by D B Nielsen
‘I believe that you had the plan,’ St. John smiled teasingly at me, ‘Weren’t we going to look at the Esagila Tablet?’
I nodded, feeling elated that he was including me in his quest.
I suddenly thought of something. Grabbing St. John’s hand in earnest, I asked, ‘But who sent it to you? The Seed, I mean.’
He hesitated for a moment and a peculiar tone entered his voice, ‘My brothers.’
My eyes widened, ‘You have brothers? I always thought of you as an only child. You seem so–’
‘Arrogant? Selfish? Smug?’ St. John interrupted, but he was smiling.
I rolled my eyes at him. Shaking my head in irritation, I said, ‘I was going to say self-reliant. But, yes, those other traits will do just as well.’
‘Bah, I like her, Elijah,’ the old priest remarked to St. John. Smiling at me, he confided, ‘It is good for Elijah to meet someone who isn’t afraid to challenge him.’
‘Why do you call him “Elijah” instead of St. John?’ I asked, curious.
‘It is his name. He was named for his father.’
Père Henri might have said more but St. John intervened, saying, ‘But Père Henri is the one I call my father. He has taken care of me since I came to him.’
‘I don’t understand,’ I tried to keep my voice as even as possible, ‘you told me that you came from a privileged background, that your great great-grandfather left you some money, and that you have brothers. What’s the truth?’
Père Henri and St. John exchanged a glance loaded with meaning.
‘Tell me the truth,’ I demanded, dropping St. John’s hand and rising in anger from the bed where I was sitting to confront him.
‘I’ll tell you the truth but you may not believe me,’ he said, his voice harsher than before.
And now I recalled with clarity what I’d seen and experienced in the cathedral. I still didn’t know what to believe, but the one thing I did believe in was St. John and my feelings for him. I knew instinctively that I trusted him. Thinking back to what I’d experienced over the last month and in light of what I’d seen in the cathedral, I said with sudden conviction, despite a certain trepidation, ‘I’ll believe you.’
‘Everything I’ve told you is the truth except for the story of my great great-grandfather. I don’t have a great great-grandfather.’
‘So you don’t have a great great-grandfather,’ I said, shrugging, ‘and you were raised by a priest. That’s nothing to be ashamed of. Lots of people grow up in orphanages or foster homes and have no family to call their own.’
St. John gave a sharp shake of his head in denial, ‘No, Sage. That wasn’t what I meant. I’m not an orphan, as such. I have no great great-grandfather. He’s a piece of fiction. I made him up long ago. It was simpler that way.’
‘I don’t understand,’ I repeated, logic asserting itself again, warring with my desire to believe.
‘You do. You just don’t want to accept it,’ he said, reaching out to take me by the shoulders. ‘Who am I, Sage?’
I shook my head. ‘You’re Elijah St. John Rivers.’
‘Who am I?’ he prompted again, jade green eyes looking deeply into mine.
‘You’re the Assistant Keeper of Ancient Mesopotamian Culture at the British Museum,’ I said, trying to pull away.
I couldn’t explain my contrary feelings – I trusted St. John implicitly but, at the same time, I was afraid. Not of him. Never of St. John. But of myself.
My sister used to mock me by claiming I was like those freaks and nerds who actually believed in the reality of other worlds, mythical creatures and the supernatural. I didn’t want to be seen now in that light by St. John by giving voice to what I believed. What if I was wrong? How foolish would that make me look to him?
He held on tight to my shoulders and made me face him.
‘Who am I?’ He repeated, pronouncing each word individually with a stress.
‘You’re the Keeper of the Seed.’
‘And?’ he urged me to answer him.
‘And my self-appointed protector,’ I said, my voice breaking.
By now I was shaking my head vigorously in denial, not knowing whether I wanted to hear the truth. All my life I’d been ridiculed for being different and I’d learnt to keep my beliefs to myself rather than being a target of derision. I wanted to believe! I did believe! So I didn’t know why I was fearing the truth yet admitting it at the same time.
But the words in my head formed of their own accord, escaping from my lips, ‘You’re my guardian angel.’
St. John nodded, releasing me from his hold. ‘I’m your guardian angel.’
I wished he was still holding onto me because I felt like my legs had turned to jelly.
So it was true!
‘You’re an angel?’ My voice was almost inaudible.
‘I am Nephilim, Sage,’ he said, and his voice this time was strong and self-assured. ‘I am of the race of Nephilim – part angel, part mortal.’
Père Henri explained, sensing my confusion, ‘The Nephilim have always been Keepers of the Seed.’
Everything suddenly slotted into place – why St. John had no history that I could trace except for a doppelganger who had lived well over a century ago, why he had such amazing vision in the dark, why he was so against me pursuing the artefact, why he knew more about the artefact than my father, why he was able to save me from the stone relic’s path and how he came to be in my hospital room without being seen. He’d shown me a true vision of himself back in the cathedral and, as I gazed at him now, I wondered what this meant for our relationship. Because, despite what he was telling me – that he wasn’t completely human – I realised that I loved him unconditionally and it didn’t matter to me what he was, as I would never stop loving him.
