Lightbringer

Chapter 9: Wings

The humans built a clock (calendar?) as near to the center of Hell as they could manage and massive enough to be read from the farthest reaches to measure the passage of time on Earth. I'm still not sure of its purpose, but I can't deny that it comes in handy to measure time some way. According to it, it's been well over two thousand years and, according to Hell's tallies, several billion souls, since Jesus. Not much has changed in heaven – god hasn't tipped his hand and is playing it very passive. Hell's population has exploded, and while our rehabilitation programs have been largely successful, it's still a lot to manage, not to mention the intake infrastructure we had to develop (we now have new souls pouring in at such a steady and rapid rate that I don't know how we'd keep up if it wasn't for the army of human volunteers who take in each new soul, explain everything and give them the guided tour, and naturalize them and help them adjust. Some take it harder than others and have to be transitioned in gradually, and the unflagging patience of the humans who work with them is awe-inspiring. They even made welcome pamphlets).

I never thought I'd wish for war, but the suspense of this holding pattern, just waiting for the other shoe to drop, is too much. Every day, I think I can't take this anymore, and yet still have to keep going. And despite Jesus' help, I feel frayed from the inside out, like there's a spike jammed into the back of my skull that never goes away (I hate to think the condition I'd be in without the reinforcement he's given; Hell might have collapsed already).

Short version? I don't know how much more of this I can take. But I keep going, because I can't let the humans down.

Maybe I should go flying with Eliza. That's always a bit of a relief – or distraction – and a good reminder of why I do what I do, what I'm fighting for.

I forgot that story. Let me back up.

The clock outside showed that it was a Thursday – January 25th, 1827 years since Jesus (don't know why they count from that, but humans will do as they please). Things were getting bad again for me – I had a constant ringing in my ears and migraines that nothing could alleviate. I was sprawled in my chair, head tipped back for relief from the drumming pressure, when I heard a commotion approaching.

"He's not satan, not like you're thinking! I'm sure we can answer any questions you might have. He needs rest!" Lilith sounds desperate.

"That's okay." It was a child's voice, calm and oddly self-assured. "I said I wanted to speak to whoever's in charge, and I can read the signs that point this way. If you'll excuse me, miss."

The door burst open and a girl, no more than eleven years old, strode in confidently. Lilith made a helpless little gesture at me behind her back and mouthed "sorry!" I managed to drag a smile onto my face and wave her off.

"Hi there. What can I do for you? My name is Lucifer, by the way."

"I know. I'm Eliza." She tilted her chin. "I want wings."

"S-sorry?" This was not the reaction I had grown accustomed to. I got screamed at, had obscenities thrown at me, and had most cower in fear upon first meeting me – decades of programming and prejudice is hard to just shrug off; I grew to look forward to those that arrived here with no idea who I was, expecting some other afterlife entirely without me featuring in the pantheon at all. They didn't know to hate or fear me. But this is a new reaction entirely.

"I want wings. Like you, and that other lady, and all the people with the horns flying around overhead. What do I have to do to get some?" She crossed her arms.

"I'm sorry, but it's just not in my power. You're human, we're divines. It comes with the package, so to speak, for us but not you. I can no more give you wings than you could ask your mother to have birthed you with them."

She quirked an eyebrow as if that had been a suggestion and she thought it might work. "Really? You, Lucifer, ruler of Hell, don't have the power to give me wings?" She snorted.

"I'm not really ruler of – look, I would if I could. I'm sorry to disappoint." I pushed myself up, wincing a little as stars exploded in my vision. I crouched in front of her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Best I can tell you is that humanity's real gift is invention. I might not be able to give you wings, but maybe there's a human who can find a way to make you fly."

"Hmm." Her eyes gleamed. "Okay then, Mr. Lucifer. If you can't give me wings, I'll make them myself." She turned on her heel and marched out. "I'll see you in the skies!" she called over her shoulder.

Nearly fifty years later, I did. I recognized her instantly. Her wings gleam metallic, they were strapped to her back and arms somehow, and she wobbled a great deal, but she was flying.

I flew up to catch the same current. "Eliza! You did it!"

She grinned over at me. "No thanks to you. Took a lot of experimenting, a lot of painful – but thanks to being dead and all, not lethal – falls from high buildings, but Aloft mark seventy-three is functional and I'm getting the hang of it ooh –!" Eliza dipped suddenly with a half-shriek.

I shot beneath her, stabilizing her and tilting her arms so her wings caught the current better. "There, try more like that."

"Thanks." She grinned shakily at me. "I'll take any flight tips you want to give – I mean, unless you have better things to be doing with your time, like running Hell."

"Hell can wait," I said. "Let's fly."

Her grin could've split her face then. "Hey, I know you said you can't change the fundamental makeup of my being or whatever, but while I have you here I wanted to ask: is there any way you can fix it so that I'm not permanently in my eleven-year-old body for eternity? I'm in my sixties and everyone thinks I'm a child."

"You're not going to want to hear the answer." I indicated how to shift her wings to shift to a higher current, and she mimicked me flawlessly.

She sighed. "You can't."

"When humans are reincarnated here, they are reformed in the body or age they felt most comfortable, most like themselves. For most people, that's middle aged, some young adults, and a few elderly and even fewer children. But if you haven't lived an age, you can't feel like yourself at it, so the younger you die on Earth, that's as old as your range of options go."

"That's stupid," she huffed. "I mean, not the first part, that seems nice, but the catch is so lame. Why design it like that?"

"I didn't make the rules!" I protested, then realized that might not even be true. "At least, I don't think I did. And you're not the first to complain, and yes, before you ask, I have tried to fix it. Obviously, without success. I'll keep trying, though, if that's any comfort to you."

"Well damn. It's probably for the best; who knows if these would support me if I was any bigger. Now, Mr. Lucifer, show me the good stuff!"

I laughed a little. "The 'good stuff'?"

"Backflips, spirals, tricks! Show me what you've got!"

Ever since that day... Well, I try really hard not to play favorites, but if I did, Eliza is my best friend. We go flying whenever we can; some days she bursts in through my window and practically drags me outside, sometimes I fly up high and wait for her to join me (she can always recognize me on sight, no matter how far up or far away I am). Every time the fight starts to go out of me and the light and hope begin to dim, she buoys it back up just by being herself. I could use some of that now.

I'm on the verge of plunging out the window when the intercom buzzes. Crowley's voice comes over it, crackly and barely decipherable. "Got a special one to see you, boss. I know you're... Look, you're going to want to take this one."