The Fallen

Prologue

The mist drew Enoch to the forest, but the light led him to the mountain. It called to him now, willing him through the day-stealing darkness. The sweat on his forehead and arms cooled to a chill in the howling breeze as he crept through the mist.  

He paused and tugged the leather reins wrapped around his fist. His lizard mount stalked over the pine needles fallen from the massive redwoods and came beside him. Enoch reached up and patted Arfax’s thick neck. The Horcal purred and relaxed. Moments before, she had been trembling and chuffing. It had been half a mile since she became too anxious for Enoch to ride. 

“Easy, Arfax,” Enoch said, stroking the Horcal’s neck. “You do not have to go any farther into this haunted place.” He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and Arfax lowered her face to his. Enoch hugged her, then removed the strap. Arfax didn’t wear a saddle. The curved back of Horcals and their cooperative nature made them perfect for riding. 

“Go home, Arfax.” Enoch wrapped the strap around his waist several times and knotted it. “Leave this mist and darkness.”

Ever obedient yet fiercely loyal, Arfax hesitated at first but then walked away. After a few steps, she stopped and looked back. Enoch smiled and nodded. “It’s all right, girl. This is my burden, not yours.” Arfax lowered her head and started away, disappearing into the mist. Enoch sighed. 

“That was a difficult decision,” someone behind him said. 

Enoch would have jumped had he not both expected and recognized the voice of Michael, the archangel. “Knowing that I will not see her again made it a nearly impossible decision.” He turned and saw Michael leaning against the wide trunk of a giant redwood. The angel, chief among the watchers, was tall and lean. His white hair fell over golden eyes that shone in the darkness. The mist dissipated around him.

“Then you understand that this calling is different from the others?” Michael folded his arms and clenched his jaw.

Enoch took a deep breath and then nodded, blinking tears away. 

Michael smiled. “Then come Enoch, son of Jared. You are about to see what no man has since your father, Adam.” The archangel headed toward the foot of the mountain where a brilliant light chased the darkness away. With each step Michael took, the mist faded around him. 

“That blind fool hasn’t seen anything in a hundred years,” Enoch said as he came up beside Michael.

Michael chuckled. “Blind maybe, but Adam is far from a fool.”

Enoch snorted. “If getting all of us expelled from the garden was not bad enough, trying to sneak past the cherubims was surely a fool’s errand.”

“One that cost him dearly,” Michael said. “But without his repentance and guidance, your fathers would not know the ways of The Most High, and you would not be entering the light of this holy mountain.”

Enoch nodded. Michael was right, of course, and Enoch loved his grandfather. As they approached the edge of the light, he realized he would not see Adam again. Groaning, he stopped and grabbed Michael’s shoulder. Michael turned and looked down with a knowing smile.

“Forgiveness is divine, Enoch. Wrath is in the power of The Most High, but He delights in mercy.” He stepped into the light. 

Enoch followed, and the chill of the mist dissolved into enveloping warmth.

Enoch emerged from the light and found himself in a place like none he had ever seen before. He was on the mountain peak, standing at the edge of the sky. It was the only way his mind could describe it. He could see for hundreds of miles in every direction, and the peak seemed to stretch nearly that far. It was more like a flat plane or an impossibly large plateau than a mountain top. 

There were gaps of black clouds in the distance, rain, light, storms, and mountains all painted together in a tapestry woven between Heaven and Earth. Enoch held his breath and turned about in wide-eyed wonder. It was as if a thousand storms were clashing together yet never touching. They appeared to be nearly within reach yet hundreds of miles apart. Above him were stars, but he could see them with a clarity and brilliance of which no man or woman on earth could even dream. 

Next to him, Michael had transformed into a pillar of fire. Enoch stumbled backward and almost fell. Michael spoke, and his voice echoed with the power of rushing waters. “This is the home of the Watchers. The Malakim. Do not be afraid, Enoch son of Jared.” 

Enoch, however, had looked beyond Michael and seen several hundred other pillars of fire, all with arms, legs, and heads. He stumbled and fell. He saw Michael moving toward him and shielded his face with his hands. Enoch closed his eyes and yelled, but then Michael’s normal, steady voice spoke to him.

“Do not be afraid.”

Enoch opened his eyes and lowered his arms.

Standing before him with his hand extended to Enoch was the archangel, back in human form. He smiled and his eyes sparkled. They were blue, which he found strange since they had always appeared golden when he had seen them before. He took Michael’s hand and let him help him to his feet.

“As I said, this is the home of the Watchers. We are in a place between Heaven and Earth.”

“Your eyes,” Enoch said. “And the fire.”

Michael held up his hand. “You will see far greater wonders in this place, Enoch, and there is much you must hear. Come.”

They walked over to the other pillars of fire, which he realized were the other watchers. They transformed as Enoch and Michael approached and made themselves appear to be human. They all had white or golden hair, but their skin tones and sizes were as diverse as the men and women of Earth. They were gathered in a large semicircle, and they welcomed Enoch with open arms and laughter. He calmed in their embrace and felt tears welling. 

