Falling Rain

By Laurel June Thompson

Loosely based on the extra-biblical account known as The Book of Enoch, Falling Rain explores the ancient lore surrounding antediluvian culture.

In prehistoric times, before the Great Flood, a young girl named Ren finds herself in a world of bloodthirsty creatures determined to conquer all creation. Half angelic and half human, these evil but highly developed warriors ravage humankind, nearly driving it to extinction. Ren, her mother Marah, and friend Tamara are chosen by God to play a pivotal part in restoring peace to the earth. But when Ren discovers she too is one of the despised Halfling race, she wrestles with guilt and self-doubt and embarks on a relationship with her angelic father whom she both loves and hates.

Falling Rain is a story of three women who overcome seemingly insurmountable odds, learn to accept forgiveness, and muster the courage they need to become the unlikely heroes they were destined to be. Though all seems lost, they finally achieve redemption in an unexpected but God-ordained turn of events.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664169142

Book preview

Copyright © 2021 by Laurel June Thompson.

Illustrated by Meredith Simpkins Hayes

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 04/19/2021

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Contents

Acknowledgments

Prologue

Chapter 1 The Secret

Chapter 2 The Premonition

Chapter 3 The Rumor

Chapter 4 The Memory

Chapter 5 The Agenda

Chapter 6 The Warning

Chapter 7 The Worshipers

Chapter 8 The Encounter

Chapter 9 The Wrath

Chapter 10 The Promise

Chapter 11 The Journey

Chapter 12 The Prophecy

Chapter 13 The Lair

Chapter 14 The Decision

Chapter 15 The Women

Chapter 16 The Wait

Chapter 17 The Haven

Chapter 18 The Brothers

Chapter 19 The Rescue

Chapter 20 The Tree

Chapter 21 The Apostasy

Chapter 22 The Sacrifice

Chapter 23 The Binding Stone

Chapter 24 The Rending

Chapter 25 The Errand

Chapter 26 The Vanquished

Chapter 27 The Welcome

Chapter 28 The Preparation

Chapter 29 The Messengers

Chapter 30 The Deluge

Epilogue

Author’s Note

For my husband, Troy—the love of my life

Acknowledgments

W RITING FALLING RAIN has been a gratifying process rich in both research and imagination. First released in 2006, this revision of Falling Rain is meant to herald its sequel, Split Tongue , the second book in a series of four.

Many thanks go to my illustrator, Meredith Simpkins Hayes. Her artistic talents have lent themselves admirably and beautifully to Falling Rain and Split Tongue.

Additional thanks to my family for their undying support during the entire creative process—my husband, Troy; my children, Shane, Chase, and Chelsea; my daughters-in-law and son-in-law, Ann-Brittany, Abbygale, and John Michael; and my four precious grandsons, Ethan, Elijah, Damon, and Evan Thompson. Thank you all for the love and inspiration you bring to me each day.

Finally, a posthumous note to my late grandparents, Joe and Ruthanna Henry, who raised me as their own beloved daughter—thank you so much for your unconditional approval and moral support of this and all my endeavors over the years. Your spirits are the wind beneath my wings.

FR%20Picture%201.jpg

When human beings began to increase in number on the

earth and daughters were born to them, the sons of God

saw that the daughters of humans were beautiful, and they

married any of them they chose. Then the LORD said, "My

Spirit will not contend with humans forever, for they are

mortal—their days will be a hundred and twenty years."

The Nephilim were on the earth in those days—and

also afterward—when the sons of God went to the

daughters of humans and had children by them.

They were the heroes of old, men of renown.

Genesis 6:1-4 NIV

Prologue

T ODAY, IT RAINED—A wonder to behold. Tiny droplets fell from the sky, not much greater than the familiar mists that drift and hover in my valley. Then, the drops grew in size and number. The sky shed its burden like the gushing of an open wound. Sheets of water poured from the heavens and pelted the soil in unrelenting torrents. Rivers breached their banks, and seas climbed over their ancient borders. Fountains burst forth from the depths, and the land receded. Never had my eyes beheld such a thing. The waters gathered and joined to consume the earth like a hungry mouth devouring its prey.

As I gaze out the window, my heart melts within me. The darkness and unfamiliar raging of the storm loom about me, and I am afraid. This is the end. I know it now. The end of the world is at hand.

