Gabriel loosened his sword as he and Enoch descended from the star-strewn heavens into the field of cloud that hovered over the Sirion mountains. Enoch’s chest tightened. The angel’s sword held a glow that Enoch had no memory of seeing before. No less disturbing was the scroll Gabriel clenched in his fist. Whatever it said, Enoch did not want to hear it. The Great One’s edict was dire enough and still echoed in his ears: You shall have no peace.
As Enoch’s feet touched the bald stone of Sirion’s peak, the shroud of fog swirled, and a white-winged, broad-shouldered angel emerged. Enoch lurched into Gabriel.
Gabriel steadied Enoch and chuckled, but his smile was thin and tight. “Meet Michael,” he said.
Michael nodded, his blonde hair dripping with mist. Enoch tried to smile, but the angel’s silver armor and the set of his jaw were unnerving.
Gabriel held out the scroll to Michael, who waved it away. “I’ve been told,” said Michael. His nostrils flared, and he gazed in the direction of the grove as though he could see through the fog.
“We’re to allow Enoch to deliver his message first,” said Gabriel.
“That’s wise?” asked Michael.
Gabriel shrugged. “The Watchers sent him with their petition. He returns with the response.”
“You’ll keep him safe, then?”
“I’ll try.”
Michael snorted and headed down the slope. Enoch’s legs felt as stiff and heavy as logs. He gripped Gabriel’s rock-firm arm and made himself walk. Michael slowed to allow them to catch up.
The fog thinned as they descended, and at last Enoch spied familiar landmarks: the slant of twin cypresses to the east, the overhang of the rock formation to the west. Then through the trees ahead, he saw the secluded grove, its altar flanked by Uriel and Raphael, still holding their swords. On the far side of the grove, Azazel inspected his blade, while his two supporters paced behind him. Semjaza, leaning against a broad trunk, wiped his brow on his sleeve. Ezekeel and Arakiba sat on a boulder nearby, eying the others uneasily.
Azazel and his two followers stilled when Gabriel and Michael ushered Enoch into the grove. Ezekeel and Arakiba rose, alert. Semjaza stepped forward and handed Enoch his walking stick. Enoch read the question in his eyes but looked away, which was answer enough. As he hobbled to the center of the grove, he saw Gabriel slip the scroll to Raphiel.
Branches bobbed in the sighing breeze, a forest creature skittered through the underbrush, a crow squawked a warning cry and flapped away through the trees. The Watchers stood silent, balancing on the thin line between their past and their future.
Enoch felt as if he had swallowed a wad of wool. He took a deep breath and let his mind return to the floor of fire and the brilliant throne. He heard again the Great One’s message, and he repeated it. With every word, the Watchers grew more agitated. Before Enoch had finished, Azazel was red-faced, shouting, shaking his fist and his sword. Enoch raised his voice to be heard: You shall have no peace! As the words left his mouth, his feet left solid ground, and the grove erupted in fighting.
Gabriel swept Enoch into the woods, set him down among the trees, and darted back to the grove, drawing his sword. But Michael had already subdued Azazel’s two supporters. They lay groaning on the ground beside Azazel, who struggled to no avail as Uriel bound him. Raphael crouched in a menacing stance before Semjaza, Ezekeel, and Arakiba, who had dropped their blades at his feet.
Sword in hand, Gabriel scooped up the scroll, which lay beside the altar. He read it aloud, clearly and without malice. “Bind Azazel and cast him into the darkness to await judgment. Except for Semjaza, all former Watchers must choose: Forfeit your wings and become fully human, or join your children, the giants of the land, who are under siege from the forces of heaven.”
“And I?” asked Semjaza.
Michael glared at him. “We give you a head start. You’re appointed leader of your giants.”
The color drained from Semjaza’s face. “The evil spirits.”
Gabriel tossed the scroll to Semjaza. “You’re their captain now.”
Michael’s white wings whipped out as he pointed his sword at Semjaza. “Go!” he yelled.
Semjaza ran.
- to be continued -
© 2012 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved. Based on The Book of Enoch, 220 BCE – 100 CE. Photo: The Fall of the Rebel Angels, Pieter Breugel the Elder, 1562, courtesy Angels, Dover Publications.
