The Thrice Born Read online

  PROLOGUE

  We are very thrilled to be able to present to our readers a merry excursion into the fate of the Fallen Angels in a context that mixes science fiction, horror, suspense with a touch of ancient myth and, hopefully, profound speculation- not untouched by a bit of comedy sprinkled here and there.

  The Thrice Born is the first of a series of books and films called, Pray for the Angels! that address one of the most widely disseminated stories in Western Civilization. Yes, it takes a light-hearted touch but it also touches on realities that have been treated not only Biblically but in apocryphal texts, most notably the Book of Enoch. Also, a lot literature and films. Nonethless, prepare for some surprises!

  In this story, we feature a very intimate angelic encounter that has occurred over aeons of time, since the beginnings of Mankind. Yes, we have borrowed from all kinds of speculative accounts of what this all means- Were the Nephilim aliens intervening in the genetic fate of mankind, interdimensional travelers who aided mankind’s early history or angels that largely became demonic because of transgressions against their Creator? We explore our own theory here- but truly this is just a fictional platform- not any kind of philosophic commitment. We are just novelists having a bit of fun but not too shy of trying to make you think about what the Descent of the Angels could actually mean.

  If we were late night radio hosts, we would probably be trying mainly to make you afraid but as novelists we are not totally heartless in this way. Still, we can’t promise you that there won’t be a nightmare or two. We do want to say that beyond this book which focuses on the Descent, there are two more books coming which deal with other adventurous ideas- salvation, genetic manipulation, interspecies warfare, the reasonableness of damnation, interdimensional travel, the limits to redemption, the possibility for prayer.

  So now, after many years of preparation, we commit to you the first book, The Thrice Born.

  Pray for the Angels!

  Carlos Lopez Avery

  Johnny Blue Star

  Copyright © 2014 by Carlos Lopez Avery & Johnny Blue Star

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Amazon and the Amazon logo are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc.

  Cover Design by Roland Ali Pantin

  Published By New Galaxy Enterprises Inc. 39341 Palm Greens Pkwy Palm Desert, California

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Authors Biography

  From Johnny

  To Debby, John, Sara and Peter, Tiara and Dad

  From Carlos

  To Cassandra, Carlos Eduardo and Christielb

  Chapter One

  THE DRAGONS TEETH

  “Every hand to rigging!” Estefano’s voice bellowed over the wind and rain. “Look lively, men!”

  Two dozen sailors were already at their duties on the wet and slick deck, every muscle taut in a steely effort to hold the ship’s lines against the few bucking sails not yet rolled to posts.

  A flash of lightning through the black sky silhouetted the Captain’s grim features as he tied off a bowline. A loud crash from the bow made him look there. Voices called from the hold, the quartermaster’s shrill Spanish cursing the loudest below deck.

  The storm had risen out of nowhere, tossing the El tesoro del cielo on the angry night waters of the Caribbean’s notorious Dragon’s Teeth, sending the crew scattering on deck and within its large hold. Every mast was furled on the Spanish galleon, all cargo secured in the hold, but it was not enough.

  A sea-splitting thunderclap echoed across the hurling waves, followed by a crack of lightning that hit the foresail derrick. Flames erupted along the post, lacing up to the wood to the canvas, fire spreading instantly, the crosstrees framing a fiery cross near the forecastle.

  Half the sailors on deck paused for an instant to stare in shock at the flaming symbol, faces ashen as they hurriedly crossed themselves.

  “God’s blood! We’re cursed now!” Estefano cried as he latched a rope dowel.

  “Remember your position!” the Captain called to his first mate. “Set an example, Estefano!”

  “Aye, Capitán!”

  Rain splattered man and ship alike as the helmsman tried to steer the treasure ship among the bellicose waves threatening to sink it. The flaming crosstree of rigging was an omen to many in the crew, but every spare hand grabbed a line and bucket and began dousing the fire. An eerie light of fire and lightning washed the deck as men scrambled to put out the flames.

  It was by far the worst storm the Captain had seen in his twelve years as master of the ship. His fist gripped a thick rope to the center mast above, the rigging whipping violently in the gusting winds as he looked out over deck which was now a menagerie of water, flames, oaths, and desperate seamen battling those flames.

  Another crash rolled up from the hold, and this time the quartermaster’s curses were louder.

  Domingo, a well-seasoned hand on the ship, braced himself at the main hatch, peering into the depths of the hold amid the pelting rain and wind. “We’ve lost the fresh water!” he called, turning to the Captain near the quarterdeck. “All but two barrels broken, Capitán!”

  “Damnation,” the Captain muttered as Estefano made his way to him across the rocking deck.

  “We’re battened down and furled, Capitán!” the first mate shouted over the wind. “We’ve lost our water!”

  “It’s an act of God.” The Captain’s hard stare was on the flaming crosstrees.

  “Or the Devil!” Estefano cried, trying to stay on his feet as the ship was tossed into a gulley of waves. “This mission’s cursed!”

  “I told you to stop that nonsense,” the Captain demanded as the mate neared him, grasping the quarterdeck stair rail.

