Eternity Read online

  Eternity

  To my father who gave me my name.

  Eternity © 2016 by James Nealis

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including but not limited to, photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Permission,” at the address below. Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2017

  Black Cat Press

  1004 South Bank Way

  St. John’s, FL 32259

  Scriptures taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com The “NIV” and “New International Version” are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Act 1

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Act 2

  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

  Act 3

  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

  Acknowledgements

  Act 1

  The DESIGNER

  Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation? Tell me, if you understand. Who marked off its dimensions? Surely you know! Who stretched a measuring line across it? On what were its footings set, or who laid its cornerstone—while the morning stars sang together and all the angels shouted for joy?

  Job 38 4-7

  Chapter One

  The Confrontation

  MUCH HAS CHANGED since I witnessed the dawn of the universe.

  I remember those early moments. Everything felt cold and empty as trillions of random particles floated in and out of the nothingness. There was no ground on which to stand, nor anything firm which could be grasped. There was only darkness as a void consumed all of the cosmos.

  Over time, the dust culminated into larger bodies of stone and sediment. Gravity took control and the rocks pounded into each other, creating what sounded like a chorus of infinite explosions.

  Loud, frigid, and violent, it all seemed purposeless.

  Little did I know the hidden design behind the disorder. Those collisions brought about stars. The darkness gave way to light. Worlds formed and synchronized into regular orbits, charting their own courses.

  It all came to a climax with Earth, where I now stand. This new world, just in its infancy, boasts regular seasons, pleasant climates, and budding life. The uncertainty of those early days seems so distant from this place where order reigns supreme.

  But I am beginning to feel anxious. Once again, the surface of creation shifts.

  “I fear we are returning to chaos.”

  No other angel stands nearby to hear my mumblings. Nor will any return here for several days. They must prepare for the coming Acceptance; as must I.

  I pull at the thin, silver chain of my necklace and raise a small pan flute. My sole possession, I bartered it off a lone Forger at the outskirts of the Temple Center. Carved from a cedar branch from this very garden, I chose it not only for the charming, pink swirling pattern in the wood, but also to remind me of this place when I’m away.

  Pressing the tube to my lips, I feel the uneven, almost jagged edge rub against my tongue. The tone rings out as my fingers jump along the instrument, bouncing from hole to hole. The notes flitter upward until they finish with a descending melody.

  I let the instrument fall back onto my chest, dangling. Silence greets me as my song diligently seeks out its target.

  Green foliage sets the canvas for a color splash of flowers dotted throughout. The breeze carries the faint aroma of ripening strawberries. The blades of soft grass brush against the sides of my ankles, like fingertips massaging my skin. I swear the vegetation grows more beautiful and intricate every time I visit this place. My eyes linger on the red lilies but the purples, pinks, and even rare spots of blue each vie for my attention.

  It’s amazing how far we’ve come since the beginning.

  I sit down upon a rock and watch the bushes rustle. Paws clop upon the soft dirt and an orange coat appears above the underbrush, like a faint blur, surprisingly blended within the green leaves. The stern face peers out from the foliage.

  The beast halts beside my outstretched legs. He coos softly, laying his head on my knees. I caress the dark mane that adorns his neck which highlights the black nose that would otherwise be lost behind the unevenly distributed whiskers. He pants and turns his head to the side.

  I remember when the Origin spawned the first of his ancestors and assigned him to my keep. I dreamed of the great potential in the seedling. I tweaked and crafted. I modified the traits passed on and, with each iteration, I gradually guided the breeding and adaption.

  Today, an entire generation of these animals boasts sharp fangs and muscular builds. The Origin created and then I performed my job as a Designer. I sculpted a truly majestic animal of flesh and bone.

  I beat my wings slowly behind me, cooling the animal. He might not be more advanced than his peers, nor is he the strongest of his litter, but we have bonded; my handprint rests on his very soul.

  "You sit where you don't belong," an unknown voice booms.

  I shoot a glance toward the trees.

  My breed jerks his neck back. His eager eyes scan the tree line as the brown tuft on his tail slides back and forth along the dirt like water rushing through a twisting stream. His legs, kick back and forth in jolts.

  "Don't be afraid." I rub my hand on the creature’s cheek to comfort him. He nuzzles up closer.

  “I said, you are in our territory," the voice says.

  "The Origin gifted the Earth to the Prince," I say. "No other lays claim to any part of it.”

  “Don’t lecture me.”

