The Nephelium Read online

  The Eternals Book One:

  The Nephelium

  by Nathan Parks

  © Revised Edition, 2013. Nathan E. Parks. All Rights Reserved.

  Editing and Layout by Sheila R. Muñoz, EdD, [email protected].

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, except brief extracts for the purpose of review, without written permission from the copyright owner.

  Dedicated to Sarah Rae

  Not long here,

  but Eternally remembered

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Introduction

  A Watcher’s Notes

  Prologue

  A Letter to the Jewish Historian Josephus from the Apostle John, the Beloved

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Epilogue

  Appendix

  Glossary

  Excerpt from The Eternals, Book Two: The Vapor

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  When I decided to revise The Nephelium, I wanted to make sure some of the outstanding fans who have been with me along the way were recognized: my dear wife, Wesley Parks; my precious children; and family and friends, Casey Arp, Mike Cutlip, Stacy Darnell, Joshua Dietrich, Josh Gray, Ron James, Brad Khor, Carrie Lyons, Sheila Muñoz, Richard Nix, Abby Parks, Brandon Parks, Hannah Parks, Walt Parks, Michael Perez, and Richard Santos.

  Introduction

  Before you begin this segment of your journey, the reading of this book, I ask something very small, but significant. Remember what you believe and why. I say this because what you believe, whether I agree with it or not, is the starting point for you.

  It does not matter what brought you to where you are today, but it does matter where you are today. You see, belief co-exists with choice. Our choices are based upon our beliefs, and our beliefs are formed from our choices. Neither of them is self-encompassing, because neither affects just us, and each affects the other.

  I believe what I believe because I have chosen to believe it, but I could never choose such things if I never had come to a point where I wanted to believe. At the same time, the impact of my choice to believe goes beyond who I am and ripples outward to those whose lives I touch, for right or wrong. Generations to come will be affected by my choice of belief, whether or not it is my intention.

  One may choose to believe in a one, true God. That choice will affect all those around him. However, one may be an atheist. His choice to believe there is no God, likewise, will affect those around him.

  It is not my desire through what you read here to change your beliefs either way, but as you enter into the Eternals, it is my desire to challenge you to realize that choices are vital and important, that they do not affect you only, no matter how much you believe they do. Why? That is not your choice.

  A Watcher’s* Notes

  *One chosen to chronicle happenings

  I want to thank you for taking a moment out of your life to allow the individuals of this written account of the Eternals to open up themselves to you. They have a story that needs to be heard and yet can only be heard by your allowing the door of your thoughts, imagination, and dreams to open up. That door is the key for you to leave behind the doldrums, frustrations, and stress and for you to step into their lives and existence so that they will live on forever.

  What you hold in your hands could be true or could be fiction. You see, everything is separated by choice. Do you choose to believe what you read, or do you choose to mark it off as good, or even bad, fiction? Could it be that part of this is truth or all of it has poured forth out of the mind of a bored individual who desires to reach out and play with the imaginations of people he has never met? Again, that is a choice, and that choice could separate you from a completely new experience, the experience of the Eternals.

  The story of the Eternals may sound similar to stories, myths, and even legends you have heard previously as you have lived your short or long life. You may believe that you know from where this all comes. There is even a chance that you may find things here offensive or irritating. That, again, is a choice for you. What you do with the knowledge with which you walk away is your choice. I can only lay it out on paper as it has come to me.

  This book may challenge your beliefs or deepen what you already believe. What you read could make you laugh or cry, or it could even find you bored and shutting the cover before you are even done, thus closing the door into the lives of these ever-evolving individuals.

  This is not just a book. No, for once you read this, there is a whole world that will begin to open up to you--that is, if you choose to continue the journey. It is your choice and only yours. Remember, we all are separated simply by a choice.

  Prologue

  Darkness seemed to move up the ziggurat’s steps like a shadow flowing out behind the lone figure who rapidly ascended upward, sometimes skipping a step or two. Night had fallen several hours before, but the light from the torches high upon the ramparts of the large temple and those marking each step seemed only to be absorbed by the darkness.

  The figure did not pay attention to the sound of festivity that drifted upon the breeze from the area of the palace. It didn’t matter now. History would mark this night, and a great giant would fall. Nothing would matter soon, only that the children were safe.

  The forbiddance of the steps that had been set in motion weighed heavily upon the figure’s mind. Everything had seemed to be in place finally for his master to reign in his rightful seat of authority and yet, once again, a diversion: how history came in a full circle.

  “Stand aside you fools,” the figure stated with a gruff and dark voice, dripping with an authority that demanded attention.

