The Lost Pages of the Necrom: Unbroken Shackles

By J. E. Travers Botu

The Necrom consists of seven mystical pages written by Cain after he had been scolded by the Creator for taking his brother's life. Lucifer came to him and asked him to write the down the names of the seven spirits of the earth, with his blood, on seven pages. That if these pages were read by a righteous man who had never sinned, it would break the gates of hell and free his brother.

Cain later realized after he had read the pages that it didn't work as Lucifer had promised. That only a righteous man who had never sinned could make it work and that Lucifer wasn't helping him from the kindness of his heart. Lucifer was using him to find a way out of his chains, for if you free one, you've freed all.

The pages were written in the first language that man spoke before the Creator changed the tongues of men at the tower of Babel. So the tongue in which the pages were written was now lost forever.

Thousands of years have passed, and Lucifer hasn't found a righteous man who had never sinned to read his pages. So he resolved on making a man sinless from his infant age till he's old enough to read the pages. So he found an orphan who was abandoned at the gates of a monastery in Italy and became his guardian angel, keeping him from sin that he might become the reader.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Mar 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504935562

Book preview

© 2015 J. E. Travers Botu. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 03/26/2015

ISBN: 978-1-5049-3555-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-3556-2 (e)

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.

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.

CONTENTS

Appreciation

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

APPRECIATION

This journey has been quite an experience, which I shared with a lot of people. So first and foremost I would like to thank the Almighty God and my Saviour Jesus Christ, for the blessings and inspiration to create this story. Would also like to thank, my ever supportive family, my patient wife Abigail, Resh, Chief J. T. Penawou, friends and my management Aptcine. Thank you all.

PROLOGUE

It was a long, cold September morning. The moans that had escaped her lips all night became more frequent as she gasped and grunted in pain, her olive skin now a dull red. As she writhed in agony, she felt as though the pain was wracking through her core and exploding forth in the sounds coming from her mouth. She tried clamping her teeth on her lower lip to stop the sounds from bursting forth. She had been successful at first, but the pain refused to be shut up anymore. She shook with the intensity.

Even as this was going on, Martha’s mind was tossing and turning in every direction. The dark voice she had been trying to tune out without much success came now. It was almost as though the sinister thoughts had taken a form and were standing by her left ear.

‘God and all else have abandoned you!’

She moaned in protest, ‘No!’ She couldn’t believe that – not now. Not today, when she needed assurance more than ever.

‘A stillbirth, and you too will sail away in death.’ The voice again, but this time, she could almost feel the cold air from its breath on her cheek. She was hallucinating now, and that did not bode well for her condition.

She could not remember a time when she did not have to fight. Martha often humorously said that she had been born fighting and that was the reason for her fiercely independent streak. She had avoided getting too emotionally involved with any one man until Sosthenes – the man who broke down every wall she had ever put up without even trying. She saw him now in her mind’s eye – his rich auburn hair and turquoise eyes. At times, you could swear he had blue eyes, and at other times, they were assuredly green. She had tried to put up a good resistance, but it seemed that whatever she tried to do, he had a mechanism in place to pull it down. It had never been for her, this almost mindless passion that was evoked in those she considered weak, but she was clutching herself and giving in to this pain that threatened to tear her apart. It was love that brought this pain and love that threatened to end her now.

As another tremor ripped through her body, she was jolted back to the present. The act of escapism she had honed in the previous nine months was becoming a danger in her present condition. She had needed the respite from real life to enable her to combat the feelings of betrayal and rejection that had prevailed in the past dreary months.

The contractions were coming more frequently now. There was almost no respite as there had been a few minutes before. She was now frantic, clawing at the end of the sheet that dangled off the bed. She was all alone, and in her frenzy, she could not remember what to do. Those breathing lessons seemed so far away that she could not focus enough to recall any instructions. Martha bit down hard enough on her tongue to draw blood. She tried to stifle a scream, but it was ripped out of her throat in an almost guttural growl. This was one thing she had to see through; she had fought and won before, and this was no exception. She was not about to lose this fight – not today. She had to remember … breathe, breathe, breathe, push!

