Preludes: The Chronicles of Enoch, #1

By Alan J. Fisher

Called "ground-breaking", "paradigm-shifting", and "visionary", the Chronicles of Enoch got so close to the truth that Facebook refuses to list anything even related to it. Unashamedly called "The Series Facebook Tried to Hide", the Chronicles of Enoch will take the comfortable world you are used to and turn it upside down, shake it hard and smugly show you everything that fell out. 

 

All of the stories, you see, are true or, at least, they were at some point. 

 

Over centuries and even millennia, things have gotten confused and changed but the essential nugget of truth is still there, even if it is obscured  intentionally or, perhaps, not. Let us peel off the layers to see whether we can find that truth and, having found it, decide whether it was best to just leave it hidden afterall. 

 

You see, there are some things that it's better for humans, as a species, not to know. A select few, they might be able to handle these truths but society at large? 

 

The Preludes take place a number of years before the events of the upcoming Chronicles of Enoch Quintet and focus on the person who is behind all of the obfuscation and manipulation we were just talking about. Learn just how he has done that and, if you really pay attention, you might learn why he is doing it...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alan J. Fisher
• Release date: Jun 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201774554

Alan J. Fisher

Born in Belfast, Northern Ireland, Alan has since lived in various parts of the world before settling in Spain with his family.  Influenced in early life by the works of J.R.R. Tolkien and the traditions of High Fantasy, Alan has studied history and mythology from around the world and has always been interested in how the same stories have been told and re-told from one side of the globe to the other. He is alway deeply interested in languages and their influence on society.  Work on what would become the Empyraeum Cycle was begun when Alan was 13 years ago, the first draft being completed on an old mechanical typewriter and later re-written on a school computer

Book preview

We like to think that our world is simple, that it makes sense...

We like to think that the darkness, those nebulous things that we fear in the animal parts of our brain are gone...we like to think that the stories are just that, made-up nonsense meant to teach us lessons.

They are not.

All the stories are true yet, strangely, they are also outright lies. Such is the nature of stories, it would appear.

In a time of danger, of the rise of the shadow; when conspiracies, plots, and hidden groups are maneuvering for dominance, one would think we need a hero...

We don't. 

Perhaps we need an evil which is capable of out-thinking, outsmarting the rest and, somehow, capable of making the kind of decisions the rest of us would shy away from...

We need a bastard

We need a bastAlso by the same author

Empyraeum Collections - Shorts and verse

The Wondering Wanderer

The Wakeful Dreamer

Turn Out to Inward

Whispers from Behind the Eyes

Empyraeum Novellas

α - Skander Draco

β - The Victory of Wolves

γ - Neshaa

δ – The Charmer of Snakes

ε - Son of the Dragon

Poetry

F*** You Poe, an Anthology

The Chronicles of Enoch Short Stories and Novels

Chronicles of Enoch: Pentad Novels. (Coming Winter 2022)

I - Darkness Within

II - Sons of Chaos

III - Gods of Deceit

IV - Midnight Moonlight

V - Son of Light

Chronicles of Enoch: Albuquerque Tales (Coming Soon)

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This has been a long time in coming but I proudly present to you, one of the chosen few; The Chronicles of Enoch: Preludes Anniversary Edition.

Edited, updated, and including both a redesigned, celebratory cover and exclusive character artwork. As usual, hints are both subtly and less subtly hidden within these pieces.

The Chronicles have been evolving rather drastically since the day the first edition of this volume was produced. New characters have been added and old ones have been altered; some a little, others a lot.

As we write, Alan is living in Southern Spain with his wife and children, engaged in a fairly rewarding day job and writing when he is able, which isn’t as often as he would like.\

He is 44 but will tell anyone that will listen that age is only a barrier to things such as memory and remembering where you put those darn keys...

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@chroniclesofen1  alanjfisher75

Contents

I  Krampus     8

II  Choices     26

III  Reflections    41

IV  Bear Bodies    53

V  The Lonely One    66

VI  Revolution of Assumptions  78

VII  Twins     93

VIII The Wolf Pack    104

XI  Praying for Prey   120

X The Asmodean Gambit  134

Excerpt from Darkness Within 151

Afterword     158

...humans have always hated the shadows, the darkness even that within themselves. The build cities which blaze constantly with light in the deluded belief that they will keep the shadows out, banish them, and send them on their way. Of course, just because one does not see something does not mean it is no longer there...