  The ziggurat guards moved into a position at either side of the ziggurat’s doors.

  “Stay alert! After tonight there may not be anything left to guard.”

  Looks of confusion quietly brushed across the guard’s faces, but they dared not question the High Priest. The ziggurat had been created by the god Marduk, as belief would have it, and was protected by this god and his forces; it wasn’t going to be going anywhere, right? It didn’t matter, for it wasn’t their place to ponder such questions. Their responsibility was to simply guard, so gua
rd they did.

  The High Priest quickly moved down the dusty hallway, not moving aside for anyone, knocking into ziggurat attendees, but never offering even a mutter of apology to a single one. He was certain that very soon cries and screams would arise from the city floor, marking mayhem and destruction. He made his way down several more descending hallways and then stopped at an engraving in the wall. He muttered a few words beneath his breath and then placed his hand in an indentation at the top of the engraving. It was a picture of an even larger ziggurat, a tower reaching into the heavens.

  “Oh, Babel, will you ever rise from your rubble? Our dreams can only go forth tonight with your children.”

  A door slid open on a hidden mechanism, and he entered into the ziggurat’s nursery. He did not wish to frighten any of the nurses, so he masked his anxiety as he made his way past each of the small beds where the toddlers lay.

  “One, two, three, four, five.”

  Where was six? One of the children was not in his bed. “Where is Rephaim?” he asked the closest ziggurat nurse.

  “Tonight is his night to attend the royal feast. He is at the palace,” the nurse responded.

  “The palace? Who gave permission?” he demanded.

  “One of the other priests allowed it, sir; we did not see anything wrong with it. Tonight, I am sure no one needs to remind you, is the start of the mourning for Tammuz. It was believed that it would be a good time for him to see the importance of such a ritual.”

  “Tammuz?”

  He had not forgotten that the summer solstice began after the celebratory ritual, but there certainly was no need for an offspring of Marduk to witness a ritual for Tammuz.

  “We must fetch him at once! Send a runner to bring him back here. I want all the children accounted for, and then I want to speak to the nurses.”

  “Is something wrong, sir?” It was an innocent question.

  His frustration grew to more than he could hold back now. He didn’t know how much longer they had, and these children had to be hidden. They were their only hope to keep the race alive. It had only been by an act of Marduk and, of course, by his favor that the Nephelium had returned to Earth, and as the High Priest, he would do everything in his power to make sure that they never were taken from Earth again. The realms of the spirit world may have their war, but he knew as long as these children and their potential descendants were alive, there would always be a door for those exiled to move into the mortal realm. This would give Marduk the chance he needed to bridge the gap between mortals and immortals, giving him the edge over the Morning Star.

  “We must get the children out of the city.”

  “Out of Babylon, sir? Why would we do such a thing? It is vital that they . . .”

  “BECAUSE . . . there will be no Babylon after tonight! Don’t you get it?” he stormed at the nurse.

  Her face went white. “What are you talking about? What do you mean ‘no Babylon’? Have you gone mad? Sir, we are the . . .”

  “We are nothing. That is it! We are going to be nothing! Tonight at the celebration in the palace, something has happened. A hand . . . no, not just a hand, but the hand of a god. It wrote that we are going to be destroyed! The governor in all his regal and drunken form laughed at this warning. Laughed! He smirked at a hand floating without a body, engraving with no chisel!

  “It is no secret that the Persians and the Medes are outside our city, and yet Belshazzar still holds a celebration! He is mad, no different from Nebuchadnezzar.

  “We must keep Marduk’s children alive! NOW, move! Call for Rephaim, and let’s get all of the children together and get them out of the city. I do not know how much time we have.”

  The nurse was stunned and weak. Never had she imagined that Babylon would fall. The city had become a monumental fortress, a symbol of strength and victory. Sure, it had its rough edges, but time had brought her back to her regal state. How could they be taken over while their own king, Nabonidus, was out conquering other cities and ports himself? Had not Belshazzar built a strong defense as he stood in for his father? What would happen to the children? Would Marduk rise from the fires of his altar and protect his offspring? Surely, a god would not allow his own to be destroyed by foreign fighters!

  The nurse looked at the sleeping five that were there within the nursery. They had only just begun their training, and their powers had not even been fully tapped.

  Her thoughts came to a crashing halt as panicked yelling and hysterical screaming were heard within the halls of the ziggurat. Something very terrible was happening! There was no way that any forces could be upon the city yet! There had not even been a warning cry or a fight!

  “They have taken over the city! We are overrun!”

  Screams of panic and horror came crashing in on her senses.