Another scream escaped her throat.

Breathe, breathe, breathe, push! It gave a little relief as beads of sweat ran down her face. She took another breath, and everything dissolved.

Blackness.

29306.png

‘Welcome to Oblivion,’ a disapproving female voice seemed to boom in her head.

It was a familiar and welcome voice in this place that seemed to be in limbo. She recognised it as the voice of the fight in her spirit – herself.

She wondered out loud as she stood there, ‘Not this emptiness. This can’t really be all there is?’ It seemed that where she came from and life as she knew it had ceased to exist. It was as though she was waiting in line to be born to another existence. They say that when you die, your life flashes before your eyes. As she stood there, scenes of a childhood long forgotten and memories that had elapsed until she had pondered their ever having been reality flooded her like scenes she could touch. It was almost like time itself stood still and allowed her to see her earthly investment of his gifts.

Am I dead?

This thought, like all the thoughts and memories, came almost unbidden and refused to stay, but it blew away like the smoke-screen memories in front of her before she could actually catch them.

As the memories and thoughts finally faded into a night of nothingness, she noticed her surroundings. She was standing by the seashore, but she knew this only because the water lapped at her feet. All she could see ahead of her was a blackness so thick that she could almost hold it. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw a grim shape sailing towards her and was suddenly surrounded by swirling, grotesque shapes. As she tried not to look except for from the corner of her eyes, she could not help but think they reminded her of gargoyles she had once seen on a building a lifetime ago. The lone sailor was close.

In that moment, in timeless space, there was a sudden flicker of light from behind her that was so piercing in that darkness that she turned abruptly and nearly lost her balance. The light grew in its intensity, and voices accompanied it now. It was a mix of strangely familiar voices. It seemed like the light came to look for and rescue her. Just as she was about to call out to it, she felt a boneless hand lay heavily on her shoulders. The lone sailor had reached the shore. Martha opened her mouth to scream, but nothing escaped her lips, and the hand swung her out of the light. She came face-to-face with an eyeless skull, but she could feel the coldness of the eyes that were not there.

We’re losing her, gasped a voice from behind her. She felt like her chest was jolted, and she was heaved away from the cold hard grip of her marauder. The light was now in her eyes, and her lids hurt. She recognised that she was still in pain, but the edges of the pain had blurred. It was more of a dull throb now. She saw the blur of forms trying to block the light.

She consciously pushed up her lids to faces peering down at her, and the dark – almost black – eyes came back to life. The effort to keep her lids up became too much, though, and they fluttered closed again. All the white she saw told her she was in a hospital.

‘She’s back, ladies and gentlemen,’ boomed the doctor’s voice.

She opened her eyes again, and this time, she could see everyone. She looked around and realised what had happened, but something was missing. Something …

She sat up, and everyone heaved sighs of relief and told her to take it easy. They all looked happy enough.

‘Where am I? What happened? Baby … Where is my bab …?’ Her voice trailed off.

‘Congratulations, ma’am!’ It was the doctor’s voice trying to soothe. ‘It seemed a very bad situation when the paramedics arrived at the call of an alarmed neighbour. You were found unconscious on the floor of your bedroom with your healthy baby boy heralding himself into the world with very healthy lungs. It was a bit touch-and-go with you for a while there, and we feared losing you …’ He exhaled. ‘You’ll see your boy presently, and I advise you try to rest; it’s been quite an ordeal. I am sure your friends will be here later.’ As he spoke, he gestured to the crowd to leave with him.

Martha closed her now-burning eyes. ‘Life is better than death after all.’

She fell into a dreamless sleep, and it seemed all those other dreams had been the imaginings of a feverish mind.

The mortal eye fails to see

The joy of heaven at one newborn

Equals the conspiracy at work beneath

CHAPTER ONE

He sat atop the pinnacle of Mount Xailow, one of his favoured lone spots in the Star Algol, a bright red star much maligned in the fables as an evil star with a million years of notorious reputation. From his viewpoint, he could watch the ethereal sky as she lovingly lay over and gave cover to the Purple Sea that had teemed with all kinds of fiery creatures for over a thousand years.

