Viracocha

By Nicholas Els

When Seth, a young solicitor, befriends an elderly man at the coffee shop they both frequent, he has no idea that his life is about to change forever.

The old man gives Seth an ancient puzzle box, and as Seth discovers its history, he encounters a mysterious Incan group called the Order of the Seven Rays—and an alien who used the orb hidden in the box as a jump-gate for traveling to other worlds within a vast complex of string universes. Using the orb, Seth inadvertently enters the realm of the light walkers and visits an alien world to learn the secrets of the orb. He also meets Gaia, the sole survivor of an ancient race and the creator of Seth’s orb and many others like it, now all stolen.

Gaia as protector of the orbs endeavours to recover as many of the stolen Orbs in a desperate attempt to undo their creation and the threat it imposes on civilisations.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Jul 29, 2015
• ISBN: 9781483435299

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Els

Copyright © 2015 Nicholas Els.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

ISBN: 978-1-4834-3528-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-3529-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015911620

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 07/23/2015

Contents

Preface

Chapter 1:   Jimmy

Chapter 2:   ‘It.’

Chapter 3:   The Security Box

Chapter 4:   The Chateau

Chapter 5:   Home

Chapter 6:   The Crypt

Chapter 7:   Manco and Smyth

Chapter 8:   Capac-Cuna

Chapter 9:   Becker-Hagens Grid

Chapter 10:   Preparation

Chapter 11:   First Contact

Chapter 12:   Pandora’s Box

Chapter 13:   First Jump

Chapter 14:   MU

Chapter 15:   Rogilar

Chapter 16:   E’en Primo

Chapter 17:   The Lekontes

Chapter 18:   1000 Deaths

Chapter 19:   Revenge

Chapter 20:   Harbour City

Chapter 21:   The Voyage

Chapter 22:   The Han Capital

Chapter 23:   The Nemaline Toluids

Chapter 24:   Bella

Chapter 25:   The Illuminated Ones

Chapter 26:   Turning Back the Clock

Chapter 27:   Bella

Chapter 28:   Finding Home

Chapter 29:   Dead Ends

Chapter 30:   The Rosetta Chamber

Chapter 31:   Death

Chapter 32:   Ay’vd’ Vell Tootle

Chapter 33:   Gaia

Chapter 34:   Lendac

Chapter 35:   Io

Chapter 36:   Rebirth

Chapter 37:   The Final Moment

Chapter 38:   Ay’Vd’Velle Tootle

Chapter 39:   Gaia

Chapter 40:   Bella

Chapter 41:   Lendac

Chapter 42:   Manco

References

Glossary

Dedication

Dr. Costi Negus

Your support, encouragement and time taken to read the rough draft manuscript.

Preface

T hey asked a question each day when they arrived, that I did not answer. She rewarded my silence with a piece of paper and the bowl started to collect me. In a funny way, it was interesting to see how quickly they could reduce an adult man into a bowl of decaying matter.

BOOK ONE: BRINGER OF LIGHT

CHAPTER

1

Jimmy

I first saw him sitting in the restaurant. He reminded me of one of those forlorn figures described in the song, Streets of London. These are our pensioners. The elderly are a group in society that we dismiss with an ugly indifference.

We make them invisible by placing them just outside our peripheral vision. I gazed at the old man slumped in the chair as the words of the song echoed soundlessly in my mind.

He was a small man who at seventy-four years of age, time had shrunk him further so that he resembled a diminutive hobbit character. His face had an overlarge nose and matching ears. He was asleep, chin resting on his chest and a half-eaten plate of food on the table in front of him. Jimmy wore grubby track pants and a shirt that had seen better days. I raised my eyebrows, in a questioning gesture, at the waiter and glanced over in his direction. I added a shrug of my shoulders, asking the unspoken question.

And him?

Don’t worry about Jimmy. He’s just having a nap.