Ren

Chapter 1

The Secret

I THINK THE sound awoke me. Yet, when I roused and sat up, I heard nothing but the familiar breeze, caressing the tall grass as it bent and swayed in a gentle rhythm. I basked in the warmth of a muted sun, shining through a misty sky. I loved to lie on my back in the meadow whenever I could stray long enough from my mother. Although the village stood only a bowshot away, in the nearby grasslands I felt free and alone. Away from the chatter and bustle of the town, I craved the solace of the countryside. I treasured the company of the small creatures that lived in the fields, but felt like an outsider in the village. I was uncomfortably aware of the women’s wary glances, and saw children make the sign of the horns against evil behind their backs when I passed. I asked Mother about this. She tried to soothe me by saying the Maker of All had blessed me with many special gifts, and others were jealous and ignorant to treat me so. However, I wondered about these gifts, and hated that they made me an object of scorn.

As I rose, my senses quickened. An eerie chill skittered up my spine, but before I could discover its cause, I heard the scream. A washerwoman on the bank of a nearby stream stood shrieking as she gestured frantically toward the meadow. At once, I beheld the source of her terror. Mother saw it too. Alerted by the scream, she turned and hastened toward me while urging me to remain still. She passed our hut to snatch a hunting javelin, hoisting it as she ran. I stood and watched the perilous scene unfold before me. Strangely, I felt no fear.

The sleek, long-toothed panther crouched silently in the glade. He padded toward me with ears flat, long fangs bared. As the enormous cat drew nigh, I heard a low, ominous rumble issue from his throat. His tawny coat rippled gracefully as the muscular form glided closer. Still, I felt no fear.

Oblivious to Mother flying toward me, ready to defend me with her life, I could only stare, mesmerized, into the feline’s approaching lantern-like eyes. I felt the spear whoosh past my left shoulder with lethal speed and thrust. I saw it pitch into the ground a mere handspan from the beast’s flank. The panther checked sharply, whipping his head toward the vibrating weapon, yet undaunted, he resumed his advance. The cat was upon me. One spring would close the gap, and Mother, still out of range, could not reach me in time. I raised my hand and she stopped. I continued to gaze into the panther’s eyes whilst in my mind, I willed him to comprehend.

Mother recounted to me later that a crowd had assembled near the river bordering the village. At the time, I had no thought for anything but the long-toothed panther before me. With only the space of a few breaths, there had been no time for a rescue attempt from the villagers. She told me the people had stared in horrified expectation at the spectacle of a girl-child about to be mauled and devoured by the great cat. Even one like me, an outcast amongst my neighbors, had elicited pity from the throng—a macabre fascination gripping them as they awaited the consummation of my fate. But instead, they had witnessed a wonder.

The panther crept closer until I felt his warm breath upon my cheek and smelled the musky redolence of his pelt. His long, bristly whiskers brushed my shoulder as he circled me once, twice, thrice, and then, swishing his ponderous tail to one side, sat directly before me. To my amazement, I still felt unafraid. My spirit reached out to the beast like long fingers, probing his mind. Though I could not form my feelings into coherent thought, a deep knowledge welled inside my being, a connection with this animal that defied natural instinct. He must have felt it too, for he stopped behaving like a predator to instead cock his immense head and regard me with mild curiosity.

I spoke to him. Whispered words escaped my mouth of their own volition. Foreign utterances issued from my lips in subtle, crooning tones. The great panther seemed to understand. He gazed into my eyes with uncanny wisdom, blinked, and proceeded to lick his massive paw and wash his face. He then dipped his head reverently, as though in homage, and I reached out my hand to stroke his shaggy brow. I thrilled to pass my small hand over his velvety yellow fur within a hair’s breadth of the pointed, dagger-like fangs that jutted from his jaw. Yet, I knew I would never know fear from this creature—truly, I never had.

Finally, I withdrew my hand. With one last sapient glance, the panther turned, quit the meadow, and melted into the tangled wood. I stared after him, relishing the newfound power I felt coursing through my body like the currents of the sea. Pondering in amazement what had just happened, I startled when the arms of my mother surrounded me, great sobs pouring from her in waves of relief. I embraced her and assured her all was well. When we returned to the village, the astonishment of our neighbors was palpable. But instead of being received with joy and thanksgiving, they shunned me even more than before. The thing had passed for a wonder, but the people, bound by superstition, held the incident to be an evil portent—and I was the object of their fear.

