“It’s interesting that you say that.” Michael smiled, and Luc had never seen him smile. He realized he’d made a serious error. “You do realize,” Michael continued, “that you need to be unanimously appointed by the current members?”
The meaning behind his words was evident. Luc should not make an enemy of Michael.
Luc scowled. Michael didn’t know who he was threatening, but he’d besorry. Luc was going to be the brightest angel who ever existed. He was going to invent things that Michael would never understand.
He should be telling Michael not to make an enemy ofhim.
Only the faint fear that he might actually lose his current privileges made him bite his tongue and shuffle toward the entrance of the construction site under Michael’s watchful eyes. At the edge of the foundation, he paused and might have let his irritation bubble over anyway, but Michael snatched him up by his collar and sent him tumbling forward.
“And don’t come back here. Remember what I said.”
Present Aeon
“So…a second Heaven?” This came from Michael.
The Council of Twelve had assembled to discuss the specifics of a new world Luc had designed, the blueprints of which were spread out in front of them on the circular beige marble table in the Artisanal Chamber, the Council’s regular meeting place. It was an expansive annex to the right of the Great Hall’s main building, more a hall itself, in length, than a room. Colored light poured through twelve stained glass windows—six tall ones on each side that climbed toward the vaulted, decoratively tiled, yellow limestone ceiling—onto the creamy marble floor that matched the table currently displaying Luc’s blueprints.
As a student, and later as Council architect, Luc had spent an indefinable amount of time toiling over his project, scrutinizing the boundaries between what he liked to call ‘land’ and ‘sea.’ He was confident that his proposal, if he managed tofinallyget it approved, would change the angels’ entire outlook on their existence—it would be a defining moment in their history, with his name attached to it in indisputable ink.
He’d pitched the idea to the Council in several different ways already, but his current pitch went thus: Heaven had grown quite dull over the aeons. The common angels were growing restless with their unchanging tasks and surroundings. How better to elevate their spirits than to providethem with a peaceful paradise populated with vibrant, colorful scenery and diverse, amusing creatures?
A second Heaven?
Luc was certain this new world would surpass Heaven in every way.
“It’s called Earth,” Luc reminded Michael, meeting his scrutinizing stare from across the table.
Most of the Council members were listening to Luc’s proposal from the comfort of their blue-cushioned and gold-framed high-backed chairs, the metal of which gleamed in the tall windows spilling light across the chamber. Michael, however, stood while Luc paced. The older angel always nitpicked at Luc’s designs, as if he wanted to find fault with them. In his single aeon as Council architect, Luc had only managed to earn a terse civility from him. At this pronouncement, he predictably grimaced.
“Would you explain the animals again?” Sidriel, the Council painter, asked, pointing to the sketched figures on top of a stack of loose papers at the far end of the table.
“Ah!” Luc smiled. A slim angel with a gold hoop nose ring, tawny brown skin, and black hair cut close to her scalp, Sidriel always took interest in his project. She was a lover of aesthetics, particularly the strange and outlandish. Unfortunately, she was easily swayed by the majority opinion and, therefore, of little help to Luc’s overall cause, but her questions were better than speaking to a silent room.
“Animals,” Luc explained, for what he felt was the hundredth time, “are sentient beings like us, but with different physical and mental features.” He pulled one page from his stack of sketches and held it up for all the Council members to see. “Thisis a bird. It has wings, like us, but, unlike ours, those wings are always visible. This particular type of bird—I call it an ostrich—doesn’t use its wings for flight, but it runs very fast. Andthis”—he snatched up another page—“is called a grasshopper. It’s tiny, about this big.” He held his thumb and forefinger apart. “But it can jump ten to twenty times its body length.” Luc held up a final page. “Andthisis a horse. It can rotate its ears and sleep standing up.”
“Why would it need to sleep standing up?” Muriel, the Council stonemason, frowned. Her bobbed auburn hair fell across her face as she tapped her pointed chin.
“Well, because it can! Because wecan’t!Don’t you see?”
The blank stares around the table told Luc that they very muchdid notsee.
“Lucifer, what is the practical use for all of these creatures?” Raziel asked. An imposing angel with dark brown skin, impressive height, and a deep voice that thrummed musically in the hollow chamber, the scholar sat on one of the blue-cushioned benches set against the wall, the only one in the room taking notes. Now he paused, his pen in mid-aether, awaiting Luc’s explanation.
Theuse?No, no, they weren’t understanding thepointof Luc’s design. They never understood.
“Listen,” he implored them. “We’ve been in Heaven for aeons and aeons. We keep adding on here, but what if we could do something betterout there?” He pointed out the window to where the courtyard-under-construction sat between the Artisanal Chamber and the main building of the Great Hall. Coming from the ground floor, this wasn’t a grand gesture—they couldn’t see the golden aether above the building from this vantage point, much less the rest of Heaven stretching beyond—but it would have to do.
“You mean, the Void?” Tenin, the Council glassworker, queried brusquely, disapproval heavy in his voice, in the furrowing of his large, fair brow and the folding of his thick, brawny hands.
Of course, Luc meant the Void. Everyone at the table knew that. And maybe they hated the Void—maybe they wanted as little to do with it as possible—but was it really such a far-fetched idea that something incredible might be built in the center of it?!
“The Creator built Heaven in the middle of the Void,” Luc repeated. He always made some version of this speech. “Why couldn’t He create a new world a short distance away? In fact, there could be a whole system of worlds. We could add on and on. Our world could be infinite!” Luc spread his arms. “There’s so much space for new ideas. New creatures! New landscapes! A new canvas!” With each phrase, his voice rose, and his arms flailed left and right. “It doesn’t have to be useful! It can simply be beautiful. Isn’t that enough?” Pacing around the table, he pointed out, once more, the innovative natural features he’d designed. Caves! Sand dunes! Snow-capped cliffs! Lush green valleys! Sunrises and sunsets and stars, stars, so many stars!
Despite Luc’s unflagging, even desperate, zeal, the uncertain stares and murmurings continued. He was losing everyone at the table the more hewent on, and he had no idea why. How could they not see what he was seeing? How could they not show even the slightest bit of interest? How had he worked so hard and so long on this proposal, and still, it wasn’t enough? It wasneverenough.
His chest tightened with the effort it took to keep from exploding in a fit of frustration.
At one time, it would have been enough.
