dancing petals | in my hand | my new land flowed
years-thick soil | a rock emerges later | only one hill erodes
knit by hand | I stitched in leaf | my odes
a wind | takes it later | only one hill erodes
I hold water | in my hands, the light | finds new roads
today ice | cold sun later | only one hill erodes
golden-red | an apple falls | the path is sowed
lay on soil | my eyes closed, later | only one hill erodes
spring leaves | the breath so light | a load
this moonlit | winter comes to laj | later, only one hill erodes
—poem from Laj Rali’s collection Crossroads: the Theurgic Poems, 5341A.C.
She’s left now and Yenatru doesn’t have anywhere to be. There’s so much light in this room, there’s sunlight on his hand—and she’s seen him. The grass by the river is bright green and she’s seen him. The sound of the river is sweet and bright and she has seen him.
He almost gasps every time he thinks it, and he can’t stop thinking it.
He’s not even sure if he wanted her to—if he really wanted the first person to ever feel his lips against their skin to be her. But just the fact that she knows now, that she’s felt it—
Yenatru’s crying a little now, but not doing anything about it. He’s not wiping away his tears, he’s barely even blinking against them.
His heart’s clenched and for a second, he wasn’t alone. But he’s been alone, he’s been alone for so long, and now he is, again, alone.
God, he doesn’t even know what he’s feeling.
It’s good that she knows now, he thinks. And maybe this even qualifies as helping her with Theurgy, which maybe makes him a better friend—though then again, maybe it just means he’s now served his use. Pushed her the next step down her path, down her plan.
Lucifer was right. He doesn’t know if he likes her.
But he’s still glad she’s seen him.
Yenatru finally takes enough breaths to stand and walk out the door. Not that just walking should be hard, it shouldn’t be hard at all, something good just happened, so why does he feel like this?
Why does the world seem so silent, even though it isn’t at all?
He doesn’t know where he’s going, though the heat presses against his skin. Maybe the library…
But no. Lucifer’s in the library, or might be, and it’d probably be demanding too much of the world to run into her today, he’s already had someone see him, really see him, that’s more than enough closeness and companionship for a single day, flames, probably for a full week, so he should not talk to her.
But it’s too hot to be outside—too hot even to be standing here—and he doesn’t know why, but something in him will break if he goes back to his room.
He can’t do any of this.
He’ll lose his friendship with Lucifer if he talks to her today, he thinks. Maybe some part of him knows that this makes no sense, but he thinks it all the same. Can’t he just wait for tomorrow?
But his room is not beautiful, or safe, or soft, or any of the things he’s ever wanted to be. The walls there are so solid and smooth and near-white.
Elīya’s seen him, he thinks again, still not moving at all, still standing outside in the hot and bright and pain. She’s seen him, and that’s enough. For one moment he wasn’t alone, and that’s enough.
He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to decide to head to the library. It’ll be okay, as long as he’s sure not to look for Lucifer at all. He’ll just be there, where it’s cool and the walls are stone enough to hold him half-safe. And it’s a little closer than his room. He needs to get out of the heat.
So the library it is. It feels like the sun’s soaked into his clothes by the time he opens the doors, and for a moment he smiles—
But he’s not here to meet Lucifer, he reminds himself as he walks up the stairs. He’s going to the third floor anyways, because that’s where his bench is, but he isn’t going to run into anyone. He isn’t even going to look down the aisles, he’s not going to meet eyes with a single person.
So he makes it all the way there without seeing anyone at all.
He puts his bag down by the bench, right about to sit on it—when he notices that there’s something on it.
He leans over to look at it. It’s a small thing made of paper, folded like a whale, with a note attached. He picks it up to read: “In the coffee shop downstairs! -L.”
He almost drops the whale. Instead he forces himself to set it down lightly, and then sit. There’s tears in his eyes.
Because the note’s for him. Though it would probably be good for him to stop her from doing this to poor, helpless pages of books.
He takes some deep breaths and looks at the ceiling. He’s not going to go to that coffee shop, because he’s not here to see Lucifer—and also because their coffee is really bad. When he does see her again, whenever that is, he’s going to have to tell her that Water’s Edge is much better.