By and by, summer passed and harvest time approached. The memory of my meeting with the panther faded and was seldom discussed anymore around the hearth fires of our village; my fresh awareness of strange powers within me fell into the back of my thoughts, as everyday tasks demanded immediate attention. I remained ostracized by others, and this fact became an unwelcome reminder of my so-called gifts. Mother more than made up for the loneliness I might have felt. She adored me and called me her shining one. Indeed, my very name, Ren, means to shine.

Unlike most families that boasted a multitude of offspring, I was my mother’s only child. We shared a special bond. She loved me with the depths of her being. Mother sang cradlesongs to me in the eventide, and recited stories of her youth and the history of our tribe as we labored during the day. She taught me the art of homecraft, and how to find and prepare food. Skilled in the garden, Mother showed me how to use the ploughshare, plant seeds, and then reap the harvest of ripened grain and vegetables. She trained me in stitchery and the workings of a loom, to mold and fire simple pottery from clay, repair thatch, and treat minor wounds with the simples¹ and herbal remedies procured from Jadis, the local healer. I learned to render tallow and make it into candles and soap, care for livestock, and even how to hunt small game with our javelin and coax fish into nets. All these things and more, I gleaned from the loving hand of my mother, who cared more for my welfare than she cared for her own life.

Mother, so lovely in my eyes, had long, thick tresses the color of honeycomb that she wore bound up in a leather band during the day; at night, though, she loosened her hair and combed it until it shone like burnished gold in the glow of our hearth fire. Her limbs were slim, yet strong and supple. She moved efficiently and with easy grace from one task to another, yet never seemed hurried. A smile was ever ready on her lips; the sound of her laughter fell upon my ears like birdsong. Her deep brown eyes, like those of the white-tailed hinds that lived in our wood, betrayed her every emotion, from cheerful mirth to stony anger upon my bouts of disobedience. Indeed, after my unauthorized foray into the meadow, I received a tongue-lashing from Mother I did not soon forget. Her tears of relief had turned to a torrent of harsh words intended to cow me into submission.

I knew the panther incident must have caused her untold distress, for the thought of losing me had always been her foremost fear. Mother strove to shelter me from danger. Forever and again, she reminded me of the treachery of the river, the threat of the hearth fire, the peril of becoming lost in the wood, and of course, the danger from wild beasts. I endured these constant warnings because I knew she loved me; nevertheless, I still looked for ways to elude her watchful eye. I stubbornly tried to escape my narrow world to explore the unknown. The forest called to me, though to venture there alone remained forbidden until I grew older. I hoped in the coming year I might be allowed more freedom. The circle of seasons had passed me seven times when harvest arrived—it was autumn, the season of my birth.

At last, the day arrived. I rose early, eager to see what Mother had planned to mark this special occasion. The scent of fresh, hot honey cakes wafted throughout our modest, one-room hut. I crept from my sleeping pallet to see her lay a fare of costly fruits—figs, pomegranates, quince, and dates—together with the steaming honey cakes and a pitcher of creamy goat’s milk. Fresh flowers and herbs adorned our simple table, and as I looked about, I felt her love surround me. The carefully prepared delicacies were meant to make me feel like a precious and rare treasure, and she succeeded.

I have never forgotten that birthday morning. Even now, I can see her expectant face as she awaited my pleased smile. I loved her like no other. That day, she had arisen earlier than I and had already dressed and bound her hair. Her beauty astonished me. Most of the women in our village were fair. In fact, rarely had I seen anyone who could be called plain. Yet to me Mother was the most resplendent of all.

Ren, I have a gift for you, she said softly. I hope you will like it.

She brought forth a small pouch made of sheep’s hide laced with a woolen string. She pressed the parcel into my small hand, and my heart swelled. I opened the bag slowly to savor the moment, and wondered what it could be. I felt something hard and smooth to the touch. I drew out an ivory comb embossed with an intricate design of flowers and vines. I had never seen a more beautiful object in my life. How she came by something so dear, I could not imagine.

I will treasure it always, Mother. Thank you, I whispered as I reached to embrace her.

She took the new comb from my hand and began to pull it gently through my hair. It had become matted from the night’s sleep, but she patiently coaxed the tangles from it with deft and experienced hands. My hair was not like hers; it was the color of raven’s wings, shiny black, and hung in ringlets. I knew the comb to be not only a lovely trinket, but also a practical tool I would use every day to tame my difficult locks. When at last my long hair was arranged to Mother’s satisfaction, I dressed in my best tunic, straw-colored with a border of embroidered sage-green leaves, and we set out for a walk through the nearby wood—an ostensibly perilous region I was strictly prohibited from entering alone. It had been my birthday wish to visit there, and we had planned a day of adventure free from chores, except for feeding the livestock and milking the goat. Hours of wonderful diversion from the drudgery of daily village life lay ahead as we strolled together through the meadow toward the beckoning trees, drinking in the splendor of our home.