  Estefano’s eyes narrowed, desperation leasing his tone. Still in his early thirties, he’d seen enough in eight years as first mate for superstition to flavor his opinion. “It gives me the chills, Capitán. I tell you, Rufio’s some kind of –”

  “Damn your eyes,” the Captain growled, ascending the short quarterdeck stair to meet him. “No more, Estefano! With only two barrels of fresh water left we can last a few days at half rations.”

  A sudden dimming of light across the ship deck made them look to the foresail post. Most of the fire had been put out, but the damage was done. A good portion of the stout post was burnt, forcing the heavy, rolled sails above to tax the weakened timber. A creak of straining wood echoed over the sound of wind and rain, a crack that promised further damage if the derrick was not repaired soon.

  “We’ve got a few days,” the Captain said to Estefano as the wind suddenly abated gusting, the waves lulling momentarily. He looked out over the dark stormy waters that abated as quickly as they had arisen. Timid starlight shone upon the waters. “But it’s not much time,” he told the first mate, his face hard in the poor light of the night. “We need to find land and make repairs.”

  “Sanctuary in the Dragon’s Teeth?” Estefano chuckled, but without humor. “It’s Rufio’s magic that brought us here. We’re in cursed waters, I tell you. It’s not called the Dragon’s Teeth without reason, Capitán.�
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  The Captain ignored the mate’s superstition. “The weather is calming. Rufio is rarely wrong.”

  Estefano wasn’t convinced. “In these waters, wrong can be fatally wrong.”

  “Enough,” the Captain snapped. He looked out across the deck at the crew. All were drenched, their dark pants and long white shirts hanging heavily on them. “Find him.”

  Estefano didn’t have to look. He nodded to the crow’s nest overhead. “He’s up there.”

  From the mainmast, Rufio looked down at them. He was a lean but powerfully built man in his mid-thirties, quick to draw a blade on anyone annoying him. Some of the crew speculated he was of mixed lineage, but his Spanish heritage was heaviest. He smiled at the Captain, then sent a calculated, cold look to Estefano. He turned in the small nest above them, piercing eyes finding his target in the now settling night waters.

  “Land ho!” he cried, pointing off the ship’s port bow. “Land made! West, off portside! That’s it, Capitán!”

  Calls of land went through the crew and a rush of eager steps from the haggard and storm-beaten sailors made for the port rail.

  The bulk of the storm had passed, taking with it most of the rain and wind, letting the El tesoro del cielo more easily ride the now rolling waves. Thunder still echoed and cracked, lightning still playing along the dark and starry heavens, but there was an easier gait to the sea. On the fire damaged, smoky deck of the ship hopes arose among the crew as all eyes fastened on the black outline of an island barely within sight across the rippling dark waters.

  Estefano glanced to the sky behind them. Angry, billowing black clouds framed the horizon to the rear, threatening another storm.

  “The sky is still bad,” he said to the Captain. “There’s more storm coming!”

  But the Captain’s attention was on the island. Every galleon worth its enormous hold in the sixteenth century waters of the Caribbean was gold-bound and the El tesoro del cielo was no exception. The taste of gold was strong, the lure of golden cities of unfound lands mesmerizing crews and king’s alike. The Captain was no different.

  Except he had Rufio, and Rufio had knowledge, and maybe a little more help. Unseen help that had the ring of supernatural about it.

  Oblivious to his first mate’s suspicions, the Captain nodded to the island. “We must make repairs, but first I want to get a closer look at the island.” He crossed the deck to where most of the crew was still at the port rail. He leaned his hands on the wooden rail, the rising wind at his back unfelt as he studied the dark mass of land. “We’ll take three chinchorros with fifteen men.”

  “But, Capitán, we –”

  “Bite your tongue, Estefano,” he said, eyes on the island. “Ready three boats.”

  The crew of the El tesoro del cielo went about preparations to ease up to the island as dawn broke across the early eastern skies. Moonlight faded in the heavens, but the storm still threatened darkly from the storm waiting to descend on the ship from behind. As the first rays of chilly dawn stretched across the deck, the damage from the storm became more visible.

  The foresail was scorched and labored under its heavy, wet canvas. Some of the crew had carefully scaled the netted rigging to haul down the half-bundled sail that was hanging in burnt shreds, the men knowing any wrong move could make both the sail and them come crashing down to the deck.

  Estefano watched from his vigil near the bowsprit, and then his eyes went to Albert emerging from the forecastle hatch. His glare sharpened on the lanky Englishman who had joined the predominantly Spanish crew over the last year.

  “English cur,” he spat.

  There was no disguising the bad blood between the thirty-two year-old English Navy defector and the crew of the ship; few wanted Albert aboard, but he’d proven himself on a number of occasions. It still made for tense moments, most involving Rufio. The Captain liked Albert, however, so there was little the crew could do about the stray, as some had taken to calling the Englishman.

  Estefano turned back to look into the choppy blue waters at the ship’s hull, eyes expertly scanning the depths for signs of trouble. Sure enough, the closer the ship got to the island, trouble was spotted. The island itself was still a dark shape in the growing light, but now trees and vegetation could be seen. It was a lush green emerald amid the blue of the Caribbean, but it came with a reef. Estefano nodded as the ship neared the natural harbor the island offered.