But I was now trembling in reaction, my teeth beginning to chatter. I couldn’t stop shaking, even though my heart had already accepted what my mind could not immediately fully comprehend.
‘Sit down, my child,’ Père Henri insisted. The old priest led me back over to the bed. ‘Elijah, go make a fresh pot of tea.’
St. John looked as if he was about to protest but the look Père Henri shot his way, silenced him. He picked up the tea tray and carried it out the wooden door. I watched as it closed behind him, the crucifix attached to its back failing to bring me any comfort.
Père Henri took both my hands in his own; they felt papery-thin.
He said, comfortingly, ‘Child, Elijah was born to complete this task. The children of the Nephilim are sent to humankind to protect us. In every age, there is a priest or rabbi or mufti who acts as an Emissary for the Light. We shelter the Nephilim.’
‘I don’t understand – you’re Catholic, aren’t you? Why would the other religious leaders believe in a Christian God?’
‘They don’t.’ Père Henri said simply, ‘But they are still men of God. All three religions – Christianity, Judaism and Islam – have arisen from the same source and we all worship, in our own way, the God of Abraham and Ishmael.’
The old priest paused, looking at me out of eyes that bore such sadness and wisdom.
‘If I may refer to a very wise man, a peacemaker, so that you might understand better?’ he asked, and I nodded in response, ‘Mahatma Gandhi once said that all religions are true. He claimed, “True religion is not a narrow dogma. It is faith in God and living in the presence of God. It means faith in a future life, in truth ... Religion is a matter of heart.” I just want to love God. It satisfies the soul. It fills one’s being. That is why we shelter the Nephilim.’
I finally nodded in understanding.
‘How long have you been watching over him?’ I asked the priest, intrigued.
‘I have taken care of Elijah as a son since I was a Novitiate entering the priesthood at nineteen. You may think it strange that someone so young would be given such an important charge but our lives are so brief compared to the Nephilim that it was decided that they should have a consistent presence fo
r as long as possible until we mere mortals are no longer capable of fulfilling our roles. It has been fifty-three years since I first became his mentor, spiritual advisor and father. And in all that time, Elijah has not grown a day older.’
I wondered exactly how old St. John was. I would have to ask him some time, I decided.
A thought occurred to me, making me blush.
‘How is it possible for an angel and a human being to...?’ I wracked my brain for an appropriate way to phrase what I was thinking.
‘Procreate?’ Père Henri asked amused.
I nodded, grateful for his assistance.
Lively blue eyes in a wizened face looked back at me.
‘It is written in Genesis. Would you like me to read you the passage?’ he asked.
Again I nodded as he crossed to the bedside table and reached into the top drawer to retrieve a worn and well-read Bible. Finding the page he was looking for, he began to read, his voice confident and surprisingly arresting, ‘Genesis Chapter 6 Verse 1. “When people had spread all over the world, and daughters were being born, some of the heavenly beings saw that the young women were beautiful, so they took the ones they liked. Then the Lord said, ‘I will not allow people to live for ever; they are mortal. From now on they will live no longer than 120 years.’ In those days, and even later, there were giants on the earth who were descendants of human women and the heavenly beings. They were the great heroes and famous men of long ago.”’ He lowered the Bible, saying, ‘It is believed that David battled the giant, Goliath, thought to be of the race of the Nephilim, not actually a Gath or Philistine. But some of this is purely myth. I do not know how many years he has lived on this earth, only that Elijah is far older than one hundred and twenty years. Of course, had he lived in the age of Noah’s sons, Elijah’s height would have set him apart from mortals – he may have been seen as a giant amongst men.’
I blinked, asking aloud, ‘And a hero?’
‘In order to answer that, you’ll have to speak to Elijah,’ he said.
‘Speak to me about what?’ St. John asked, entering the priest’s cell carrying the replenished tea tray. I noticed he had added a plate of digestive biscuits. He saw me looking at them quizzically and apologised, ‘Sorry, they were all I could find.’
I refused the biscuits but accepted a fresh cup of tea gratefully. ‘Père Henri was telling me about the Nephilim. If you don’t mind me asking – the angels didn’t rape the human women, did they?’
‘Unfortunately, some of them did,’ he acknowledged, ‘The one that fathered me, however, truly loved my mother. But many others took what they lusted after. It has been this way since the first Fall with Lucifer. The seven deadly sins – pride, envy, lust, and so forth – are not simply traits of humanity.’
‘But I thought angels were pure beings?’ I couldn’t picture it; not when all the representations of angels during this season were a source of hope and love.
‘Christmas, fairy tales, Disney, Hollywood, so many misinterpretations,’ he replied, his mouth twisting in distaste. ‘The truth is that angels are Warriors for the Light. They’re soldiers, Sage. Protectors. Guardians. They are the Army of Heaven.’
‘Right,’ I tried to keep my voice as even as possible, ‘So they raped and pillaged like the Viking Raiders and Romans when they came down to earth.’
