Rise Of The Nephilim

Haman, Silla, and Gaden sat at one of the tables in the sanctuary eating fruits, meat, and bread.

Silla looked around, “I wonder what has happened to Sarai, trying to ignore the sting of battle pains in her arm that had returned,” she said, barely able to get out the words as she stuffed her mouth with food.

“Ah . . . no need for worry, dear sister. Father would not allow anything to happen to her,” Haman said.

Gaden focused on the piece of meat he’d been ripping apart with his fingers. “Still a bit jealous, aren’t we, brother?” he asked, as he shoved a piece of it into his mouth.

“Father cares about us all. Equally,” Silla said.

“I doubt that our brother, Yosai, would agree; or Zeda for that matter.”

“Well, nevertheless, Sarai is a great sister and a good warrior. Lest you forget, she did, after all, save your life. Maybe Father does favor her, but we must not fault her for that. Besides, if you haven’t noticed, Father seems a bit more docile and kind since she arrived. I would much rather have him that way.”

Haman traded his nearly ominous look for a smile. “Ah . . . look who’s come to join us.”

Maxine walked toward the group. She tried to cover any clues of unhappiness by smiling, but it was a weak effort. The sadness in her eyes betrayed her.

“Sister, are you well?” Silla asked, her brows creased with concern.

Maxine put more of an effort into her smile. “Yes. I’m famished; that’s all,” she said as she squeezed herself next to Silla.

Silla offered her some food from the selection that had been laid out in the center of the table “Here, sister. You must be famished.”

Haman smiled softly as he filled her goblet with sweet nectar made fresh from the stock of fruit that had come in on the harvest laser that morning. “You fought well, sister.”

“You weren’t so bad yourself.”

“We’d better fuel up for the next attack,” Gaden said. “Could come at any time, without warning.”

Silla put down her goblet of nectar. “Let them come,” she said. “We’ll be waiting.”

“Father says that Arcadium wants me dead. That he will stop at nothing to kill me himself for the death of Balthazar.”

An awkward silence fell between them after Maxine had uttered what Āmand had told her.

Haman broke the silence. “He’ll have to go through us first,” he pronounced.

Silla raised her goblet. “Strong to the death,” she pronounced.

The others raised their goblets as well and agreed by repeating “Strong to the death” before sipping on nectar.

Maxine gasped, nearly choking on her nectar when she thought she’d recognized Father Magliano along with a group of others being marched down a hall outside of the sanctuary by Epoch guards.

“Sister!” Silla was concerned. “Do not be in such a hurry; there’s plenty where that came from.”

Maxine had finally calmed herself. “It’s just that I thought that I had—” She stopped herself, deciding that she did not want to reveal to them that she’d remembered who she was in her former life. After all, none of them had; at least, they had not revealed anything, including memories from their former lives as full humans. Impossible, she thought. I must be worn from battle. Still, she was curious.

Gaden had noticed her intense gawking at the prisoners as they marched by the arched opening of the sanctuary. “I’m curious to know what fate Father has planned for our human prisoners.”

Maxine looked at him with creased brows. “Human prisoners?”

“A lot has happened since we last saw you, sister,” Haman said.

Silla, wanting to change the conversation, interjected, “We should go for a swim when we are done. Don’t you agree, sister?”

Maxine hesitated to answer. She was ready to cast what she’d just seen out of her mind as an illusion, some wishful memory from her past. However, she found it impossible to do so.

Silla did not take to being ignored well. “Sister, are you daft?”

Maxine looked at her with sharp eyes. “No . . . I’m not daft.”

Silla stood up from the table, enthusiastically smiling. “Let’s go then.”

The others rose as well, stepping away from the table, including Maxine.

“The battle drums could sound any minute.”

Haman began trotting towards the pond and removing his clothing little by little. “Any minute now, brother.”

The others followed behind, including Maxine. She tried to appear enthusiastic in that moment of levity. However, she was unable to erase what she thought she’d seen:someone from her past being held a prisoner in her father’s home.

“Come on!” Silla playfully pulled Maxine’s arm, urging her to move faster.

“All right, I’m coming!”

It was just an illusion. I’m sure of it.

Maxine laughed at the others, as they had been running nearly naked towards the pond. She’d enthusiastically begun to remove her own clothing, all shame and modesty set aside, a far difference from when she’d first arrived in Babylonia.

Maxine watched Silla swim toward her from a corner of the pond. She tried to seem cheerful by mustering up a smile or lifeless giggles. But in her mind, there had been nothing but turmoil, swarmed with thoughts of Mathias and Father Magliano, Maybie and Shane, and the fact that Arcadium was determined to see her dead, not to mention how she would stop the Reckoning.

“Sister, you seem troubled,” she said, nearly breathless, her arms stretched to the sides as she waded the deep waters of the pond

“I’m fine. I think I just need to rest more. I’m sorry Silla, but I think I’m going to go back to my room to do just that.”

Maxine scooted up to the edge of the pond.

Silla looked at her with frowned brows, questioning what was really wrong with Maxine.

“Very well, you go get your rest. I’ll see you later.”

Maxine’s clothing hugged her wet skin as she walked down the hall, barely lit with flickering candles, her mind distant.

She walked hurriedly toward her sleeping quarters but was slowed by the echoing of pleas rushing toward her from a connecting corridor she’d never ventured down before.

She saw no one, only the flicker of candle lights against dark walls, and shifting shadows on the stone floors.

She hesitated. Questioned her curiosity and ability to turn away.

She turned toward the corridor, driven by her unselfish human nature to the call for help.

At first, her pace was slow. Apprehensive. And the farther she ventured down the corridor, the louder the voices became.

The beat of her heart increased with each step as she moved more quickly now until the two Epoch guards were in plain view.

They stood in their uniform mannequin statue, hands glued to their sides, back straight, head and chin sharp, devoid of life or inability of empathy, guarding another cave-like room, fronted with iron bars. A small prison.

Maxine felt her heart skip several beats as she closed in on the prison. Not because it had been a prison, but because of whom she’d recognized violently shaking the metal bars, pleading to be released.

She stopped and stared at the man with his hands clasped tightly around the metal bars, with the group of Goths being nearly invisible to her.

The space was quieted.

“Father?” Maxine muttered.

Phillipo stared at Maxine, his mouth partly opened, brows creased, and eyes even more blurred with tears.

“Max?” he cried. “Is that…” He released his hands from the bars and collapsed to the ground.

“Father!” Maxine cried out, rushing toward him, but was blocked immediately by the Epochs guarding the room; they stood firmly in her path with wrinkled brows, in judgement of her concern for these humans.

Her first instincts were to ask for his immediate release. But the thought of being cast as a traitor had entered her mind.

Maxine stopped. Father will banish me. The thought that Phillipo and the others could be executed if Āmand ordered it had entered her mind. I must find a way to save them.