The waft of acrid air from the Purple Sea hit his handsome features, sending megavolts of powerful energy through his enormous wings which covered more than a third of the entire mountain. The undulating movement of his wings gave off the sound of the most doleful kind of music in the air and created swathes of all unimaginable colours, hues, shades, and tones in the sky.

Indeed, there is none like me. He thought.

‘I am Lucifer, born of the beauty of morning, epitome of beauty, love, and excellence – heaven’s most formidable foe and possessor of the darkness. Once more, I will shake the heavens and the earth to their very foundations.’

He smiled ruefully to himself, and without warning, he belted out a most hideous form of laughter.

‘I am the highest point of all God ever made or can ever make … not humankind,’ he sneered.

The papers in his enormous hands were the key to his restoration. He smiled again. Mount Xailow pulled him so because it was the only place from which he could manage a distant glimpse of the gates of heaven, the distance of which was ever-increasing since he was first ousted from his high estate. His cheek bones twitched as though he were hiding a smile. ‘Not long now, for it will all be mine.’ His eyes lighted up with the fire of darkness.

Unto us a child is born. It was going to be some gruelling task since he had hardly said one kind word in these three thousand years, but it was a task that he and he alone could undertake.

‘Why would the lord of evil condescend to take this assignment to teach another to do good for the sake of a greater evil?’ He turned, and it was Beelzebub, the captain of his host and the lord of the flies.

‘A greater good for us all, and a task only the most worthy leader can undertake,’ Lucifer replied. ‘Great comrade-in-arms and most reliable of the foes of the Almighty throne of light, how has the battle gone so far, with the two-faced healer?’ Lucifer asked.

‘It leaves nothing more to be desired. The deed is done and well done if I may say so myself. I have, however, come to inform you that the child has been spotted in a hospital near Athens by one of my fiend and that all preparations are concluded, my great Lord.’ He ended with a low bow, splaying wings of magnificent plumage. Beelzebub once belonged to the high ranking order of archangels a step lower than the Order of the Princes – where Lucifer had belonged – and two steps lower than Michael who was one of the chief princes. These dark angels once belonged to the Great Heavenly Assembly of these beings of ranking and authority with capacity varying in glory, strength, and wisdom depending largely on assignment and function.

‘Very well then. You must fly swiftly. Assemble the horde from every world and realm we have ever visited since the dawn of time. Every creature that evil can boast of must be recruited for a holy convocation. I will address them personally. It has begun.’

29312.png

Martha rose early as was her custom.

She lived in Oropos, a small municipal town on the eastside of Attica, some forty-five minutes’ drive from Athens. What was left of the majestic temple of Amphiaraus could still be seen from her house. She felt that there was something holy about that place, and she almost said a prayer when she saw it every morning. Though she was a staunch Catholic, the place held a certain mystery for her, and she would sometimes roll the name Amphiaraus on her tongue into the morning breeze in awe and wonder. Her ancestors had worshiped Amphiaraus, and even though she was almost sure she wanted nothing to do with some pagan god, she found she was attached in ways she could not understand.

She hastened to finish the daily house chores and make the baby comfortable after nursing him; there were nagging thoughts – almost memories – in her mind that she had left largely unattended partly for fear of what she would decide and partly for the lack of time to even ponder them. She had returned from the hospital a little over a week ago, and the pressures of the life she had left behind had returned almost immediately. It was as if a thick, heavy cloud hung over her as she moved around her daily business. Try as she might, she could not shake it off. Martha turned from the porch to go back in the house, raking her fingers through her jet black hair in some form of exasperation. She had a lot to think about.

‘Lord, I could use some strength right now if you don’t mind.’

It seemed such a trivial prayer with all that crowded her mind, but that was all she could think to ask.

Home was a rather remote log house bordered by a boulevard of some of the finest fruit and timber trees in all of Greece. The wild pear tree was, for her, nature’s finest source of forest enchantment with its honeyed scents and winsome delights. It was the nest for four species of insects producing honey dew from spring to autumn. This was September, the season of honey-making bees. Even through her heaviness, she could hardly resist the joy and the sweetness of the forest air filled with the aroma of wild honey. She smiled, and her face was transformed for the short time.