She whispered not so softly, and then she walked over to him and touched him gently on the shoulder, rousing him with a kindly.

Common Jimmy. Your food’s going to get cold!

She turned to me and asked.

Seth, are you having your usual?

She asked this while she patted Jimmy as if he was some animal. He seemed to enjoy the attention, smiled back at her with a foolish, lopsided, puppy-dog grin on his face. He fixed his watery eyes on her face. I had nodded to her as I invariably had the same order every time.

In the ensuing days, I would smile in greeting at Jimmy when our eyes met, acknowledging his presence and then generally ignored him afterward. I did surreptitiously observe him as I did everyone else in the coffee shop. He would also order the same meal each time and would take home a package of food to eat later on. The waiter informed me that he stayed at an Aged Care Home and would come and sit for hours on end. The Coffee Shopt seemed to be his escape from the boredom of the other folk or maybe a chance to get out.

He drove a gold Jaguar.

Often he would fall asleep, quietly at his table and wake-up when one of the waiters noticed him nodding off and then they would gently rouse him. One day after several casual encounters, he leaned over to the table that I was sitting at and asked me looking at me with his rheumy eyes.

Are you a solicitor?

Yes!

I replied vaguely suspicious of his intentions. Once people learned, what my profession was there would be the usual gratuitous request for legal advice from people or a blasé insult about what sharks lawyers were. I would become the instant counselor to everyone’s problems or smile generously sucking in the insult for all the dishonest solicitors of the world.

It did not take a brain surgeon to guess that I was a professional person. I probably stood out like a sore thumb from the other people. This was a small Western Australian town where most people dressed in sneakers, shorts, and T-shirts. The stifling heat of the outback did not lend itself towards wearing too many clothes. My dark slacks, white long-sleeved shirts, and necktie were probably overkilled in this environment.

We struck up a conversation about my experience, expertise, and perceptions of the Australian law. Jimmy later declared in the discussion that he had also practiced law. It turned out that he had been a law clerk for most of his life until the firm closed and he retired.

Our conversations seemed to mean more to Jimmy than what it did for me. I usually came to the coffee shop to zone-out and calm down from some stressful work event. However, I did notice how, from that day on Jimmy dressed a lot smarter mirroring my formal dress sense and style. I confess that I did indulge him in his inane legal discussions. When he shared some hastily scribbled letters from a past judge, I nodded sagely and did not draw his attention to the patronizing tone of the Judge in the letters. These letters commented on a legal point raised by him on a matter of interpretation.

I sensed that our meetings and brief conversations made Jimmy feel alive and purpose driven. I knew what it was like to feel lonely so I listened. Jimmy would avidly work with a German dictionary and some German text. He was learning to speak German so we would cordially greet each other and when leaving say goodbye, in German. Foreign languages were not my forte and I was a weak learner, so we never progressed further than.

"Guten Tag and

Auf Wiedersehen!

We had progressed from the usual pleasantries to sharing stuff and a table. I probably started the ball rolling by giving him a classical music CD. Jimmy reciprocated with some rather old movies. The films were good for their time and I took the time to watch them, probably because I expected him to ask me about them. If confronted, I did not want to lie about watching them and did manage to keep the discussion about them brief. I deflected Jimmy’s attention to current affairs.

Then one day Jimmy met me outside the restaurant.

Come I have something for you in the car.

He said pulling me by the hand towards his car. On the backseat was a wooden box the size of two six-packs. I felt a twinge of excitement as beer is always good. Jimmy gestured to me to retrieve it while he held the car door open. I leaned in and got hold of the box and lifted it up.

Ugh!

I grunted because it was deceptively heavy for it size and felt like it contained several lead bricks. I carried it inside and placed the box on the table between us. Jimmy sat in silence while I looked expectantly at him and eventually when my finger questioningly tapped the box he blurted out a weird story.