He’s not here to meet anyone. He’s here to do Theurgy. He’s here to just relax and—he brings his legs up onto the bench, curls them against him, presses himself into a corner—maybe do Theurgy.
At least it’s comfortable here, somehow, the walls against his back.
God, he still doesn’t know what he’s feeling.
And his eyes keep opening and darting to that whale. There’s something about the exclamation point. The way it was signed.
But he doesn’t get up. He’s not going to go see her; he’s not supposed to talk to her right now.
He just stays here, curling up on himself. He stays right here.
He doesn’t even understand why he feels so alone.
Elīya’s leaning back in her chair in Ethics class; she probably looks relaxed, but that’s just because she’s not paying attention to class at all. Her mind is spinning, and there’s more than coffee keeping her awake.
His soul. His soul. His soul.
She has touched someone’s soul.
If she’s to follow through on her promise to Lucifer—and she will, of course, she doesn’t break promises—she’ll have to bring her flaming soul into the world in just the same way.
She bites her lip against the thought, not that it helps.
Because she hadn’t understood, had she? That when the book talked about souls being manifested, it flaming meant it? And she hadn’t—she blinks, a long blink, she’s not going to cry—she hadn’t known a thing about Yenatru.
What stings is that, in retrospect, the feel of Yenatru’s soul makes perfect sense for everything she knows of him. But she’d still had no idea that was who he was. She hadn’t made any inferences, she hadn’t—she hadn’t even known he was doing Theurgy.
She almost laughs to realize she’s critiquing her poor observation while intensely not paying attention to the class going around her.
But how can she when she now understands what she’ll herself have to do? Manifest her flaming soul. When she’s got no idea what it’d feel like, or look like, or anything.
And flames, she didn’t even thank Yenatru.
How is she such a failure at doing even the basic things she’s deemed important? She’s trying, of course, she’d hoped that her classes, maybe especially this one, would help, but—
“You bring up an interesting point,” Dzanbela says, “about the potential ethical implications of eating plants.”
—yeah, no. That did not pan out.
This class will not help her, not when she can already go down several paths of ethical analysis with anyone who asks her for advice. Not when what she needs is help to be the person she’s trying to be.
At least she’s got her honesty, she figures. She usually manages that much.
The thought calms her, not a lot, but maybe enough.
She takes a deep breath. Okay, Elīya, she thinks. There are problems. And the thing to do with problems is solve them.
Elīya stands in front of room 802 of Allitu House and knocks.
She’s pretty sure this is the right room, although they all look the same, and all the hallways in this building do: carpeted and boring. She got the much better dorm.
She taps her finger on her arm. Yenatru still isn’t answering the door. Maybe she really did remember wrong. That would be bad, because she’s here to do something right for once, to give Yenatru enough acknowledgement to maybe make this whole situation better. God, she hopes—
The door opens.
Flames, Yenatru looks tired, his eyes not quite focused. His hair, usually perfectly sleek, has some strands twisted at strange angles. She can relate.
“Hello,” she says.
“Elīya.”
“I wanted to thank you,” she says, though her voice comes out more professional than earnest. “Really.”
Yenatru blinks, and then blushes.
She wonders if saying more would mess things up; if there’s anything else to say. There has to be something else to say: they’re friends, right? And you talk to friends.
“I understand a little more now,” she continues. “About Theurgy, and about you.”
He nods again. “That’s… good.”
And they both stand there, at either side of a doorframe. The last ray of the setting sun makes its way through the hallway and onto Elīya’s arm as she stands straight and looks to him for a response.
Yenatru’s crossed one arm over to grab the other; he slouches slightly in the shade behind his door. Maybe there’s a slight smile on his face, but Elīya’s not sure.
And she’s not accepting a slight smile as happy from him anymore. She used to. Flames, she used to. She thought he was just the kind of person who didn’t ever really smile widely.
Her entire metric for him was wrong.
And she has no flaming idea what to say.
She takes a deep breath. There is the other thing she can do to move forward on this, to force something, anything, to solve this mess. “Well, I… guess I’m gonna head out to the library, if Lucifer’s still there.”
Yenatru nods. “She probably is.”
“Okay. I’ll see you.”
“Yeah.”
So Elīya turns, trying not to sigh too much, and walks down the beige-walled hallway. That corner next to the stairs has comfortable-looking chairs; what if she’d asked Yenatru to sit out here with her? Why didn’t she think of that, why can’t she be a good friend?