What is which lies in the darkest depths of the human soul? In that darkness behind the eyes...of many minds...what voices speak that we can barely hear but heed without hesitation? Just because it is darkness, it does not mean that light is absent. Even in our darkest moments, we are capable of acts which cause the demons both great frustration and indescribable pain.

© Alan J. Fisher 2023. This volume is a work of fiction and all resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental...unless it isn't, in which case it is a pure exercise in speculation and the author will neither confirm  nor deny anything. All characters without mythical or pre-existing literary precedant are works of the author’s imagination and recognised as their intellectual property, their interpretation and characterisation of known figures of myth are their own and are also considered their intellectual property. All artworks are by the author and, therefore, no permission required by the same for their use.

Lucifer_T_2023

Lucifer in his current mortal form of Sen. Mike Two-Cent Lucent at his campaign office in Washington D.C. Note the quiet yet simmering rage of his expression.

I

Krampus

A circle of chairs in a room which is heavily draped with dark cloths. It has no windows, this room, only half-seen lamps shielded behind drapes. An atmosphere of secrets best kept that way; of meetings it’s best to not even have the vaguest suspicion about and of people whose faces never venture out into the light.  In fact, they probably made a deal with the light so that  it would look the other way, hands in its pockets and an innocent whistle on its lips.

These seven people, well it would be better to not even think about seeing them all together.

The six chairs were occupied by one woman and five – ah, well I am not sure but, if I am pressed then, fine –  men, I suppose, will have to do.

The man who is clearly the leader, from his body language and the way the rest of them look at him wears an expensive though simple suit of dark blue with a very fine red pin-stripe. He has dark green silk tie in a good Windsor knot and a fine tie-pin of gold damask. He is middle-aged but in good health and vigorous with a solid and handsome face; fine cheekbones, somewhat patrician nose, blue eyes under well-managed short grey hair. He has that look of a Politician or maybe a salesman of some kind or other; the two are not that different really.

Next in line, we have the woman, the only person of female persuasion in the room, though she appears neither nervous about nor concerned by this fact. She wears her black and somewhat wavy hair in a kind of loose bob which reaches her shoulders. She wears a fine pant-suit of charcoal grey with a pale green blouse with a round collar underneath. Aside from a pair of small gold stud-type earrings, she displays no jewellery except for a golden brooch in the form of a bow and arrow which is definitely cheap enough looking to have cost more than most people earn in a decade .

The man beside her looks like a scholar or an ascetic of some kind. His long face is fine-boned but also consumptively thin; cheeks hollow and pinched, his complexion pallid and sickly-looking. He shows every day of his eighty-three years and, perhaps, several more. He wears a well-tailored Italian suit of black with a light charcoal pin-stripe, a black shirt and the Roman collar of a clergyman. Thin, pale and liver-spotted hands are folded on his lap as he laughs softly at some joke. There is a brooch of silver in the shape of the Seal of St. Peter on the lapel of his jacket; meaning he has come straight from the Vatican.

The military uniform and bearing of the man in the next seat is as complete a contrast as could be imagined after the old holy-diplomat. This man is solid, almost square-shaped as if he has been stamped out on a production line. His suitably military hair is flame red and his eyes a deep sage green. He has the pale, freckled skin of Ireland or perhaps Scotland. There is a faint scar crossing his forehead, down the corner of one eye which stops halfway down one chiselled cheek. He is somewhere in his mid to late-50’s but it is hard to be sure as he has that worn and almost leathery appearance of someone who has spent much time in the sun. He looks like he belongs on a Marine Corps recruitment poster. In fact, he has the insignia of the corps and the four stars of  a General on his epaulettes as well as rather decent Technicolor barcode pattern on his left breast. Maybe he knows what all those stripes, pips and bits of colour mean but we do not. Some of his medals look odd but we are no expert on military matters.

At last, we arrive at number five and he would easily win the distinction of strangest person here were it not for the figure to his immediate left, to whom we will get momentarily. This fellow is, as we have mentioned, rather – ah – unique. He is rather short but not quite what one might call – in a rather politically incorrect fashion – a dwarf. He is just barely over five feet tall but broad of chest and shoulder. He has unruly dark hair which curls - ironically perhaps - across his wide forehead like that of a renaissance angel.. The left-hand side of his saturnine face is dominated by a rather nasty collection of scars; part of his cheek appears to be missing, replaced by livid scar tissue. Unlike our man of the cloth, who looks like he is about to die, this man has the paleness of one who has simply had all of the blood sucked out of them. He has intense, even piercing eyes which are spaced just a little too far apart, a long nose and sensuous mouth which looks just a little wider than one would feel comfortable with. 