‘Some of them, yes.’ His voice was bleak and it took me a moment to realise that he probably thought I saw him as some monster.
I wished I had kept my thoughts to myself as I hated seeing him look so lost.
‘Did your mother also love your father?’ I asked, hesitantly.
His beautiful face turned towards mine, lit with a radiance from within, ‘Yes, she loved him very much. But a mortal loving a heavenly being is like Echo’s love for Narcissus; impossible, tragic and doomed.’
I wondered if there was a lesson to be learned from this and whether he was trying to convince me not to fall in love with him. But it was already too late – had probably been too late from the moment I first laid eyes on him. Even as my mind had told me, time and again, he was out of my league, I’d fallen irrevocably in love with him. Nephilim or not, he was all that I wanted. I only hoped he felt the same way about me.
Something compelled me to ask even though I feared the answer, ‘She died of love for him?’
‘No,’ he whispered, the light in his jade eyes dimming, ‘she died in childbirth, bearing me.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, my voice cracking. I felt terrible knowing he’d been alone on this earth for so long and having to shoulder such a burden.
St. John’s eyes met mine, a shade so deep and mysterious I could have drowned in them, as he said, ‘Come on, I better be getting you back to the hotel. It’s late and you’re tired, I can tell.’
I wanted to protest but instead felt myself drooping with weariness in confirmation of his words.
‘It’s been a difficult day for you. But it’s just the beginning.’ St. John drew me up from the bed and draped his jacket around my shoulders, ‘Tomorrow – or this evening, depending on which way you look at it – we have a private tour of the Louvre arranged. You’ll have your opportunity to view the Esagila Tablet.’
As I took my leave of Père Henri, giving the old priest a kiss on both cheeks Parisian style, I wondered what new surprises lay in store. One thing was for certain; St. John was right – we were now partners and already I’d gotten more than I’d bargained for.
WANT MORE?
SEED: Part Two of the Keepers of Genesis Series continues the story...
Did you enjoy DB Nielsen’s Keepers of Genesis Series?
Don't miss out! Visit DB Nielsen at BrixBaxter.com
Or our SHOP
to see what awaits you from our other BrixBaxter authors.
Keep in touch with DB Nielsen, release dates, upcoming events and interests of the author through
www.dbnielsen.com,
facebook page db_nielsen.author
or
Twitter @db_nielsen
About the Author
DB Nielsen was born in British Hong Kong and immigrated to Australia in childhood. DB likes to travel the world with family; dividing time between residing in Sydney and visits to the cathedrals, crypts and museums the world over, doing research for new projects. The author is a university lecturer in Linguistics and Semiotics, and continues to teach English Literature and Language whilst writing. DB’s passion is for throwing elaborate dinners and themed parties (such as medieval banquets), and reading anything and everything. DB’s dream project is to do a series of book tours in the Champagne region of France.
DB Nielsen loves to hear from readers. You can contact the author through www.dbnielsen.com, facebook page db_nielsen.author or Twitter @db_nielsen
Also by the Author
Keepers of Genesis Series
SEED: Part One
SEED: Part Two
SCROLL: Part One
SCROLL: Part Two
SWORD: Part One
SWORD: Part Two
STONE: Part One
STONE: Part Two
Hallowed Eve
Christmas Seasonings
Praise for SEED
'You know that thrill when you discover an author whose every word draws you in and you cannot put the book down? This is one such book and this is one such author. I absolutely adored SEED. I did not want to part from it, did not want it to end.’
Renita D’Silva author of Monsoon Memories
‘It is just brilliant. I'm rarely left speechless about a book ... I laughed and cried at this book. It is beautifully written and Nielsen is a wonderful author with such a vivid imagination.’
EV Goddard englishbibliophile.blogspot.co.uk
‘As an avid reader I'm fairly particular about certain genres, but Seed has it all; Angels, Nephilim, Religion, History, language, Romance & Suspense. WARNING: make sure you're well-rested with plenty of portable food & drink at hand AND nothing in your agenda
but time to read.’
P A Chang
Acknowledgments
To the many archaeologists, historians and curators whose preservation of artefacts, artworks and monuments has made my digging into the past much easier, I owe a special thank you. Any mistakes within these pages remain, unfortunately, my own.
Big thanks to all my friends and fans for becoming my ‘beta group’ – with particular thanks to Cindy, Qim, Chris, and Timothy – emotionally and editorially your support has been invaluable.
My gratitude and appreciation to Lorella Belli for the insightful advice, kindness and conviction, checking the manuscript, much laughter, and for loving my novel almost as much as I do.
Lastly, but most of all, thanks and love to my family for all the support, the continual encouragement and commitment to the dream – in particular to Alain for his act of faith and tireless enthusiasm (for all the above and everything else besides).
BrixBaxter Publishing – Experience New Worlds
Visit BrixBaxter.com for all our current releases, fabulous authors and upcoming releases, events and giveaways.
THANK YOU!