North of Elysium

By Jerry J. K. Rogers

Daimon (dā’ mon) - Greek derivative for the term demon; a unique and distinct malevolent spiritual influencer of man.

Why is a daimon so interested in sending the wrong persons North of Elysium?

A teenager from Africa learns he has the unique ability to hunt spirit-possessed creatures, some good, most evil. After the tragic loss of his father, he is sent on an undertaking to find a malicious daimon that has entered this world. He's aided by an exiled religious recluse from the Shoshoni Indian tribe of Wyoming who has the limited ability to read souls. The two journey to a mysterious small town in Northern California called Elysium. Here they meet an enigmatic sheriff and mayor, both at contention with one another. They learn never to go north or west from Elysium unless you're a passerby destined to travel the route. More important, they find the daimon is active in sending the wrong persons north, and must be stopped.

If not successful in their pursuit to thwart the dangerous imp, the ramifications are greater than both realize.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jerry J. K. Rogers
• Release date: Sep 2, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311298218

Jerry J. K. Rogers

Jerry Rogers is a career airman working both in the United States Air Force and in the California Air National Guard, with over 26 years’ experience working in technology supporting legacy and state-of-the-art telecommunication and data-communication systems. He also worked for nearly seven years at two post-production film companies working in Information Technology. One of Jerry’s greatest joys is being able to teach at a small church in Orange County. He’s traveled extensively across the vast county to each of the contiguous 48 states and across the world to both Asia and Europe.Ever since he was a teenager, Jerry's always had a fascination with Religion and Science Fiction and has always enjoyed writing, starting with writing short stories over the years. He took the next step and wrote a humorous novella called “The Legend of the Salad Traveler.” He later began working on his first novel, the Fallen and the Elect in 2011 developing the concept after months of research, building notes, and jotting down ideas. The story has now blossomed into a full mysterious story blending both religion and a sprinkling of Science Fiction.See what else is brewing at his website at http://www.jjkr-writings.info.

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North of Elysium

By

Jerry J. K. Rogers

Copyright

North of Elysium

Copyright © 2014 Jerry J. K. Rogers

(Smashwords Edition)

Think Kings Publishing, L.L.C

All rights reserved.

Cover art Into the Mist is under license from Greg Martin for use in association with this work. No other use is authorized without the permission of the artist.

Rear cover art created by Cameron Rogers. No other use is authorized without the permission of the artist and author.

It is illegal to reproduce any portion of this material except by special arrangement of the author. Reproduction of this material without authorization, by any duplication process whatsoever, is a violation of copyright.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment and may not be re-sold. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

E-Book ISBN- 978-1-3112982-1-8

Print ISBN-10: 0-9905826-3-9

Print ISBN-13: 978-0-9905826-3-2

2d Edition –January 2016

Dedication

It is with fond remembrance that I dedicate this book to Lenny and Linda Estrada (Linda having passed.)  Their bright and sunny dispositions always imbued wonderful fragrance of memories. Their encouragement made it possible to seem as if anything was possible; and their joyful personalities were a true blessing for a somber world.

Lenny, you’re always in my thoughts and prayers.  Linda, you will be missed.

North of Elysium

Table of Contents

Rise of the Spirit Tracker

Preparation

Reminiscing of Sister

The Soul Reader

Rendezvous

Arrival

The Sheriff

The Town

The Pool Game

Seduction

The Gray Wolves

Shepherding the Lost

Departure

Return to Town

The First Confrontation

Unexpected Visitor to Town

Pursuit

New Revelations

Affront on the Gates

Diminished Resolution

Acknowledgements

Other Works by Jerry J. K. Rogers

About the Author

Rise of the Spirit Tracker

On a solitary pier of a small coastal town in western Africa, villagers who were fishing, taking a stroll, or watching the waters roll from the mild breeze, saw a menacing backlit, sun-infused, orange and gray cloud form off in the distant sky. The disturbance first appeared as a simple billowy puffball; within minutes, it grew to cover most of the horizon. In the center of the floating and bulbous thunderhead, where the gray was darkest, a jagged tear line formed. The rip in the sky appeared eerily suspended over the ocean. An opaque and murky orb, followed by a long smoky contrail, discharged out of the breach and streaked through the air towards the pier.

Spectators observing the mysterious phenomenon stood scared witnessing the event, except for one man. He ran to his cart sitting at the end of the pier, extracting a bow and arrow. The murky beach ball sized orb, bouncing down the pier, transfigured into the semblance of a serpent, craning its head as if searching for prey. It spotted a German Shepherd puppy whimpering and slowly backing away prostrate down on all fours. The vaporous creature moved with lightning speed and entered through the canine’s nose. The dog stood erect, standing still, surveying the scene.