  “Reef ahead!” he called out to the main deck behind him. “Port side!”

  Above him the cautionary warning was echoed by the watchman in the crow’s nest.

  Rufio was no longer there. He now stood with the Captain, both men nodding at the island growing larger before the ship.

  The crew lowered the three boats over the side of the hull as a rumble of thunder grew in the distance behind them. A few looked that way as the last of the boats descended into the water to make the trip to the island.

  “Take us as close as the reef allows!” the Captain ordered the helmsman at the wheel.

  “Aye, Capitán, but we’re nigh onto that now!” The helmsman’s practiced eye was on the water ahead of the ship, both of his hands locked onto the wheel as he expertly guided the vessel.

  Albert tucked his white shirt ends into his black pants and dashed to where the Captain stood at the port rail watching the waters in the brightening dawn light. “Captain, you must bring the ship close enough to use cannon fire.”

  Rufio glanced to him, distaste evident. “Why would we do that? You heard the first mate; we’re in the reef and the ship is too deep in draft to –”

  “Just a precaution,” Albert said to the Captain, ignoring Rufio.

  The Captain nodded. “Rufio is right. Estefano thinks it’s too dangerous, Albert. We’ve suffered enough damage from the storm to chance it.”

  “It’d be too dangerous not to go closer,” Albert said, knowing full well his opinion was unwanted by Rufio. “Your helmsman is an experienced seaman, Captain. He can skirt the reef to bring us within cannon shot of the island.”

  “How can you be so sure?” the Captain asked, studying the Englishman. “Have you been here before?”

  “Of course not,” Albert said with all earnestness. Around them a few of the other crewmen and Estefano had gathered, some waiting to see if the stray would be put in his place by the Captain. “But, well, I’ve plotted it out, and being within cannon range would be a position of safety.”

  Rufio stood to his fullest height, one hand going to the long knife tucked at his sash. “The Capitán said no, so go back to your hole, Alberto!”

  A mumble of agreeing “Ayes” went through the crew gathered around them. The wearing of swords was prohibited during shipboard except in time of battle, but many of the men always kept a knife close by. Rufio was never without one.

  “The Captain said I could go ashore,” Albert insisted.

  They both looked to the Captain. His attention had turned back to the island that was now closing in quickly.

  “Take us within cannon range!” the Captain called to the helmsman. He didn’t turn as he spoke, smiling at the thoughts of what the island could yield, what the log book Rufio told them had promised. “But no closer!”

  “Aye, Capitán!” the helmsman shouted back.

  “Estefano, give orders for every hand staying aboard to begin repairs at full sun,” the Captain said without looking at the first mate. “Half rations for fresh water and then full work on the foremast until she’s sea-ready again.”

  “Aye, Capitán,” Estefano said and then turned to the crew awaiting orders for their day of dropping anchor.

  Albert grinned at his small victory, but then let the expression slip a little as Rufio glared at him.

  “Stay in your stinking bunk until we leave,” Rufio bit at him, hand gripping the hilt of the knife in his sash. “You English donkey.”

  Ten minutes later the three small boats pulled away from the El tesoro del cielo in the morning light. The occupants we
re well aware of the dark clouds accumulating behind the ship, hovering ever nearer, as if creeping up on the unsuspecting vessel anchored off the reef of the island. Before the boats, the island rose in a magnificent splendor of greenery and fragrant trees that broke from the water in an invitation of fresh water.

  And gold, many of the sailors hoped.

  It was a small island, not so small that it would not be charted, but not large enough to be considered an outpost by any of the naval powers of the time. The Captain was in the leading chinchorro, his alert attention on the island that was bordered by thick trees and shrubs, and then to the inlet that broke from the short sandy beach to a hidden cove that was heavily bouldered on the seaward side.

  The first boat rounded the immense rock protruding from the cove like a sentinel, and the sight beyond made every sailor in the three vessels gasp. The cove waters were surrounded by an arch of white sand beach, trees overhanging the inlet, the waters skimming the chinchorro sides almost clear and pale blue to the depth of a meter.

  The Captain smiled, chuckling at the beauty of the island, hoping for a greater sparkle inland. He turned to look back at the ship, and his smile tempered.

  Behind the ship the sky was dark, stalking the anchored vessel, as if waiting for a command from a hidden authority. Superstition, he told himself, thinking of Estefano. Stories abounded around treasures, he knew.

  As if to prove this, one of the crewmen had brought a net and was letting it dangle into the water beside the boat as the others pulled oars to propel them into the cove. At the other two boats, sailors were doing the same, each fruitless.

  They were midway into the cove when a glimmer at the beach tinkled at them. Each sailor on the three boats looked to the sand, each excusing the sparkle as their imagination. The Captain turned in his seat of the boat, and then stood to see better, eyes on the strange glint at the shore.

  Suddenly a cry went up from the man with the net in the water. “What’s this?”

  He pulled the net up higher as the sailors around him shifted, making the boat keel slightly. In the net was a greenish mass of seaweed, and something else.