It came out in a rush of confused words, detail and jumbled timelines. I initially tried to get some structure by asking questions and taking him backward in time in his story. This seemed to confuse him more and make him agitated, after several attempts I eventually stopped and just listened to Jimmy. He spoke at his own pace and when he was finished, I posed questions to fill in the gaps. I eventually got a rather remarkable and bizarre story out of him.

When Jimmy started to tell the story, he spoke in a hushed tone, seemingly embarrassed by what he had done. Afterward like someone giving a confession, he appeared physically and emotionally relieved by the disclosure. He finished and said triumphantly.

There you have it now and you will know what to do with it!

His reference to ‘IT’ was another thing entirely, if I was to believe his story.

As a young apprenticed in the law firm, he had come across a German client of the firm. Herr Fritz had stormed into the office late one afternoon when everyone had gone home. He demanded to see his barrister and rushed into the barrister’s office. Jimmy had followed him into the office and explained that nobody was available. He was aware of the issues facing this man who was a convicted pedophile. The police were investigating several open cases against him. His matter was not going to well in court as the police had found a body of a young child. The newspapers were speculating and making several links to his case and some other missing children.

Fritz requested impatiently.

You phone him quick, Ja!

Then he paced nervously across the length of the small office. Fritz had placed a wooden box that he had brought with him on his boss’s desk. Jimmy left the room, closing the door behind him and went to his office to make the call. His boss was an alcoholic, as he expected, he did not reach him on his home telephone. Jimmy tried some of his usual watering holes and after some time stopped looking and returned to the other office, where he had left Fritz.

He opened the door and entered only to find it empty. Fritz was not there. He had just vanished.

His boss’s office was a dead-end. No windows or other doors led from the room other than the one that came in or out through his (Jimmy’s) office. Fritz had literally disappeared. After a senseless search of the room, Jimmy focused his attention on a rectangular shaped ornamental clock that Fritz had placed on the desk.

A wooden box was lying on the floor opened. On the desk stood a square metal container that looked like a faceless French Regulator or Mantle Clock. It stood upright on a broader base. Two doors were open that exposed a hollow interior. Within the interior, a metal orb seemed to float within its confines.

The orb was irregular and had several latches or little windows that pockmarked the otherwise smooth surface. One of these was open and exposed an inky black interior.

He peered at the orb and leaned forward, a bit closer, to see what was inside it and why it seemed to float in space. A sudden tug at the papers he held in his hands at his chest startled him. He stepped backward as the papers that were in his hands slipped out between his fingers and floated in the air, drawn slowly towards the open window of the orb. Some force seemed to be pulling the papers towards the black eye of the window. His eyes fixed on the papers, as they seemed to shrink and then elongate as they disappeared into the black eye of the open window.

Jimmy described how he panicked and flicked the two doors shut, blocking the orb from sight. A thin pencil shaped metal pin that lay on the table beside the closed container remained, and he quickly surmised that it fitted into the interlocking loops at either end of the doors. He gingerly inserted them into the loops securing the doors.

He grabbed the clock, one hand on its top and the other at its base. He intended to place it back in the wooden container when it seemed to come alive in his hands. The clock morphed into itself and changed shape. Jimmy dropped it onto the desk, eyes mesmerized by the incredible sight.

It changed from the rectangular clock shaped form into a smooth square container. Its gold shiny surface was smooth and showed no joins. Jimmy frantically tried to open the box, but it would not budge under his clumsy fingers as they probed, pulled and pushed on the smooth sides. Sometime later, he placed it back into the wooden box and closed the lid, hiding it from prying eyes.

He took it home.

The following day his boss called him into his office. He was leafing through a sheaf of papers that he had removed from a large manila envelope. In a panic, Jim recollected that Fritz had also walked in with this as well as the wooden box. He had forgotten about the envelope when he took the box home. His boss frowned and looked up at Jimmy, asking him.

You know anything about these papers. Don’t understand a word of this gibberish, all in German.

Was Fritz here yesterday?