Move away from that dog! The African shouted.

Everyone complied.

Arming his weapon, the African drew back on the string, leveled and targeted the canine. The puppy snarled, and then turned from the crowd running down the unpaved street with unnatural speed. The African knew he had only one shot. Aiming just ahead of his target’s path, he released his fingers freeing his dart. The barbed projectile found its mark. The spirit-infused creature rolled onto the dusty road. The tall, thin, pitched-skin African purposely dropped his bow, running up to his wounded prey. He picked up the animal by the scruff making sure he was now face to face with the creature. The canine’s life slowly ebbed to non-existence. The African walked back towards the pier.

Why would you risk coming into this world this way? The man asked, knowing he wouldn’t receive an answer. Surprised, the rumble of a growl grew in the dead beast’s throat.

Impossible, the African thought, the evil spirit should have departed. He killed the beast believing he forced the malevolent personality occupying the canine to commute reluctantly to the next plane. This occurred in the past, three, seven and ten years prior each time one tried to enter this world through these means. It did not pass on this time in the same way as before. The African realized this wasn’t the traditional malevolent supernatural daimon attempting to manifest itself upon a creature in the world; this was the essence of a Destroyer daimon.

For an instant, the spectators thought they envisioned the semblance of a snakelike green vapor extrude from the mouth of the dead puppy. The vapor then billowed into the form of a large serpent and disappeared from their sight. In the eyes of the African, the creature still terrifyingly visible, rapidly wrapped itself around him with lightning fluidity and squeezed, as if it were a super-energized anaconda. The spectators only saw the African standing rigid, his breathing labored. The only man brave enough to walk up to the statue-erect African was an elderly, swarthy, and crackled skin fisherman. He attempted to poke the African, but fear and dread flooded his soul. He backed away.

In the fading light through the sparkle of his life, the African viewed the face of the serpent on the end of its misty body move directly in front of his face; the ethereal creature smiled as it twisted tighter. The African exhaled his final breath and fell where the pier married the shore. The onlookers then heard the clapping peel of thunder rumbling through the gray clouds. Another rift, outlined in murky turquoise along its boundary, formed in the sky. The fissure then sealed itself. The ominous clouds dissipated and the aquamarine of the sky returned.

* * * *

Men who respected the fallen villager carried his body to a large two-room mud-made abode. The wife, sitting in the doorway milling corn, witnessed her husband’s rigid body bore by the prominent villagers.

Supporting the head was the chief of the small community. He considered it an honor to be a part of the procession. We’re sorry, but your husband…

I can see what happened to my husband. He died doing what he was destined to do, the wife interrupted. I saw the clouds and was worried of what they indicated.

The wife turned to her sixteen-year-old son sitting next to her. He was in shock seeing his father’s lifeless form suspended above the heads of eight men.

These are the days that evil journeys in and out of our world, she said to her son. It feels empowered to move between planes. Your father was one destined to help contain those forces that could cause evil influences upon men.

I don’t understand, the sixteen-year-old responded. Grief invaded his emotions.

You once asked why we live here in this village without the ornate marvels men desire; why no television, no telephone, no technology, no impersonal intertwining of friends only through computers and cellular phones? Whereas good men would rather focus on the supposed impact of social awareness that they are accomplishing on their electronic devices, instead of the moral good built upon personal interaction and foundational religious belief, evil dances and toys with an uncaring and detached people.

The young man always wondered how his parents, although well versed on the modern ways of life and technology, rejected it. This also seemed true of the small fishing town. It always appeared overlooked by the progress of the world. Sometimes the surrounding towns and villages called his town That-Place-That-Doesn’t-Exist. The population being so introverted, the son thought they didn’t accept the reality of technological progress. He occasionally sneaked away to spy on the other nearby towns, making a couple of new friends and experiencing the gadgets his village hated so much. The son didn’t know that his parents knew he would do this.

Did my husband fight well? The mother asked.

He did.

Yet his training for my son is not complete, the wife commented. Would my son now be called to complete what his father couldn’t? She thought to herself.

* * * *

Before the light of day withdrew to give way for night, the eight pallbearers laid the African to rest. After they finished shoveling hardened dirt and stone over the body in the ground, the chief placed a simple cross at the east end of the grave mound.

The son gazed upon his mother. Why doesn’t she cry? He wondered. His sight blurred with sheets of tears covering his eyes. Mother, why don’t you cry? he asked.

Gently, she turned her head towards her son and gave him a minute, tender smile. It seems you’re doing enough crying for both of us. Besides, it’s hard to cry when I know I’ll see him again. Your father may be absent from his body, but face to face with the Great Creator. The two stood graveside for several more minutes to grieve.