But when she glances back, thinking that she could maybe ask now, his door’s already closed.
Which means there’s only one thing left to do: to work on her own Theurgy, and in so doing, repair this broken group of friends.
So it’s time to work on being a better friend to someone else: Tamar. And that means going through this thing with Lucifer.
It’s not like she couldn’t contact Tamar on her own, of course. Not that she hasn’t tried. But with Lucifer, she has not just an excuse but an outright reason—and something that might make Tamar actually want to respond. Tamar’s always been curious, after all.
Yes, this is the perfect setup. The perfect way to resolve what’s gone unresolved way too long.
If, if, Elīya can just manifest her flaming soul into the world.
She finds Lucifer leaning against an outdoor balcony this time, book in hand.
“You again,” they say.
“Me again.”
Lucifer sighs and puts a bookmark in whatever they were reading. When they look at Elīya, their face shifts to what she’s used to, their hair switching from something long and light brown to short and mostly straight fluff.
“Gotta say, you’re good at recognizing me,” they note.
“Who in God’s names else”—did Lucifer blink a little at that?—“would be reading, for fun, outside, with no light, at twilight, three weeks before finals?”
Lucifer tilts their head in something that looks like acknowledgement. “You got me there.”
“How are you, though?”
“I’m good,” Lucifer’s voice has one of the most impressive intonations Elīya’s ever heard, implying that there’s a lot more to be said. But they’re not saying it. Of course. “You?”
“Honestly, I barely have a flaming clue.”
Lucifer smiles their usual wry smile.
“I’ve learned a little more, though,” she continues. “Yenatru—” Oh flames, she doesn’t really know how to end that sentence.
Lucifer’s eyes sharpen, staring right into Elīya’s. “He showed you?”
Elīya nods; that’s one way to say it. “Yes.”
“And you didn’t force him?”
“Why would I force him?” Indignation seeps into her voice.
“You can be… relentless.”
“Still didn’t force him, though.” And why is Lucifer so intent on finding if she did?
“Okay.” Lucifer glances back out the balcony, toward the horizon. The Ehinot Mountains are there, the very tips of them catching the last of the sun that’s already below the horizon. Flames, that’s actually kind of beautiful.
“So, I’m going to need to try again. To try more.”
“You were up until, what, four in the morning last night? Doing just that,” Lucifer comments.
“I’ve slept.”
Lucifer looks back at her and rolls their eyes. Wow, they literally turned to her just to show their eyes rolling, didn’t they?
“I’m serious about fulfilling what I’ve promised,” she says.
“I’ll hold up my end. Maybe stop worrying about that?”
“Hard not to worry when I don’t even know when I’m going to succeed at this Theurgy thing—or what would even qualify as success to you.”
“Won’t help to tell you now,” Lucifer says, completely nonchalantly.
Elīya sighs pointedly. The mountains no longer glow with the last of the light; the sky is just shades of blue now, the sun below the horizon.
She walks up to the balcony and leans a little against the railing to get a closer look at Lucifer. What are they thinking? Their face is impassive, their mouth a straight line, but that same flaming smile is still in their bright green eyes.
But all she can picture is Yenatru’s face in the doorway to his room, not happy, and she’s finally aware that he’s not happy, hasn’t been since Tamar left, and she can finally, finally fix that, if only Lucifer will let her.
“Then perhaps what you really mean,” she says, “is that none of this will progress for me. I will not be able to see Tamar or do what I can to right whatever wrongs brought us here, until I manifest my soul in the world as Yenatru’s done, and perhaps that will never happen.”
Lucifer tilts their head. “Wait, you think you need to make a manifestation before you see Tamar?”
Elīya blinks. “Was that not what you said?”
“No, I said that in exchange for you doing Theurgy, I would help you get the attention of this friend of yours… wait, you thought those statements were ordered? This, then that?”
“That is usually how statements work, yes. Any debate class would tell you—”
“This isn’t a debate class, Elīya.”
“No, it’s just my life. My life in which I would like to be able to see Tamar again.”
She remembers when they would get lunch together every day. When Tamar would talk about how much homework she didn’t do and laugh. When Elīya would ask her to try to come up with more ethical reasons to skip class. What if that’s what pushed her away? It’s all my fault, and now I have to make amends.