She looked towards the post pile and saw the now-familiar bulk of the second consignment of canned foods, cereals, beverages, and a myriad of other offerings sent from the government to new mothers and children. Somehow, seeing that made her feel good to be a mother. She enjoyed the respite from reality for just a moment more before she snatched up the package and walked briskly inside to the crib. As she had expected, the baby had begun to stir, and before she could pick him up, he was readying himself to let out a yell of dissatisfaction.

She tried to calm him and settled him to nurse once he was in a better mood. Once he was finished eating, she put him back in the crib and troubled the chimes and mobile above the cot to keep him occupied for a while. She hoped the diversion would distract him long enough for her to complete her other chores. There was still so much to do, and she was learning that a baby did not wait for chores to be done.

She checked on the baby every now and then – her cupid child. He was – to her – the best and most beautiful thing that heaven could have given her. Yet, she felt there was more to come that would make things unpleasant.

Now you’re drifting away again, she thought to herself. It was that familiar voice of the fight in her spirit chiding her for travelling Regret Road again. Recently, she had been thinking a lot of home and of her father, Alexander Sathos, an exceedingly wealthy merchant and owner of the renowned shipping line known as The Sathos Fly. He was popular in Thessaloniki and one of the most celebrated Greeks in Europe.

He had made his position clear – in the most gentlemanly way possible – the moment the news reached him from his wife that their daughter was with child.

‘What?’ he had said. Fire leaped into his eyes, and he could be seen trying to swallow the knot that had formed in his throat, but he kept his composure. It was this famed composure that had made him such a force to be reckoned with in the shark-infested waters of the business world.

‘You heard me.’ Eleni tried hard not to give way to the desperation growing inside. She had been a Greek beauty in her prime, and time had been very kind. ‘Martha is pregnant for …’ Her voice broke off into a whisper, and she could not keep the tears away.

‘I know who. I remember the young man … Sosthenes. He looked like trouble,’ Alex said very quietly. Eleni was choking from the tension in the room; he was quiet, too quiet.

After pacing the floor for a few minutes, Alex stopped and seemed calm. She knew it was the quiet before the storm. He walked straight to his wife who sat in a crumpled heap on the sofa and pulled her up into his embrace. He soothed her, rubbing circles on her back until she stilled. He looked into her eyes, and she knew he had made his decision.

‘Get rid of the baby,’ he said. She knew that note of finality. It had often made its way into their twenty-one years of communication in marriage. It brokered no argument, and she knew to be silent and listen. ‘And while you make the plans …’ He paused. He continued in a milder voice. ‘Get her out of this house. Immediately.’ He bolted off into his inner chambers without waiting to be argued with.

Martha heard everything.

In a desperate bid to escape her father’s verdict on her precious unborn child, she left before her mother finally got herself together to deliver her father’s instructions. She had thought he would be kind to her. She loved him and admired him so much that she had patterned her lifestyle to imitate her father’s strength, courage, and titanium-reinforced will of steel to get past obstacles at all cost. She had fought for his attention as a child and was rewarded with one of his rare deep and genuine smiles for her efforts.

She had thought his love for her would make the burden easier to bear, but she was wrong once again. Men were not as strong and dependable as they often claimed. Men … wings without feathers. Her father seemed more concerned about his pride family name and personae than her happiness and welfare.

She sat on the sofa with one leg tucked beneath her and the other swinging back and forth like the pendulum of time she went back in, and she wondered where it had all gone wrong. Had she not been far too strong for her own good? Too busy being strong to notice, her vulnerability was the same as any woman her age. Was this all she was? The sometimes witty and beautiful eighteen-year-old daughter of a shipping mogul and now the renegade child of her parents, unloved and neglected.

The only one who could have made this bearable was long gone. Sosthenes. She almost loathed to speak his name. She had gone to him that night to offer her a place to stay until she knew what she was to do, but once he knew she was trying to protect their child, she saw the real man the outward beauty covered. He had called her baby – their baby – a bastard! She did not know what to expect, but it surely was not