The mother and son walked back to their dwelling; the chief and other elders of the village stood by the front entrance of their abode waiting.

The chief approached the son. Your father died too soon, but you must go and learn about being a spirit tracker. He focused his piercing stare towards the mother. There is one who will teach him.

You can’t send him…the son is never called to finish what is to be done if the father dies. It is passed onto …

Hush. The chief interrupted, which shocked her son. He’d never heard the village leader break into someone’s conversation being so disrespectful. I know what is to happen in a situation like this, but these are days where men are consumed by material distractions, and easily influenced by the evil that has entered unto the world. Many questioned if it was wise for you and your husband to allow your son to sneak out those nights.

We did it so that he wouldn’t be naïve to the detractors that exist. He always returned and stayed true to what his father taught him, the mother stressed.

And for that we are thankful, but now another in the bloodline must continue what your husband has started.

To take on daimons? He is not ready.

The chief’s longing expression sulked to a deeper level of distraught. It is not a mere daimon that has killed your husband. According to the old man Sogundu, for an instant, he thought he witnessed a Destroyer daimon itself. He would be the one who would know.

Impossible! My husband would’ve known what to do.

It’s thought to have entered our realm under the pretense of a brazen minor daimon.

And you want to send my son? the mother bellowed, unwillingly releasing tears.

He is our best hope. When a destroyer enters the world…

I know what it means. I’m aware of the history, the mother said. As much as she wanted to hold back, the mother knew she would have to concede to the insistence of the chief. It was her son’s destiny to follow in the path of his father, just as his father had before him. Such was the path for their ancestors; such was the path for her son.

Now my mother cries, the son thought. Why do you cry now mother?

You’re going off before you’ve had a chance to continue to grow up, meet a young girl, get married, and experience the pain and joy of having children. I cry because you’re about to head off and I may not see you again until that blessed day.

I’ll see you again won’t I mother? I’ll get married; I’ll have children, won’t I?

The mother sentimentally stared into her son’s eyes. I see so much of your father, my blessing of my barren womb. Is this how Hannah of the scriptures felt?

The son, a new spirit tracker, would arise. His name, Nila.

* * * *

The old man Sogundu, dispatched by the chief of the village, spent several days with Nila, first explaining to him how his father died. Then he described the special hunts accomplished by his father, not for meat, but for daimon-possessed creatures attempting to enter this world and cause havoc upon men. Nila, also learned he would need to periodically journey from the land he grew up knowing so well, to other regions upon the continent. In time, there was even the possibility of travelling across the sea. Sogundu told Nila that before he was born, his father had once journeyed to a special town in Spain.

Nila packed a few outer garments, under garments, socks, and a single beige sweater into a worn and tattered suitcase. These were the only clothes and worldly possessions he owned. Sogundu directed him to leave nothing behind; his entire future was before him.

How am I to pay for my travels? Nila asked of Sogundu as he shoved his last pair of faded and worn pants into the suitcase. You know we have no money.

There’s a missionary from a special religious order willing to help, just in case this day was to come. If necessary, they will pay for your trip up unto your final destination, plus some additional living expenses.

And where am I to travel?

The outer border of the way to the life here after.

Am I to die? Nila questioned with apprehension.

No, not until the appointed time determined by the Great Creator; you will only head to the outer boundary where the hearts of men lead them. For some the way is blissful and beautiful. For others, however, the land is barren and unforgiving. It is a place where you will at first be weak, but then through humility, learn to become bold. What you face is stronger than you can ever imagine, Sogundu explained. What I am saying is that, where you are to travel, is unknown at this time.

Why didn’t Sogundu just say that? Nila wondered. Then how can I succeed? Nila asked.

By being yourself, but enough of this, it’s time for you to go.

Nila departed, following the directions to his destination given by Sogundu. Nila’s mother watched as he walked out of town. Somber with the loss of her husband and departure of her son, her eyes were two desert-like orbs. She could bear no more tears.

I wish we hadn’t allowed him to secretly visit the other towns; we had so much more to teach him, she conceded to Sogundu.

No, what you and your husband did will help him. In these days, he will be better prepared than those before him. You both have done well, Sogundu responded with pride. You have done well, and Nila, will do well.

I wish his father had more time to teach him what he needed to know.

Sometimes the only lesson to offer is experience.

I would like to think there would be more. I thought you said there would be someone else to help him.

There will be. I’ll head over to the next town and send a message to let him know of Nila’s arrival.