  He steps out of the woods into plain view. His body is completely exposed, naked except for the sandals on his feet. An x-shaped scar crisscrosses his face at the mouth. The tops of his wings come to a point just behind his shoulder blades. The remainder of his skin looks tired and somehow more aged than mine, but despite his aged appearance I know we are all young, all still learning about this universe we visit. We are only moments into our eternal story.

  His lips turn downward and his eyes scowl as he examines my animal.


  "He looks weak.”

  “He isn’t,” I say.

  "We'll see." He plucks a berry from the bush only to drop it on the ground. The red oozes beneath his sandal. “Don’t you find the monotony draining? The constant birth and rebirth, an incessant groaning of all creation? And for what purpose but His own selfish pleasure?”

  A sinking feeling fills my chest.

  “Have we met?” I ask. “I‘m Michael.”

  "So you are."

  “I don’t believe I caught your name.”

  “And I don’t believe you ever will.”

  What? I don’t understand. He conceals his name?

  The Origin created and then gave to each of us a unique moniker. He sometimes can feel like a distant force now that the Prince has assumed more control, so this token of His love and admiration for each of His angels is a great source of our joy. We, as a race, find pride in nothing more than the names He gave us, because they remind us that while we are keepers of His creation He granted us one incorruptible possession of our own: our identity.

  “I belong to the Clan of the Arch Gelian,” I say.

  “And I belong to no one."

  "No clan?"

  “Don’t look so surprised.”

  I pause, taking in all that I am seeing. I have heard the stories but always passed them off as vague superstitions.

  “I’m in the presence of a Rogue," I think, not realizing my mouth speaks my revelation aloud.

  “Ha! It's you that've gone Rogue," he says.

  "We have clans for a reason,” I say. "We were created for community. We are each parts of one big whole. The Origin designed us to unite our skills, to tend to His creation. Yet you Rogues would spit upon the decrees of our Prince. You refuse his authority."

  "I’d spit upon the Prince himself if I could get close enough,” he says. “Yet you accept deception for fact. I can tell that like your brothers, you have no idea what a lie would look like if it came your way. I could tell you the grass grows in the sky, and you would probably believe it."

  “You are wrong; I don’t need experience in deception to discern a lie. Knowing the truth equips us to see its opposite.”

  “But lies aren’t always so different from the truth,” he says. “The wise are able to sift the gemstones from the sand.”

  “And the dishonest soil the water.”

  For a moment, we stare at each other in silence.

  How long am I to continue this exchange of accusations? I should not be surprised. If this is truly a Rogue, I have no place for the blasphemer.

  “You’re naïve like your brothers,” he says. “Innocent, peaceful, but misguided. Perhaps you don’t deserve the fate that awaits you, but war will come to you all the same.”

  For the first time in my existence, I don’t know how to respond.

  “War?” I ask.

  "You will be forced to pick a side," he says. “Because to the warrior, there is no individual more detestable than the bystander. At least an active enemy can earn your respect with strength, but the bystander is not worth the air he breathes.”

  “Your kind has promoted war since the beginning of time,” I say. “Yet war never comes. So your words are lost on me, but if it does come, then I will simply choose the side of our Prince and the Origin.”

  He laughs. "Now that is the most amusing thing you've said yet."

  I grit my teeth. I have had enough of his taunting.

  “What is it that you want from me, Rogue? And be quick about it for I wish to return to my designs.”

  His eyes glow red. His face scrunches and flickering flames burst from his skin. The tendrils behind his neck blow in the wind behind him like long locks of orange hair. “Very well, how about we play a game?"

  I take one step backward. I’ve never seen anyone set ablaze like this angel and he glares at me now, contorting the crisscrossed scar on his face.

  The leaves above rustle violently. Vibrations from the ground travel up my legs as a tree uproots and falls with a rumbling crash.

  I look toward the sky and see a beast descending. Two, serpentine eyes peer down on me from beneath the fine, green scales on its head. Two claws jut out from its chest. The gigantic, close-set wings expand to four times the width of my breed.

  I dodge the beast as it swoops down on me. It flies upward in a loop and then descends again back onto the ground.

  “You designed this?” I ask.

  The Rogue only stands in silence, glaring at me as the fires on his skin engulf him.

  "What’s its name?"

  "Name?” he asks. “What kind of question is that?"

  I understand his frustration. After all my work, I too don't know what to call my design. I try to create a name for him, but despite all my strength and intellect I can't.