He asked the question in a distracted voice, his eyes reading the faceless envelopes in his hands.

NO.

Jimmy had answered hastily before he had a chance to think about what he was saying. Trapped in the lie, he took the envelope from the desk and studied it. The envelope had Fritz’s details and address on it and contained several other documents. He reluctantly looked up at his boss trying to be as nonchalant as possible and hoping he would not have ‘LIAR’ written over his face. His boss did not look up from the other faceless envelopes he was leafing through and just instructed him in a dismissive wave of the hand.

Oh well file these in his folder.

Jimmy took the papers and envelope and fled to his office. Fritz’s disappearance did not raise too many concerns and he disappeared from the radar as other current matters distracted them. As the years went by nobody mentioned or raised his name. In the ensuing years, he tried several times to open the box and failed in his attempts. In disgust, he had given up attempting to open the box, wrapped it in plastic and buried it in a plant pot.

In an odd twist of fate, when his boss died and the practice was wound-up, Jimmy came across Fritz’s file and remembered the buried treasure. His curiosity renewed he took the large manila folder from Fritz’s file and took it home. His interest in German sprung from his desire to attempt to decipher the pages of German that the folder had contained. He was not too successful at translating the words.

Jimmy pushed the wooden box towards me in a gentle coaxing gesture and asked.

Will you take it?

Please!

CHAPTER

2

‘It.’

I took the wooden box home and opened the lid to reveal the mysterious ‘IT’ that was inside. The box contained a roughly square gold object. The surface was polished smooth and glistened in the light. It looked like a golden artifact. I lifted it out of the wooden container and found it heavy for its size. I felt the instant rise of excitement in the pit of my stomach that I might have in my possession some valuable gold relic.

The surface of the box, on closer inspection, had beautiful lines of another metal, intricately interwoven with the gold. It looked something like what one would see in metal worked in the Damascus steel style of forging. A darker metal, purple or black, traced fine lines across its smooth surface. I tried to scratch the surface for a sample of the metal to have it analyzed, after several failed attempts I gave up. The knife made no imprint on the surface that appeared as hard as a diamond.

My attempts to open it were equally frustrating. I in frustration placed it on my desk where its image tormented me. It was probably a Chinese puzzle box and required a sequence of moves to unlock, whatever locking mechanism it had. In the ensuing weeks, I researched and studied all known puzzle boxes. I mirrored the moves to open them, and ended up more exasperated than ever when none of them worked.

I returned to the Coffee Shop after a couple weeks absence hoping to see Jimmy. He had spoken about a manila folder and I wondered if it might contain some explanation as to the box’s contents and more importantly a way to open it. Jimmy did not return to the coffee shop and after two weeks had passed I asked one of the waiters what had happened to him.

They told me that he had taken a bad turn and was in the hospital. I resolved to visit him, after a week of false starts went to the local hospital, and made inquiries at the reception. The news came as a bit of a shock.

He was dead!

A lonely old man who had died alone, it was sad. I reflected for several moments after the nurse at the counter had told me of Jimmy’s death. It was sadder in the sense that he had passed that morning. I had been a few hours too late.

I was the only one at his funeral.

I was surprised when a package came from the nursing home that contained some musical CD’s and a large manila envelope.

Mr. Fritz’s memoirs no doubt!

There was a brief note from Jimmy explaining that he had forgotten to give me the file, he was a bit sick now and had asked the nursing home to post it to me.

Unlike Jimmy, I did not attempt to learn German. I just used a digital scanner. All the pages and endless notes were scanned. A translation package did the work of translating the text into English. When the translation was completed, I read the pages to get an idea of what they contained. Most of the pages seemed to be an attempt by Fritz to record his life in an informal autobiography.

One page was of particular interest. The page size was smaller and its ragged edges showed that someone tore it from a little diary. The handwriting was different from the style of most of the other papers and looked as if someone else had written on it.