“That still doesn’t make it a debate class.” Lucifer raises an eyebrow. “Anyway, yeah, I figured I was just going to find her before a long weekend, do you have any coming up—”
Elīya’s eye twitches. “How can you just do this? Just let me see her, when I haven’t even proven yet that I can do what you want me to?”
Lucifer shrugs. “You’re already making progress, so I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
“But I haven’t done anything!”
“Then what was all that about the sky and openness last time, hm? That seemed like progress to me.”
Elīya’s starting to shake, though she holds the balcony railing for stability. “But it’s not enough.”
“You know,” Lucifer says with a shrug, “this doesn’t have to go at the speed of a star-shaped satellite. It’s okay to slow down a little. Or, you know, maybe calm down sometime this century?”
“I don’t have a century and this isn’t about me.”
Lucifer raises a single eyebrow higher than Elīya has ever seen just one eyebrow raised.
“It’s about making reparations with Tamar.” Isn’t that obvious? “It’s about being able to talk to her again, perhaps forgive her for what she did, set things right somehow. It’s about making Yenatru happier. We fell apart, and I am trying to put us back together.”
Lucifer looks at her expectantly. “You seriously think this isn’t about you?”
“I just explained exactly that.”
It looks like they’re trying not to laugh. “You’re trying to tell me that none of this is about you at all?”
“If you’re talking about Theurgy, that’s only involved because you’re forcing it to be.”
Lucifer shakes their head. “Even without that, you really believe your goals have nothing to do with you?”
“I’m involved, of course. But this is primarily about Tamar and Yenatru. As I’ve said repeatedly.”
“So you have.”
“Then why won’t you accept that? You don’t know that much about me.”
“And who does know that much about you, really?” Lucifer looks right at her for a moment. “But, so. Say you meet Tamar, you work things out. Is it really all going to be fine?”
“Of course.”
“Then would you rather just do it next weekend? Not even wait for a long weekend, leave on Friday? If that works for Yenatru too, of course.”
Elīya nods. “Please,” she says, her voice quiet with hope and need.
“Oh, you think this matters so much,” they say under their breath, shaking their head. “So, yes. Next week I’ll… contact Tamar.” They seem to wince as they say this, though Elīya has no guesses as to why. “Then, if she wants to, that weekend we can go on a bit of a camping trip. To the Ehinot Mountains.”
Elīya smiles, eyes wide. She can barely believe it. She’s going to be able to finally do this. “Thank you. And don’t worry: I’ll… try working on Theurgy every day. Though it might be easiest if you continue to help me.”
“You really feel more comfortable working on it with me around?” Lucifer says, raising an eyebrow again.
Elīya nods.
“Okay then. In that case…”
“In that case?”
“Would you prefer to be standing or sitting? While you work on this.” Lucifer smiles that infuriating small smile.
“…Standing.”
“Alright. Now I guess I’ll be giving you some directions of what to do, but you don’t have to follow them if you don’t want to, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Good. So my first recommendation here is going to be to close your eyes.”
Elīya does so, still standing straight, crossing her arms. “Alright.”
“Okay, so the next thing is to think about one of these three things: the sky, openness, or clarity. Just choose one of those concepts, whichever you want, and think about it, let’s say for five minutes. I’ll time you.”
“Okay,” she says hesitantly, closing her eyes tighter as she tries to decide. She’s not even sure that openness and clarity are different things, exactly, but she has to choose one. She bites the inside of her lip. Sure, she decides: she’ll go with openness.
Not that she knows what to think about it. Just—what, she has to think about what it means? She’s not even sure. Her eyes being closed annoys her a little. She twitches a finger slightly against her arm.
Openness. She certainly likes being honest. It wouldn’t be right to keep secrets, it wouldn’t be right to be, what, the opposite of open? Closed? Okay, she thinks, that’s a thought. She’s had a thought about the concept of openness. Now she just has to keep doing this until Lucifer tells her to stop.
Right.
She exhales. It sure is still out here, the wind completely gone for the summer. If her eyes were open, she figures she’d be darting them around, trying to find something to look at. But she can’t do that. She shifts her weight a little.
