At the edge of the city, Qayin gathered water from the well. He dipped his hands in the cool, clean water and drank deeply. When he raised his head, a man was standing opposite the well. He stood out from the ebbing darkness of dawn, his clothes a brilliant red and untouched by the sand that found its way into every nook and cranny of life. The stranger said nothing; he merely watched Qayin drink.

The farmer drew what water he would need for the day and paid the stranger no mind. When he had finished, however, he drew up water one more time and offered it to the other man. "You may drink if you are thirsty. This well is good and does not run dry."

The man did not move.

"Sir, do you not thirst?"

"No," he replied. His voice was soft and drew Qayin closer. "I do not thirst for water. I thirst for knowledge. For what do you thirst, farmer?"

A moment was more time than he needed to choose an answer. "For peace. For too long we have been at war with our brother city. They take the water, raid our crops, and kill all those who have tried to stop them."

The stranger stared at Qayin with eyes and didn't seem to see him; they looked past and through into something deeper. "If you could protect your neighbors and loved ones, would you? It is within my power to give you this gift. Would you take it and end your war?"

"I would."

A thin smile spread across the face of the stranger. "Then you shall."


His feet hit the sand hard on the far side of the walls. Behind him, the final sounds of revelry drifted into the burning rays of another scorching dawn. He'd won their peace, but at what price? Smoke curled in lazy wisps on the horizon. From the edges of his home, the silver-gray fingers looked almost pretty. The city had burned; his home would be safe.

Qayin tried not to trip over his feet as he set a course to the West. At least the sun would be at his back for a few hours. He needed shelter and some time to try to recall what he had done…


For three days, the temple walls had rung with shouted song and drunken carousing. The twins who watched over it held their peace. Within its walls, they felt safe.

"How long will this continue?" the white-haired one asked her sister.

"Until they have worked the surprise of their victory from their minds and buried it in the dirt beneath their feet," the other replied.

Few people visited them, but in the darkness of each of those three nights, they'd felt the visitations come. Bright and scorching hot, the presence bore down on them until they felt as though they might catch fire. In the morning, neither spoke about the dreams they knew they'd shared.

"Milk?" one would ask, offering the crock of goat's milk. The other drank it without word. Then the darkness of night would settle in around them, and, though they tried to resist, both would succumb to sleep.


The voice was gentler this time, calm and inviting. The walls of the temple around the sisters glowed warm and sweet and smelled of deep-summer honey. "Chavah. Lilit," it called to them. "Why have you not answered our call?"

Lilit could feel her fingers curl and twitch beneath her sleeping body, but in the space of their dream, she sat up and looked in the direction of the voice. There stood a man - probably a man - wrapped tight in silks from far to the East. He shone like late-afternoon sunshine, giving off hues of burnished orange and gold. When she tried to look closer at his face, the features never truly became clear.

"What do you want from us?" Lilit demanded. "Why have you come?"

Chavah placed a hand on her sister's shoulder and stared at the man, transfixed. "Who are you?" she asked. Like everything about Chavah, her voice was lighter than her sister's. The people of the city said she'd been washed clean from within the womb and come out white as offering bones bleached in the sun, from the round of her parched heels to the blunted tips of her colorless hair.

Behind them, another voice rang harsh and strong as stone. "Chavah! Lilit!" the cold voice bored deep into their minds with a kind of commanding presence they could not fight against.

The sisters spun in fright, though Chavah turned more slowly, taken by the Man of Sunshine.

"The traitor Qayin has escaped the city. He has desecrated the name of God, and his crimes cannot go unpunished. You must find him." The owner of the voice stood tall over them and cast a shadow that filled the entire room with an azure glow that froze the priestesses like the night winds.

The warm one walked around and looked at them both. His smile brought warmth to counter his companion: ice and fire to fill the temple. "We will give you gifts with which to find Qayin, as he cannot be allowed to escape. His future is marked and will bring ruin upon all those who give him shelter, all those who take him in. You must protect them."

Chavah nodded slowly and closed her eyes. She answered for them both, and Lilit bowed her head in acquiescence, though the fire in her breast burned hot against the commands of these visitors. "We will do what we must."


The reaching, grasping fingers of another dawn spread into the temple. Chavah and Lilit had already awoken. They sat beneath their only blanket together and drank the hottest tea they could make; it warmed itself at Lilit's touch.

Hours had passed, but yet neither sister had spoken. Now, as sunlight crept into their home, Lilit forced words from her throat. "What has Qayin done?"

"I don't know."

Lilit shook her dark head.

"We'll find out when we find him, Lilit." The words had been coming more easily to her for hours. Lilit's voice thrummed inside Chavah's head in an endless, gentle song, and she knew the thoughts her sister had been unable to put into words. They didn't form words, but Chavah knew her sister's anxiety and confusion all the same.

They gathered the few things they would take - bread, skins for water, and some dried meat - and covered their heads to keep away the sun.

At the edge of the city, neither one looked back. They knew they would never see it again.

They did not mourn.