  The fault lies in our nature. The Origin gave angels great power to improve and protect. We are ministers, but we cannot make anything out of nothing. We are not crafted in the image of the Origin, so we are not creators. Unless the Origin Himself chooses to author a name for this being, he will simply exist nameless.

  I refer to the creature by the generic name angels call all of their unnamed designs. He is my breed.

  “We are alone to fend for ourselves,” he says. “Angels fight a struggle of all against all.”

  “We have the Prince to look after us”

  “The Prince?” He spits as if on cue. “More like the tyrant.”

  I ignore his comment. I lean toward his design. I reach out to caress its cheek. I withdraw my hand just in time to avoid a toothy bite.

  “I admire your modifications," I say, trying to be gracious.

  "I'm not here for your praise," he says. "I'm here to test her strength."

  "No," I say. "I don’t play games of life and death."

  "Then you run from yourself. Battle shows us who we truly are.”

  "Battle?"

  The word rings in my mind like replaying a dream. I see it. I know it. Yet I have never spoken it before. We come into existence with a full vocabulary. We know of war though there has never been one. These Rogues, they seem willing to change that.

  “How could good be created from a fight?” I ask. “I am told that war brings destruction and that is the very opposite of the Origin, the only creator.”

  The Rogue’s beast growls at my own.

  I reach down to protect my breed, but the Rogue swings at me with his flaming hand. I lean back for fear I might burn.

  He laughs.

  “Ever seen one of these before?” He lifts a knife. Without warning or explanation, he jabs the metal into my shoulder.

  Intense pain radiates through my body, forcing me backward onto the rock. Warm liquid oozes down my chest. I lift my fingers to touch it. It’s the first time I have seen my own blood.

  “Efficient,” he says. “Isn’t it?”

  “Run!” I shout toward my breed as the scarred one presses the knife to my throat.

  The winged creature approaches and glares at my breed. The slits on the animal’s nose twitch, bending the green spines that poke out from its cheeks.

  “Go play,” the Rogue says.

  The Rogue’s animal pounds its wings and rises into the air. My breed looks up confused and clearly unaware of the danger. The Rogue’s beast darts down, outstretches its claws, and clutches my breed from above.

  “Urrrggghhh!” my breed cries in pain.

  The winged beast bites my breed’s neck and drags the poor animal to the ground.

  I watch helplessly, feeling a strange emotion in my chest. I have never felt this before. I know it to be a combination of guilt and desperation. I want to protect the beast, but I have never fought. Nor have I ever seen any creature fight.

  What do I do?

  I extend my palms against the Rogue’s chest, brace for the sting of fire, and push him out of the way.

  To my surprise, I am not burned.

  The Rogue pauses for a moment, as if confused by my immunit
y to his flames, but he does not tarry long. He thrusts his dagger tight against my neck and holds it there.

  The winged creature relents. It pulls back from my breed and lands on the fallen tree stump, content to watch as blood drips down his mane. My breed collapses on his side, chest rising and falling. His eyes grow cloudy until finally his lids shut.

  “Like I said,” the Rogue smiles, “weak.”

  I close my eyes.

  I failed this animal. His ever-trusting eyes looked to me for protection, yet I allowed this stranger to steal his life.

  Suddenly, I hear a fierce roar and open my eyes.

  My beast stands on all fours glaring at the flapping creature that hovers in the air above him. My breed froths at the mouth. Blood still pours from open wounds on his neck, back, and stomach, but his eyes open wide and wild.

  My breed leaps several feet into the air and latches onto the rabid, winged creature. The scaled enemy tries but cannot lift up from the ground.

  “Fight back!” The Rogue shakes his fist at the air.

  The winged beast claws a tuft of fur off my breed, but it does no good. My breed relentlessly claws and bites at the beast.

  The winged creature collapses onto its back. My breed does not let up. It tears and rips the leather skin and scales from the beast with his jaws until the creature is unrecognizable.

  The Rogue turns from me and stoops down beside his dead breed with his mouth open. “That was the only one of its kind.”

  Now his flames rise even higher into the sky, the glow so bright it looks like the tree line may catch fire. The horrible crackling sound from the burning grows to a feverish pitch. The Rogue points his dagger toward my breed.

  “I will rip your heart from your chest.”

  I do the only thing I know to do. I lunge at the Rogue to pull him away from my breed. The flames cloud my vision as he thrusts his dagger toward me.

  The Rogue’s blade pierces through my skin again, but this time, I feel it lodge deep in my chest.

  Everything slows down around me.

  I fall forward, struggling to breathe.

  My fingers clutch the ground as my legs give way.