What is it to be open, anyway? What does she do that’s open? Why does she— But she has a hard time finishing the questions.
It’s strange, she thinks, that when her eyes are closed she almost seems to exist less. That probably wouldn’t be the case if she were moving, but she’s not sure moving is part of this thing she’s supposed to be doing.
For some reason, an image flashes through her mind of pieces of metal not quite fitting together, not quite moving right.
Yeah, she doesn’t like this; she shifts her weight more, wishes there was music or something to move to.
But there isn’t.
She’s almost about to groan or yell or something when Lucifer finally says, “All right.”
Elīya opens her eyes and sighs. She moves to the edge of the balcony and clutches, looking out at the world, the darkness and the stars above. The metal of the railing isn’t even cold; nothing is, this time of year. Honestly, flame summer, the only thing it’s good for is wearing circlets and dancing and if she’s not dancing, why in God’s names is she even out here?
“How was that?” Lucifer asks.
“Flame you,” Elīya answers, not even turning to look at them.
“That bad?”
Elīya glares, still not actually turning, just glaring somewhere into the night. She wants to yell at something, though isn’t particularly sure what. Given that, glaring really is a good compromise.
She hears footsteps; Lucifer’s apparently walking closer to her. Great. She sighs.
“Are you alright?” they ask, and then, flames, they lean their head over to the side, into her line of vision.
“Why, eyes ablaze, would I not be?” she asks back, clearly enunciating each word.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because actually thinking about yourself is really hard for you? Fuck if I know why that is though, thinking about yourself is good—”
Ah, right, good, now she actually can aim her glare at Lucifer. So she does just that.
“So, yes, exactly that,” Lucifer says with an almost-pleased smile.
Flames. Her glares usually work. Well, then she’ll use words. “I was thinking about the concept of openness, not myself, you—” she tries to come up with an insult, but can’t. She usually doesn’t resort to name-calling, after all, much preferring to calmly and precisely point out each and every hole in someone’s argument.
“Ah, so that’s what you chose.” Is that a knowing look in their eyes? Flame it, what do they know?
“Yeah.”
Flames, it wasn’t that long ago that she was just thinking about getting to see Tamar again. She misses thinking about that and being excited, rather than having to deal with this stupid process of learning Theurgy.
“Well,” Lucifer says, “I really don’t want to push you too much, but there was one other short question I was thinking about asking, for tonight.”
“Push me? I’m not being pushed.”
Lucifer raises a single eyebrow infuriatingly high. “I thought you liked being honest.”
Elīya turns away from them, not dignifying that with a response. She’s strangely glad at her lack of combat skills, because if she felt more comfortable in a fight, she’d probably be on Lucifer right now, hurting them before even realizing that she shouldn’t hurt people, that it’s not right to hurt people.
“What was the other question intended to be?” she asks, her voice as cold as it can go.
Lucifer steps back a few paces, their voice somewhere between soft and amused. “If you could feel anything against your skin right now, any tactile sensation—what would it be?”
“The wind,” Elīya says without even meaning to. And breathes deeply.
Because flame it, it’s true.
Her muscles relax a little, now that she’s said that, even though she now bites the inside of her lip again.
Terrifyingly, though, something whispers in the back of her mind: and?
She blinks, trying to focus on the soft lights of the buildings below, on the bit of bare horizon she can see if she glances to her right. And against her, against her…
She almost tries not to say it aloud until she reminds herself coldly: honesty, Elīya.
She takes a deep breath. At least she doesn’t have to turn to Lucifer to say this. “And… and metal.”
Something in her voice catches strangely into half a whisper. But her muscles relax a little—why do they keep doing that?
The worst part is, she has no idea why in God’s names metal comes to mind. Flames, she barely even knows why wind does, and certainly she doesn’t know why saying either thing makes her react like this.
She takes a moment to keep holding on to and looking out over the balcony, making sure not to cry, and then turns to look at Lucifer, her face perfectly composed. “Is there something else?”
“No.” Lucifer smiles. “I think that’s enough progress for today.”
And flame it, she has to agree—both that she desperately wants to stop now, and that there has been, somehow, some kind of “progress.”
“Thank you,” she says coolly, somewhat meaning it. She walks toward the door that leads back inside.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Lucifer says.
Right.
Flame it.