I despise you! I will never be as good as you—nothing I do will ever be good enough. You win all the praise, never me! The High King tells me ‘Bentness is crouching by my door.’” Arvad seized hold of the blade on his belt—anger, pride, and envy blinding him to his actions— and lunged at his brother. “It’s no longer at the door; it has come in!”

Moments later, Hevel lay silent among the stalks of grain, his eyes open and staring but no longer seeing. The shepherd’s staff was still.
“What have I done?” Arvad crashed to his knees beside his brother’s lifeless body, the horror of his actions stealing the breath from his lungs. Images of the carefree, laughing face of the young brother he loved—yet hated—filled his mind and crushed his heart. In the west, the last rays of the sun dipped behind the horizon as shadows began creeping over the land.

Quickly, Arvad hid his brother’s body under the stalks of grain, the ground an unwilling participant. Scurrying back to the stream, he washed up and straightened his clothes, the blade tucked securely in his belt and hidden in the folds of his tunic. Shaking, he turned to go home. The High King stood nearby. Hevel’s flock wandered unattended over the hillside behind him.

“Where is your brother, Hevel?” asked the King.

“How should I know? Am I supposed to be his keeper, now?” Arvad glared at the High King.

“Arvad, what have you done?” The King clasped his hands, drawing a deep breath, his eyes closed. “Listen, child! Your brother’s blood has seeped into the ground; it is calling out to me!”

Fearing desperately for his life and yet wishing he were dead like his brother, Arvad stepped away from the High King. He waited, expecting any moment to be blasted to smithereens for his heinous crime. Instead, the King studied him, sadness clouding his gentle eyes, his jaw set and determined.

“From this day forward, you are cursed by the ground in which you buried your brother. His blood has spoken. The ground will no longer share its strength with you. Your crops and trees will fail. You will be a vagabond and a wanderer until your death, whenever that shall be.”
“No! My punishment is more than I can bear! You are taking my livelihood and driving me from my home. Worst of all, your face shall be hidden from me forever!” Arvad wailed and fell to his knees before the High King, an arm flung over his eyes. “I will live in fear for my life that anyone who finds me will kill me!”

“Arvad, if you seek me with all your heart and soul, you will find me. One day, when you are in distress and remember all these things that have happened to you, perhaps then you will return,” said the King, his voice low and authoritative. “Today, I will be merciful. No one will kill you. Today, you are marked with a brand. Anyone finding you will know that you cannot be touched or they themselves will die.”

“It is too much!” cried the young man.

“Now, go,” said the King, pointing toward the shadows gathering on the horizon.

Arvad sulked away from the King, his head hung low, feeling as if he was walking into nowhere.