He is not exactly ugly but handsome would never be a title given to him by anyone with eyesight. He might even be considered passable were it not for his eyes; he has one of those they should've known it was him looks assigned by lovers of true crime TV shows. Don’t be ashamed. We’ve all done it; we’re friends here and it’s safe; you can admit it....

This fellow has the eyes, the smile, the expression, and even the eyebrows of someone you would run away from. He also has a piranha’s teeth. He parts his sensual pale lips rarely and always intentionally, just to show his mouthful of ivory needles off. As we study him, we realise there is an incredible poise and deliberateness about him. Every gesture, movement and word is calculated. Every affectation of dress and appearance is intentional, carefully designed. He wants you to be distracted and not see beyond his outward appearance. Here sits a man considered a buffoon by many and one who not only does not care about that but also works very hard to maintain such a façade.

Finally, we arrive at the winner of the weirdest attendant prize. It would be hard to not let this fellow win because while everyone else – despite how wrong such surface appearances might be – at least appears to be human, this figure does not.

It is about the height of its neighbour but of a much slimmer and sinuous build. It also had quite an impressive tail, which is about four feet long and about as thick as three average fingers; smooth and prehensile, it has a large tuft of black hair on the end. The tail appears to have a mind of its own, coiling and uncoiling, twisting and twitching like that of the irritated cat that’s about to scratch you. Like the rest of its skin, its tail is black; not the dark brown of Africa but the deep black of night-time shadows and forgotten holes in the ground. It is almost furry in places, stiff black hair doing a passing service towards decency, in fact, in just the right places because it is also naked. Its eyes are angry red as is its tongue which flicks constantly from its mouth like an inquisitive worm. Its face is sharp and appears almost triangular; an illusion which is aided by his perfectly trimmed trident beard and waxed moustache. In fact, it looks like it is wearing one of those carnival devil masks which have always been popular around the world. There is even a small pair of curly black horns emerging from its forehead. It looks the perfect laughing or mocking devil. It is not laughing or mocking now, though. In fact, it looks terrified.

Yes, that is only six people but be patient, we’ll get to the seventh soon.

Lady, Gentlemen and – ah well, yes – gentleman, Lucifer stood and held up his hands for quiet, silence flowed immediately into a space which appeared very much designed for just that purpose. The drapes and décor were there to swallow both sound and light as if neither was welcome here or, if they were, they were not encouraged to leave.

You will notice that we have a visitor today, some of you may even have an idea about who, or at least what he is. He gestured with an open hand towards the devil caricature, This, is Krampus. The sharp-bearded fellow bowed its head and licked its lips.

What? The German child-frightener? Scoffed Penumael, her voice was rich and sensual. It had a tone of amusement to it now. The beater of strangers with sticks?

Indeed, the very same, Krampus itself answered uncertainly. Its voice was thin and reedy, carrying the heavy trace of a German accent. It made a half bow at the waist.

One of Lilith’s brood! Asmodeus added, showing his needle teeth, which glinted in the low light. I thought they were all banished by now.

Most of them are, Lucifer said a little too indulgently. Krampus, however, is not.

I know this – ah – creature! Sammael sparked up, most of them had thought that the old man had fallen asleep, but his eyes were bright and amused. The restaurants –

Exactly, Lucifer cut in and produced what looked like a takeout menu from the inside pocket of his jacket. He brandished it then passed it around the circle of chairs, allowing each to inspect it.

KRAMPUS’ KRISPEE PIGGIES the thing was titled and showed a large logo at the top; it was Krampus - looking pretty much like the nervously seated chap - pushing a terrified and slightly anthropomorphic pig dressed in short suspender pants into a blazing fire with a pitchfork. It appeared to be both rather enjoying its task and deeply amused by it. Its long red tongue was sticking out and its head was thrown back in laughter. It was amazing what humans would tolerate if you made it funny. This fast-food pork products joint was famous around the land and had franchises as far as Alaska. Even in Europe, you could find its greasy fare. Asmodeus accepted the menu with a nod and, with a nasty smile to Abaddon, began to peruse it. It was a decent likeness, he decided, flicking his gaze back to the rather uncomfortable looking model for the illustration.

Krampus gave him a nervous smile in reply. The poor fellow is terrified but then again, I would be too!

"You may all be aware of several things. This Krampus did indeed inspire and model for the logo of this popular junk-food chain. KKP has indeed been around and active for quite some time, an old zooanthrope family has been running it for decades.