The script on the notebook page appeared to be gibberish, but I immediately recognized it as a simple code. It was English and written in mirror writing or Spiegelschrift. This is when the script runs in an opposite direction to the normal flow and individual letters reversed. If held facing a mirror, the reflection in the mirror corrected the text into a readable form.

I took the page to my bathroom mirror where the reflected text was readable and I transposed what appeared to be the key to unlocking the golden casket. With a sense of renewed interest, I tackled the elusive box. In the end, it was quite simple with the key. I realized that no amount of my previous prodding, pulling or squeezing would have opened the box. With a complex series of finger positions coupled with twists and pressure points, the box eventually yielded its secret.

After I had completed the last instruction, the artifact seemed to come alive and transformed before my eyes. I quickly placed it on my desk and took a step back giving myself a lot of space from the box that was acquiring a life of its own. At the back of my mind was the account by Jimmy of the ominous black hole. Within seconds, it had magically transformed into a freestanding rectangular clock shaped object. It was more like a Moroccan Lantern than a mantle clock. It was beautiful displaying some fine workmanship of a master artisan. The closed doors were clearly visible on the ornate surface with a metal pin lodged into two hoops at both ends.

The box had some strikingly intricate motives and trimmings edged into its sides and door. I spent some time studying its form and trying to interpret the meaning of the markings. After some time, I realized that they had no real significance other than being decorative and gave up on deciphering some hidden meaning or code.

After some thought and then in trepidation, I gingerly removed the metal pin pulling it up and out of the hoops. I pried the door open with one end of the pin holding the pin carefully pinched between my thumb and index finger. They swung smoothly outwards and opened. Exactly as described by Jimmy, the golden orb with the small open window hung suspended within its confines. I could see no visible attachment to the ball and it did seem merely to float in mid-air.

The orb was the size of a softball. It was not smooth but appeared to have several of those small windows pitted all over its surface. Only one was open and stared ominously and unblinkingly at me.

The orb only floated within the confines of the casing. The interior space for the ball was bare and held no markings other than the distinctive Damascus wave pattern in the metalwork.

I turned the box upside down and then on its side to see what happened to the orb. The sphere seemed automatically to adjust its polarity to one position. One side appeared to be the top. I realized when I placed a small compass next to the box that the top of the orb always justified itself pointing towards magnetic ‘North’.

I took a broom and pointed it towards the open window moving closer with each step. When the bristle part of the broom was, approximately ten centimeters away from the window, I felt a gentle tug. The black hole miraculously drew the brush that elongated and then shrank as it disappeared into the blackness of the void.

I had released my grip on the stick, jumped backward, and watched the broom disappear. I took the golden pin that had kept the door closed and standing to one side carefully slid the open window closed. The metal pin seemed impervious to the attracting power of the window. Once shut, I took another long stick and prodded the orb. Nothing happened and it continued to float within the confines of the holder.

The composition of the metal box and the outer casing of the orb were from the same metal and contained a substance that absorbed the broom and most probably Mr. Fritz. I felt a bit more comfortable and safer with that realization and moved my face closer to the orb to study it in more detail. It was still round in shape and pitted with some those small windows. I was still reluctant to touch the orb until I understood what it was so I used some whitener to mark the window that I had closed. I shut the doors and replaced the metal pin that kept the two doors locked.

I sat back for many minutes studying the box on my desk. It was a mystery and one that was perplexing with the lack of information about what it was or purpose it served. I could assume some things, and that in itself was dangerous so I turned my attention to Fitz’s diary to find some answers.

Fritz’s diary was mostly a rambling account of his past, a form of autobiography and seemed to be incomplete, sporadically written with large gaps between writing. He was a German army officer who formed part of Himmler’s research group tasked to find the origins of the Aryan race. He had led a group that traveled extensively in South America looking for Aryan links in the past Inca and Mayan cultures. He styled himself as a larger-than-life treasure hunter and referred to numerous treasure finds. These treasures went to the coffers of his superior officers.

