Okay, I admit, in the first few years of Šehhinah I did kind of try to interview the newly-alive humans about how they felt, being alive and human and stuff, and if they were excited or if I could help… apparently that was awkward for them or something. Oh well.
—the angel Jibril, A Thousand Open Letters, Just Because
Over the next day or so, Hannuša does exactly as Elīya had hoped. She’s told her, constantly, exactly how much time she has left before meeting Lucifer a second time.
So, for once Elīya knows: she’s meeting Lucifer tomorrow.
The room’s dark and she’s lying on her bed, looking at the ceiling. She doesn’t know what time it is—of course she doesn’t know what time it is.
All she knows is her heart’s beating fast enough for her to feel it.
Because she hasn’t made any progress on the Theurgy, not really. Sure, she finished the book, but not with enough time left over to try out the book’s suggestions. So she’s got nothing.
And she can’t stop thinking: maybe she’ll never see Tamar again, at this rate.
She could try to do Theurgy now. If she remembers the book’s tips for starting out right, that might mean something like thinking about stuff she likes. Maybe stuff she feels a pull to? It said something about that too.
But it also said that manifestations don’t happen in one night.
The only other option she can think of is something she remembers Tamar said years ago: a philosophy for tests. If you’re not ready on time, show up before it starts. At least then they can’t say you were late.
That strategy only worked out so well for tests, if Elīya remembers Tamar’s level of success in her classes right. But in this case, it could work. She nods to herself. She’ll make it work.
So she lowers herself out of bed and busies herself getting her clothes back on, decking herself out in lipstick and kohl too. It makes her feel stronger, more confident. Ready to handle anything.
Maybe even ready to handle her own soul.
So she walks out into the dim hallway. It curves, as all of Trillium’s do: inevitable for a building that’s shaped like a three-petaled flower inside a circle. She’s in one of the interior halls, the western half of the southwest petal. That means it’s a short walk to the staircase.
The stairs aren’t actually built directly into the wall, because of course the walls are instead reserved for a massive amount of hanging plants. They make the air more humid than a desert really ought to be, and in fact, Elīya’s pretty sure none of these flowers are from around here, unlike the ones planted outside. Most plants take issue either with Ēnnuh’s oppressive summer heat or snowy winters. Ēnnuh’s not as extreme as say, Eden, which is on the other side of the two rows of mountains that protect Ēnnuh from most of the northern storms, but still, there’s a lot that doesn’t grow here.
It’s a strange part of the world, Elīya thinks, for the first cities to be built.
Eden was the absolute first, of course, though she’s heard Ēnnuh claimed to be second. Then again, a lot of cities claim to be the second. These days, it kind of makes sense for people to live here, since the cities of the Fourteen Rivers can harvest incredible amounts of solar power—and during certain times of the year, wind power as well—then store it in batteries and trade those batteries with anyone for anything. But back then, when the cities were built, the only resource of the people living in them was determination.
And, hey, if Lilith and Adam could build the first city in a place like Eden, she can totally learn Theurgy. Which, okay, might be a slightly pompous comparison for her to make. But she takes it with her as she walks outside anyways. It helps.
There’s definitely no one out here, under the clear and still summer sky, not a hint of wind in the air. How late is it, anyway? Not late enough to be dawn, at least, but Elīya’s not sure how much that’s worth.
But none of that matters. All that matters is righting her years-old wrong and finally getting a chance to see Tamar again.
So she power-walks past rock gardens, past aloe and cobblestone, past classroom buildings and dorms. The stars sparkle, but the air is dry and hot. She wishes there was more sound out here, at least the sound of a breeze—if there was, she could dance a little, even if just a mini-dance of twirling her wrist around.
But no, all she can do is walk.
She bursts through the doors of the library when she gets there, stomping up the stairs far louder than anything else at this time of night. No one’s here either, but at least it’s open.
Maybe she should wonder: is Lucifer even going to be here? But she can’t consider that now. She can’t doubt. She has to fix this.
She charges up the stairs until she hears a sigh from above that sets hope into her bones.
It’s Lucifer, leaning on the railing, looking exasperated. Thank God.
“So that sound was you.”
“It’s not my fault stone sounds like this when it’s walked on.”
“Why are you here?” Lucifer asks.
“We have a meeting tomorrow. I’m preempting it.” She reaches the end of the staircase and joins them by the railing.
They run a hand through their short hair. “Alright, then. So, how’s it going?”
Elīya takes a wincing breath. “How did I forget? I should ask how you are.”
“I’m fine,” they say wryly.
“Okay.”
“Which brings us right back to the question I started with.”
“I… read through a book on the topic of Theurgy. Tried doing it, once. Not in that order.”
Lucifer raises an eyebrow. “I’d suggest doing it in a more useful order, but alright. So did you learn anything?”
Elīya looks to the side, shame threatening to tilt her lips into a grimace. “No, nothing actually happened—”
“That’s not what I asked.” They face her, a strange softness in their expression. “I asked if you learned anything.”
Well, she did learn one thing, but it’s probably not what they’re looking for. She bites the inside of her lip and gives a slight shrug.
“If you don’t want to tell me, I’ll understand.”
Alright, fine. Honesty. “I learned falling off my bed hurts.”