We lived in a northern mountainous community, our village nestled in a small glen bound on the north by the River Araxes. The larger settlements lay to the south. The grandest, by far, was the great city of Anak² on the River Hiddekel,³ an ancient fortress where multitudes of people lived and traded. I had been there once on a trading venture with my mother when I was little more than a suckling babe. Still, I could remember an enormous outer wall made of huge brick-like stones. Inside the city were dwellings of the same reddish-hued stones, some adorned with flowering vines that hung from trellised eaves like multi-colored garments. To me, the place seemed enchanted, almost magical, yet the swarm of vendors hawking their wares and busy people bustling throughout the dusty, narrow streets buzzed with the ordinary commerce of men.

The marvelous citadel crowned a central rise; the palace where the Cainite King resided was called the House of Honor. The large dwelling stood surrounded by terraced palisades spiraling up the sloped hillside. The grounds were graced with fountains, cobbled walkways, fishponds, a large and varied fruit orchard, and the legendary Garden of Nod. This could be seen from the city below, for it grew upon the knoll that surrounded the palace. The famed garden served to remind the city’s inhabitants of an older garden, called Eden, long lost except in the stories and songs of my ancestors. Tradition held the first man had been created in Eden over a thousand years afore. The Maker of All formed him from soil and breathed life into his body. A creature somewhere betwixt angel and animal, spirit and flesh, it was upon this first man and his mate the Maker of All pronounced a blessing. Pleased with His new creation, He called it Humankind.

In the remote North, on the banks of the Araxes, lay our small and largely self-sufficient village. The region teeming with native wildlife, we enjoyed an abundance of meat, milk, cheese, skins, wool, and bone for tools. With our temperate climate, the fertile dell produced einkorn, emmer, barley, flax, chickpea, kale, gourds, and tubers. Our people had never known want, and we had become accustomed to our prosperity. Yet, unrest existed amongst the tribe. There were furtive whispers—slander on the lips of the men and fear in the eyes of the women. As I took note around me, finally shed of the complete ignorance of babyhood, I sensed the tension that pervaded our sheltered hamlet like an unseen enemy.

Mother and I entered the verge of the forest, and the brilliant cerulean sky gave way to the shimmer and flash of autumn sunlight lancing through the canopy of russet, orange, and green leafed branches above. The wood was not silent, yet the sough of wind through the treetops and the crunch of fallen leaves beneath our kidskin-clad feet seemed like a solemn hush compared to the clamor of the village. A woodlark trilled from somewhere ahead, and I caught the quicksilver-like movement of a red fox from the corner of my eye, the flash of its white-tipped tail disappearing through a thicket of laurel before I could fully turn my head. A large yellow butterfly floated languidly past, and I gazed after it, deep in thought.

At last, we reached an ash grove, the trees adorned with breathtaking raiment of leaves undulating shades of crimson and gold. A strange familiarity beset me as I stepped into the midst of the copse and halted. Standing beside my mother in awed silence, I allowed the majesty of the brilliantly-hued grove to wash over me and overwhelm my senses. Mother could plainly see how deep was my pleasure, and remaining silent, left me alone with my thoughts and the inexplicable joy of feeling more at home than ever before. I belonged here, in the forest. I knew not why.

At length, I turned to grasp my mother’s hand and with sudden boldness, perhaps inspired by the surrounding grandeur of the ash grove, asked her the question that had come to burn inside me.

What troubles our village, Mother? You must know, yet you hide it from me. Please, tell me now. I am big enough, I think.

Surprised by my sudden and unexpected query, she nevertheless replied after only a slight hesitation.

You are but seven summers old. Do you think yourself a sage? Even I do not understand all the gossip and prattle that trade lips between those with nothing better to do.

She said this with a grin, so I did not take it as a rebuke—yet I felt she had deftly evaded the issue at hand. I tried again.

I see things, Mother. I see people who use charms against evil and speak in hushed voices with fear in their eyes. What does this mean? What is happening to cause such distress amongst our neighbors?

She sighed deeply and sat upon a fallen, half-rotted log in the midst of the grove, pulling me gently down beside her. She looked not at me but far away, as if remembering something of import that brought her great sorrow. For a moment, I thought she would speak. I could see the stir of memory brew