The ‘treasures’ were couched in vague terms and provided very little information that one could call credible. He sounded more like a minor grave robber and pocketed the gold trinkets they found.

At the end of 1944, he realized that Hitler’s dream of a new order would fail and like most of his compatriots started to work on an exit plan. Fritz changed his identity and left South America for the East finding refuge in Tibet. Tibet was undiscovered by most Western countries and with several contacts from another group who had been carrying out similar research in Tibet. He was soon lost in the Tibetan highlands.

Fritz assumed a hippie styled existence pretending to be a seeker of enlightenment, traveling from monastery to monastery learning various meditation techniques. He found himself at the little known Phuktal gompa built around a sacred spring near the Tsarap River. The monks built their cells and Chapel high up into the cliff-face making it further inaccessible and inhospitable to curious travelers. He reasoned that a couple years underground would give him enough chance to hide until the Allied attention waned.

As the only European, he enjoyed a certain celebrity status. He adopted many of the monk’s customs, not through conversion to any spiritual transformation, but more as a disguise. He soon blended into their way of life and became invisible. One of the older monks approached him after a year at the gompa with a problem.

Fritz recorded how the monk had related a concern about another westerner who had enclosed himself in one of the cells used to perform a dark room meditation. The isolation meditative practice was common and monks would isolate themselves in a deprivation styled environment for long periods.

The problem was that several years had passed and they had not heard anything from the man. Also, his food had not been touched. There had been occasions when the sensory deprived monks would die from their ordeal. The telltale sign would be the odor of decaying flesh. In this case, there were no visible indications that the man had died other than the uneaten food.

The man gave strict instructions not to open the wall unless he personally ordered them to break down the wall. The monk thought Fritz would be the best one to determine whether such an intervention was required and to do this. Fritz offered to help and the monk took him to one of the many monks’ cells. These were nothing more than airless hewn out chambers with a wooden or cloth door.

Within the roughly square interior and situated against one wall was a bricked-up enclave with only a small opening to insert or remove a food bowl.

It was nothing more than a coffin cutout in the cliff face. They bricked-up the meditator who lay inside the narrow cubicle. This person only received a meager food supply through a small brick sized opening. Once the exercise was finished, the meditator would indicate that he wanted to come out and the monks would release the man inside by removing the bricks.

Once the monk had shown Fritz into the vacant room, he disappeared leaving Fritz alone in the room. Fritz stood alone feeling stupid. He called out loudly and nobody answered. He removed the food bowl from the opening and tried to peer into the cavity, but it was too dark. He called out again and had no response. He wrote how he removed the bricks only to find the enclave empty.

The man had disappeared.

He found in one corner of the cavity the golden box that stood open. Sensing some money and taken by the golden gleam of the metal he closed the doors and removed it. He had almost missed the pin and retrieved it, inserting the pin into the loops. He returned the bricks blocking up the hollow interior of the cubicle. He took some cloth, covered it and hid it in a box that contained some of the man’s personal items that were under a bed. He then called the monk.

It seemed a mystery to everyone and he asked to look through the man’s personal effects. The monks seemed relieved to relinquish this responsibility to Fritz. Fritz, in his own cell, opened the box containing the man’s personal effects and retrieved the gold box. His excitement grew further when he was able to distinguish the faint outline of its doors, an Inca symbol for the god ‘Viracocha’.

This was a significant artifact of Pre-Inca mythology. His research in South America had uncovered several similar golden effigies that had gone to his officers. This object would bring him a handsome reward in the black market.

I put the papers down and turned my attention to the golden box. I had missed the outline of the image on the doors and looked at the doors with fresh eyes. It was there as Fritz had observed or so he imagined as I saw nothing. It was one of those 3-D drawings. I could never draw out the images and eventually gave up. I returned to reading Fritz’s notes.

Fritz referred to finding an envelope