* * * *

Nila journeyed for two days, walking down a less traveled dusty, parched, impacted gravel and dirt road. Sometimes the road would pass through patchworks of forest or heavy brush. Other times, the landscape would consist of savanna grassland. Every so often, an old truck aged with rust, or small car belching blue-tinged exhaust, would stop to offer Nila a ride. Sogundu told him not to consider and accept a ride from any passerby. He heavily emphasized, let passersby be passersby, each one is to complete their own journey.

Arriving in the city, Nila followed the instructions verbatim given to him on how to find the missionary. He found the small church without any problems, but the staff informed him that the missionary had retired; he was living with his wife several streets over. Nila continued to the missionary’s house. He walked up to a small cottage made from irregular sized planks of lumber and scraps and surrounded by a small fenced grass patched and mud-strewn lawn. A rooster, two chickens, and a goat wandered about constrained behind the three-foot high enclosure. A thin white male, early in his fifties, his uncombed beard painted with grey, stood erect in the doorway smiling at Nila. The closer Nila approached, the larger the missionary’s smile grew.

Nila? The missionary asked when Nila reached the fence entrance at the front of the house.

Yes.

The missionary’s grin exploded to a capacious smile exposing white teeth with only a tinge of yellow. They were, as close to whiteness Nila knew that could exist for teeth. I’ve been waiting for you. My name is Parsons. Please come in.

Nila entered into the missionary’s home, amazed it was larger on the inside than what the outside represented, yet still seemed limited in size. The house contained a constricted living room, small dining room and kitchenette area, and a trifling semblance of a bathroom. Only the bedroom seemed substantial in size. The furnishings were simple pieces of furniture, most appearing handmade. Parsons’ wife offered Nila a small meal that he gladly accepted being hungry from his long walk, his limited rations exhausted a couple of hours earlier.

After Nila finished his meal, Parsons initiated the conversation. I’m sorry about your father. Sogundu told me what happened.

Yes, my father had told me about daimons, but never fully explained Destroyers, or anything about the one that killed him.

It was your father we thought who would be making this journey. It shows that the old man Sogundu and myself were preparing for the return of the wrong Destroyer.

So who or what is this Destroyer? Nila inquired.

It’s hard to explain what they are. I guess that’s why we failed. Only the Great Creator understands their workings. We only know how to stop them, if possible.

Another question came to Nila. So are you the one Sogundu says he saved?

Parsons chuckled. So the old man says he saved me, huh?

Yes, Nila answered.

Funny, I remember it differently. It was I who saved him.

He says he saved you from a band of local thugs under a ruthless warlord.

In that sense, yes, he’s correct. Sogundu did keep me from being killed, and my meeting with our Redeemer and Great Creator, but save me, he did not. You see Nila, my soul is prepared. He only delayed what was not my time. It was I who by default saved him.

What happened?

I saved him from the influence of a Destroyer daimon, when it breached into our plane before.

Nila’s face told Parsons a question was coming forth.

Breach? Nila asked.

Ah, you may be more enlightened than most sixteen year olds, and smart, but I must remember my background is different than yours. The Destroyer entered into this world and possessed the old man Sogundu, who was the ruthless warlord he mentioned to you, and much younger then.

Nila’s narrow eyes popped wide open.

Only he and I know the true fullness of his past these days, Parsons continued. Upon our first meeting, he would’ve killed me, but I knew he was not of himself. The daimon that possessed him, I discerned was one of great magnitude.

Then how am I to defeat the Destroyer?

You’ll learn that you cannot defeat the Destroyer, only preclude it from causing further damage. But enough of that, you must be tired. Tomorrow, I’ll begin to teach you what you need to know to survive in the world. And over time, we’ll pray to learn where it is you are to travel.

I’m not to leave right away?

No, we must attempt to teach you what your father couldn’t.

Preparation

A year and a half passed. Nila was well accustomed to his new daily routine. Waking up an average of an hour before dawn, he would feed the chickens, milk the goat, or take care of any of the chores Parsons assigned the night before. Today it would be to fix one of the fences on the backside of the property. After the morning chores were completed, he would eat a breakfast of corn gruel accompanying a small portion of fruit, and a small egg omelet filled with sardines. Next, Nila cleaned himself of the sweat and flourishing body odor because of his morning chores. He would then head out to attend the missionary school. The days of teasing by the younger students in class for being the tallest weed in the blades of grass, were well behind him. It hadn’t disturbed Nila; he had the humility to know he would soon start to prepare on how to contend with a daimon, and not to worry about the taunting he received from his classmates. When they realized he quickly comprehended the lessons, many would seek him out for tutoring. They soon called him Big Brother. He was patient and considerate of each classmate he helped. Moving to the high school level class after seven months impressed his teachers. They underestimated Nila’s literacy and thought he had grown up