Lucifer takes a moment before responding, then nods slightly. “I’d guess it would hurt. But that’s not exactly learning something about yourself.”
“You didn’t specify, when you asked, that you were looking for an answer about something I learned about myself.”
Lucifer’s eyebrows lower in something almost like sadness. “Elīya. We’re talking about Theurgy.”
“Yes, and?”
Lucifer sighs. “Okay, what is Theurgy?”
“Um… a way of performing miracles, kind of similar to what the Holy do, but without having to be close to God first?”
Elīya catches Lucifer’s eye twitching. She’s definitely said something wrong, though she’s not sure what.
“Okay, but… what is this way of performing miracles? How does it work?”
“It’s powered by people’s souls?”
Lucifer sighs again, a full-body affair that visibly raises their shoulders and chest. “Okay, I’ll believe you read this book, but I’m not really sure I can believe you paid much attention to it.”
Elīya crosses her arms. “Isn’t it powered by people’s souls?”
“Of course. But that’s not a particularly useful or in-depth description. How does it work, Elīya? If you were going to do Theurgy—which you are—what’s the first step?”
She knows the answer to that one. “Sit and think about yourself, somehow, and not fall off your bed.”
Lucifer gives her a long look before nodding slightly. “Again, you’re not wrong. But I’m also not sure you get it.”
Elīya narrows her eyes. “Then tell me.”
“Alright. So, do you get—do you even get—that your soul is you?”
“Yeah. It’s part of me—”
“No.” Lucifer’s eyes flash with intensity. “It’s you. It’s who you are. Period.”
“Well, isn’t my body not my soul?” Elīya asks. She can’t help but hope that somehow saying this wins her the argument—not that it’s even certain that an argument is what they’re having.
“Your body’s not you.”
“But isn’t that just arbitrary? Deciding what counts as me, what doesn’t?”
“No,” Lucifer says. “It’s not. At all. Although part of what proves how this isn’t arbitrary is Theurgy itself. Which probably doesn’t make that answer any more satisfying. Circular definitions and all.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“So, to say it another way, your soul’s your self. Who you are. Everything that makes you you.”
“Others may identify me by my body. If it’s what makes me identifiable, isn’t that part of what makes me me?”
Lucifer sighs. “Okay, I get what’s going on here, which is that you’re not even halfway on the same page as me. I think a way I could say this that connects more to your perspective would be, your soul’s what makes you identifiable to you. The experience of being you, maybe.”
“And that… can power Theurgy.”
“Almost. That… experience, if we’re going to keep calling it that… isn’t physical. But,” their eyes flash, “if you focus on it, really focus on it, you can make it physical. You can bring that experience of who you are into the physical world, force it to be something that can be touched or seen or what have you. That’s Theurgy.”
“And that’s how Theurgists make miracles. By doing that.”
“Those experiences of self that Theurgists force into the world, manifestations, they… tend to follow their own rules.” They smile. “When everything someone is, is partially made physical in the world, it—does things. Changes things. Has effects.”
“So if you want to perform a miracle, you have to first focus on your soul—”
Lucifer shakes their head. “No. I mean, maybe you could—maybe you could get a manifestation going really quickly—but probably, you won’t. You’d probably want the manifestation to already exist.”
“So they stick around. These… manifestations. When you make them.”
Lucifer laughs. “Oh, Elīya. Manifestations can’t be destroyed.”
Elīya blinks. That’s—frightening, almost. What if she made something she turned out not to want? It’d never go away? Just like Tamar’s blindness…
“Why… do you want me to do this, again?” Her voice comes out small and quiet.
Lucifer looks right into her eyes, smile fading. “I’m actually going to be a jerk here, and not tell you. Not yet.”
“Why?”
“That would be telling, now wouldn’t it?”
A chill runs through Elīya’s body, a sense that she’s gotten herself into something. Really into something. She goes still, not even fidgeting to try to call her mind. Tamar, she reminds herself. This is for Tamar.
“It is late,” Lucifer mutters. “Do you want to go home?”
Elīya tries to breathe. That question implies—probably—that she’s made enough progress for now, and that the deal hasn’t been cut off. So that’s good, she should just go home and sleep, but she bites back the words. Everything around her seems still and silent and focused, like it’s waiting for her. Even breathing seems to disrupt something, a decision she’s making, a decision she’s already made—
“No.”
Lucifer raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“No,” she repeats, the word seeming even more certain even as the sense of stillness around her seems to break apart into more fear and chills that threaten to make her shiver. “I… really should. Practice this.”
Something in the back of her mind almost prays, even though she’s never felt close to God, even though she knows there’s not much They’ll intervene with. This better not go too badly, she thinks. It better not.
“Are you asking for my help in teaching you the beginnings of Theurgy? Directly?”
“Yes.”
Lucifer smiles a little. “You know, I can do that.”
Don’t back out, Elīya tells herself. She knows that if she leaves, she might never come back. This thing with manifestations never being destroyed, it disturbs her. A lot. But she has to do it. She made a promise.
“Okay,” she says. “Should I sit down somewhere?”
Lucifer steps back from the balcony and stretches their arms. “No,” they say with a smile. “You’ve never practiced outside, right?”
Elīya shakes her head.
Lucifer looks right at her, eyes glinting. “Well, then. Follow me.”