You may also be aware that the new owner of said chain of restaurants, a billionaire and real estate magnate, is a man by the name of James Oliver Horn. Horn took the small chain of restaurants serving an American vision of traditional Bavarian cuisine and turned into something quite different, something much more American and corporate. You may also be aware that the good Mr. Horn announced his intention to run for President of this fine nation on a vehicle of what many term – what was it again? – strong and assertive vitriol with a dash of divisive politics.

He waited for these words to settle and float in the air for a moment. He wanted to see if they got it yet.

I sense that one of your secret plans is about to be revealed to all. Asmodeus drawled finally, drawing a sharp look from Lucifer. Oddly enough, the smaller Fallen saw that his master actually let it slide without so much as a threat and smiled even wider. A brilliant and cunning plan?

Razor-sharp both in wit and observation as always, Lucifer laid his own sarcasm on thickly. Our funny little brother is indeed correct. I have been subverting Horn for quite some time now and funnelling money from a variety of shell corporations into his burgeoning campaign. I would very much like for him to win.

Nobody ever wins without our say so anyway. Asmodeus could not help but add. Lucifer said nothing but he could see the amusement and even approval briefly flash  in  his eyes.

But that man is as much of a pig as the – ah – donors of his nasty food are. Penumael drawled. Nobody in their right mind would vote that clown into the most important office in America.

Would they not? Lucifer looked her straight in the eye, something none of them liked him to do. It always felt that he could look into places you wanted nobody, not even yourself to pay too much attention to.  Do you really believe that to be true?

His tone clearly communicated that he did not believe it to be even close to true. Asmodeus studied Lucifer’s face and then those of the others here present. This was going to be interesting. He had an idea where Lucifer was going with this so chose to remain silent and listen for now.

Do any of you believe that to be true? That America is the enlightened beacon of the so-called Civilised World. You who have been here since before civilisation became fashionable?

Well I think things are getting better at least, Penumael sounded uncertain though, her voice lacking conviction. We had a biracial female President for eight years.

She, of course, had such an easy time of it right?

Asmodeus smiled and leaned back in his seat, letting his little legs dangle just shy of the floor. He swayed them about. Marcia O’Brien, African-American and Puerto Rican she was 100% American and 100% female. America; the actual last country in this Civilised World  to have a female Head of State! Even Pakistan, considered behind America, had already had one in the form of Benazir Bhutto. Margaret Thatcher had been respected around the world though not universally so in her own country. The whole country had been divided during her campaign and had become even more so during her two terms in the Oval Office. She had won by a crushing landslide the first time around, and many people thought that this was going to be the end of the corrupt and old-boy led Washington Establishment. Of course, that was naïve in the extreme, as President O’Brien soon found out for herself. They obstructed and blocked every move she made and bill she tried to pass. Had she walked into Congress and declared it a fine day outside; half would immediately and vehemently disagree, half would declare that, once again, a socialist President was trying to control how people should view things, right up to and even including the weather; why must it be fine? Might we not consider the poor American people who are suffering due to a lack of adequate air-conditioning? Air-conditioning her government was trying to take away or control?

Humans! He muttered to himself. They make our job so easy, all by themselves. Sometimes we are playing catch up with them! So many Americans; women, people of colour and immigrants rejoiced; those of a more liberal political leaning, the poor, the hard-working single-parent families; all these people who had been so long ignored were now in the limelight. She forced through bills which made their lives easier, she tried to take on the giant Medical Insurance and Big Pharma companies, she tried to give to America what many countries of the – here it is again, that odd term – Civilised World already enjoyed and had for some time now, without turning into Fascist-Communists (pun intended), as so many confused Americans seemed to think would now happen.

She took them on, and she failed.

Not spectacularly but enough to steal some of that fire she had entered office with. She accepted the reality and so, in her second term, tried to use the System against itself and hand her opponents just enough rope to hang themselves with. It turned out they were smarter than that, or at least the sources of all their money - the largest donors of which were right here in this room – were. She made some small and relatively insignificant changes but not enough. Dispirited, her former army drifted off into apathy. So, it had remained; dejectedly apathetic.

Now, consider America. One thinks that racism would be killed off quickly by having a President of mixed race. One would think that having a female President would eliminate discrimination towards the female and make life better for this half of the population. You’d think that President O’Brien achieving such high office would be a herald for positive change.

You could think that but, if you did, you did not truly understand America and Her people.

Racism was not dead, instead of defeating this idiotic distinction based upon epidermal melanin levels and the supposed superiority of those who either had more or less pigmentation, it polarised the country further. Alright, Asmodeus and his family had helped things along: pushed the right buttons and disseminated