“I am Raphael,” said a watcher only slightly taller than Enoch. He smiled and gripped Enoch’s shoulders. “This is Gabriel, keeper of secrets and master gardener.”

A tall, olive-skinned watcher shoved Raphael playfully and then hugged Enoch. “I keep watch over the serpents and the Great Garden.”

Enoch’s eyes widened and he gasped. “In Eden?”

“None greater,” Gabriel said. His smile disappeared. “It pained me to see Adam’s failed attempt to return. I feel somewhat responsible for his wounds.”

“Nonsense,” said a heavier set watcher as he pushed his way in between Raphael and Gabriel. “It was Adam’s choice. You observe, nothing more.” He stuck his hand out and grasped Enoch by the wrist. “I am Saraquael, and if anyone is at fault for your Fathers’ sins, it is me.”

Enoch stuttered. “I. I do not understand.” 

 “Neither does Saraquael,” Michael said. He put an arm around Enoch’s shoulders and led him from the crowd. Saraquael watches over the spirits which led Adam to sin.”

“My grandfather was possessed by spirits?”

Michael laughed. “Not exactly, no. That is a complicated subject, and not relevant to your purpose here.” He swept an arm out over the horizon. “What do you think of our home?”

“This place is wonderful,” Enoch asked. “But why have I been brought here?” 

Michael’s face was somber. “A time of great trouble is coming to the Earth. Soon, many will rebel against The Most High, more than ever and with far worse transgressions. Earth will become a wretched place. You are here to observe all. What was, what is, and what shall come to pass.”

Michael and Enoch walked to the edge of the mountain top—which by Enoch’s estimation had to be the widest and longest plateau he had ever seen—and pointed down. Enoch inched forward and craned his neck to follow Michael’s finger. He sucked in a breath and hurried away from the ledge. Michael laughed and placed a hand on Enoch’s back. He urged Enoch forward, and he peered over the ledge.

Below them, Enoch saw the whole of Mount Hermon, from peak to foot. Stretching in every direction was the vast and thick canopy of Angor Forest. Enoch could see the light of the path leading up to the mountain peak and the shadow and fog of the area closest to the mountain. He furrowed his brow, bewildered by the fact that he could see the top of the mountain because, as far as he could tell, he was standing on the top of the mountain. He blinked several times and looked again. Sure enough, there was the flattened tip of Mount Hermon, below him.  

He turned to Michael. “This is not Mount Hermon?”

Michael shook his head. “No. This place is hidden to mortal sight unless it needs to be seen. The mist and darkness keep people away from this forest. The light you walked through kept you from noticing the path, for if that were revealed to man, there would be no stopping him from reaching the Astral Plane.”

Enoch laughed unintentionally. “That is truly incredible, but it is difficult to believe.”

“And yet here you stand, Enoch son of Jared.”

Enoch simply shook his head and smiled, but then something caught his attention behind Michael. He pointed, and the archangel looked over his shoulder.

“Are those Watchers as well?” Enoch asked. A group was huddled at the edge of the mountain, looking down and talking.

“They were,” Michael said.

“But they are not now?”

“They are not here at all.”

Enoch stared at Michael, puzzled. “I am looking at them.”

“You are looking at wraiths. A vision and no more.” Michael sighed. “You will understand in due time. For now, you must write what you see.” Michael turned to the other watchers and waved one of them over. “Uriel. Bring the parchment.”

A tall, very muscular angel with snow-white hair walked over and handed Enoch a book of parchment and a writing tool. “Use this to write what you see, son of Jared,” Uriel said. 

Enoch took the items and gave his thanks. He studied them briefly once the other angel had walked away and then looked up again. His attention was immediately drawn to the group of watchers that were separated from the others. One of them, dark-skinned with sinewy arms, turned and looked directly at Enoch. Even from such a distance, Enoch could see the golden flecks in his blue eyes. This angel’s hair was not like the others. It was white like theirs, but it was twisted into corded locks. 

Enoch trembled. The angel did not look away. His expression intensified as if he was trying to stare through Enoch, and the angel’s massive shoulders and chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. Enoch finally forced himself to turn away, but he could still feel the angel’s eyes boring through him. He told himself it was not possible. A vision of the past could not see him in the present.

“Who was that watcher?” he asked.

Michael waited, as if he did not want to answer, but then he spoke in a whisper. “Draven. He was one of our greatest warriors and one you must watch closely.”

“Why?” Enoch asked. “And how is it that he is looking at me right now if he is not there?”

Michael shook his head. “I will say no more on this.” He pointed to Enoch’s book. “Write what you see, son of Jared.” When he was done speaking, Michael walked away, leaving Enoch at the edge of the mountain.

Enoch looked back to the wraiths, but they were gone. He looked out across the expansive plane of Earth and began writing.