  “The Persians are upon us!”

  “Grab the children! Now!” the High Priest yelled. “Get them to the altar room! We will ask Marduk what is to be done. He will protect his own!”

  “But how? How could they already be in the city? Where are the guards and the soldiers?” the nurse fearfully asked.

  “Does it matter? Get the children!” he screamed at her.

  The toddlers where already waking up, and two of them were crying as commotion and panic had begun its maddening spread through the halls and hidden corners of this worship edifice. The past was meeting the future, and the present was quickly becoming history!

  Above the screams and confusion within the ziggurat, another noise began to overtake the mind of the High Priest, roiling up within him. He knew all too well what the sound of leathery wings and the stinging of sulfur upon his nostrils meant. Out of years of slavery, he had learned to relax and not struggle against the enveloping possession of his master. His muscles relaxed, and his breathing became heavy as Marduk embodied his avatar.

  The nurse had only witnessed the possession of the High Priest once before, at the birth of the Nephelium. Then she did not have time to bow before her god of choice, for as the midwife to ink priestesses, she was busy delivering the offspring of the spirit realm. He had granted her leniency then, as he gazed through the High Priest’s eyes at a new generation of his children. This time she knew what to do without hesitation. She bowed low to the ground and kept her eyes averted.

  “My Lord, we are overrun! What of your children? What of Babylon?”

  A strong, fearless, ageless voice issued smoothly from the lips of the High Priest, now acting as the avatar to his master. “Worry not, for the Arch Council of Jah thought they would catch me off guard and, once again, destroy the chance I have of overthrowing the underworld from the Morning Star; but they were wrong. Cyrus, your Persian conqueror, has more devotion to me than Belshazzar, so the time for my children to arise will come even closer. Hide them until the coronation of your new king.”

  “Our new king, My Lord? So Babylon will fall?”

  “I will not arise to her protection, for if I do not appear, the Arch Council of Jah will believe they have won. They do not know that with the rise of Persia, I grow stronger. I believe we have only seen the start of the greatness of Babylon. Do not worry. My time is near.”

  “My Lord, I fear for the safety of Rephaim. He was at the ziggurat tonight watching the festivities and rituals honoring Tammuz.”

  A cloud passed over the demon Overlord’s eyes as he contemplated his next move. Rephaim was the strongest of his children; and, truly, this young boy would grow to be the most powerful of the Nephelium race.

  “Let him be, there is nothing we can do now. He will return to us. I have to go, for the Warriors of the Arch Council are hidden throughout the city, waiting to see what the outcome of tonight will be. They must believe that I have fallen.”

  Without any fanfare, flurry of wings, or any other symbolic signs, the identity of the High Priest returned, and his muscles became once again under his control.

  The city was falling without even a struggle. The festivities of the evening at the pala
ce had come to a sudden and terrifying end. Belshazzar and his royal inner circle had heard the screams and shouts come roaring upon the palace as a tidal wave rushing in from the ocean and seizing the sands of the beach. The invasion was sobering to those celebrating, and before anyone fully understood what had happened, the would-be king and his council had vanished into the night. They were setting out for the coast, hoping to make a stand there with a regiment.

  Cyrus’ footsteps seemed more hollow than victorious as he and his Captain of Riders entered into the palace halls, walking firmly past tables of half-eaten food and taking care not to step in puddles of wine that had flowed from overturned goblets.

  “Find Belshazzar and kill him! Tonight Babylon the Mighty has fallen, and Persia the Majestic arises from her ashes.”

  “Yes, sir,” answered the captain. “We have dispatched two regiments already in pursuit. What of the city, your majesty?”

  “Leave her as she is. Her citizens laid their heads down tonight as Babylonians, but will rise up with the morning sun as Persians! Proud they will become!”

  “And the temples, sir?”

  “Leave them for now. I want you to find the temple to Baal, or Marduk as the Babylonians call him, for tonight I will offer up prayers of gratitude for his granting me rule over his kingdom.”

  “Yes, your majesty,” the captain said as he turned to obey Cyrus’ orders.

  Cyrus made his way alone to the throne room. Babylon was truly a majestic city, and the palace was a pinnacle of royal honor, majesty, and beauty. If he had only been one visiting, he would truly leave in awe, but here it was: his palace! His enjoyment was interrupted quickly with a voice.

  “This morning it was the beauty of Babylon, and tonight it rests as a pearl of great price within the hands of Persia. What will tomorrow bring or even the next hundred years? Will the sands of time rise up and slowly erase the power of today in order to make room for the prideful of tomorrow?”