by Rex Jameson
***
As his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, Lucifer groped along the stone floor and felt for edges. He could hear Archimedes’ footsteps hammering into the distance, but he couldn’t follow. He could sense the void out there from the echoes, but he couldn’t tell where the darkness would consume him.
In time, faint lights began to dot the air around him, and then nebulae and quasars. Spiral galaxies fought against each other amidst the glowing space dust. Suns collapsed and black holes consumed their cosmic lifeblood.
“What are you waiting on back there?” Archimedes grumbled. “The afterlife?”
“I can’t see anything,” Lucifer said. “And I don’t want to fall to my death.”
A bright blue light erupted from a hundred yards ahead and bounced as it made its way back to Lucifer. He shielded his eyes and saw an irate face behind the source.
“Not completely unwise, I suppose,” Archimedes said. “I’ve lost many an apprentice along these stairs.”
He tossed something to Lucifer and flicked his wrist to dismiss the fiery azure ball of chaos. Lucifer fumbled with the straps and felt the glass surfaces.
“Put them on, idiot,” Archimedes said. “And make yourself useful and tell me if you see anything unusual.”
Lucifer put the goggles on and the world around him came to life. He was standing on a suspended, erratically constructed staircase. It was non-uniform and broken in many places. Some of the staircases terminated into thin air. Others ended in a portal. Many of the paths went off into the horizon, as far as he could see.
“Where are we?”
“The Elven Primal,” Archimedes said. “Now, keep up this time.”
“What am I looking for?”
“Solid footing, I reckon.”
“No, jerk,” Lucifer said. “I’m looking at a floating staircase in the middle of a planetarium here. What would be unusual?”
Archimedes chuckled. “I guess I deserved that. You’ve seen millions of galaxies and billions of stars. We’re peering out into the universe right now. Just let me know if you see something unusual.”
Lucifer nodded, and the goggles shifted down his nose. He pushed them back up and hurdled an intersecting rock pathway. He heard a piece of the granite break free from the stairs beneath him and slid to a stop.
“Archimedes, the path is giving way.”
“Yeah, I haven’t repaired this one in ages. I’ll get Horace on it.”
“Horace?” Lucifer asked.
“Latest apprentice,” Archimedes said, leaping to an adjacent staircase. “Found him shortly after Olivander died.”
“Sorry to hear about your old apprentice. How did he pass?”
Archimedes bounded three steps at a time and pointed at a break in a nearby staircase. “Screaming as he fell through that hole over there.”
Lucifer gulped and kept his eyes downward. He started to push his wings through his suit, but he didn’t want to accidentally break any of the thin, seemingly fragile staircases. He didn’t even fake an attempt at looking for whatever abnormal thing Archimedes seemed interested in.
“So, your apprentices repair your walkways?”
“If they’re not working on my research, recording histories, or fetching something from another universe.”
Off in the distance, a square object was coming into view. It seemed wooden. Maybe five stories in all directions.
“I’m seeing something unusual,” Lucifer said.
“That’s my study, you dimwit, and our destination.”
“How was I supposed to know?”
Lucifer pushed his wings through his suit and punched into the staircase behind him. He launched over Archimedes and wing-walked between parallel walkways. When he arrived at the study, he twisted around before plopping his rump on top of the building. He dangled his legs as Archimedes approached and was rewarded with the old man’s grumbling.
“Maybe your next apprentice should be a demon,” Lucifer said. “Less unnecessary deaths.”
“Too weak-minded,” someone said from behind him.
Lucifer spun on his rear end and found a young elf with short, curly brown hair and glasses. His jeans were incredibly tattered and he could have used a new unstained shirt and a bath.
“You must be Horace,” Lucifer said. “Nice to meet you.”
“And you are?”
“Lucifer, prince of demons.”
Horace adjusted his glasses and bowed. “Sorry, I’m just aping what my master has told me. I’m an intern. What do I know?”
“I’m sure you know quite a lot if the creator is taking you on as his protégé.”
Horace worried his lip and avoided eye contact. “I just have a proficiency for patterns. He pulled me from an advanced calculus class. Stopped the whole universe just for me. How could I say no?”
“I know the feeling,” Lucifer said. “How old were you?”
“Five.”
“Years old?”
Horace looked into Lucifer’s eyes and nodded, but became uncomfortable again. He knelt down and tore away an errant frayed section of the planking. With his other hand, he massaged the wound he’d just made in the study.
Lucifer took off his goggles and rubbed his eyes before putting them back on. The planking was completely repaired.
“You coming down?” Archimedes called. “Or are you making out with your second elf today?”
Lucifer shook his head and peered over the edge. “I only have eyes for you, Archimedes.”
“Oh, be still my beating heart,” the old man swooned below.
Lucifer glanced at Horace again.
“Advanced calculus at such a young age is most impressive,” Lucifer said as he stood up. “Maybe demons are dense.”
“You can change that,” Horace said. “They’re not dense. They’re just ignorant. Archimedes once told me that the only reason us elves ended up being his favorite was because the demons refused to open their minds and evolve.”
Lucifer nodded. “I understand.”
“Best not keep him waiting. He gets worse.”
Lucifer took a step backward and dropped to the doorway. He peeked inside and saw a plethora of books, gadgets, and papers. While most people used bookcases and desks for organization, Archimedes appeared to use them to prop up certain piles of junk. Only the rafters and buttresses appeared free of debris.
Archimedes peered at him from behind a wooden table leg. “Shut the door. You’re letting my notes on the quantum mechanics of space-time bridges blow out the door.”
Lucifer stomped on the offending paper and closed the door behind him. Archimedes was out of sight, but the crumpling of papers and flying objects and scrolls told Lucifer where he might look.
“What are you looking for?”
“It will look like a child’s toy. I made it for your son.”
Lucifer smiled. “That was nice of you.”
“It will probably have a bit of wear and tear on it by now. It’s a bit old.”
“My son isn’t even born yet. How old could it be?”
“I don’t know,” Archimedes said as he exited a four-foot-high pile of parchment. He twirled his fingers around his white beard. “Maybe three hundred million years or so.”
Lucifer’s jaw dropped, and he pushed some papers from the corner of a desk and sat down. His head swam, and he felt drunk again.
“Actually, maybe we’re looking for the wrong toy,” Archimedes said. “Let me find my pattern chronographer. You’ll get a kick out of this.”
He dove into another pile of parchments. A bookcase toppled over in his wake, dumping papers and gadgets onto the floor. Archimedes emerged from his most recent pile and looked at Lucifer. “Did you hear glass clinking?”
“I heard a crash of wood followed by metal, papers, and … maybe a squish?” Lucifer said. “I can’t be sure. There were dozens of gadgets that fell out of that one, though.”
“A squish? Hmmm … probably a sandwich … Or an old app
rentice. It’s hard to keep track …”
Archimedes rifled through papers and kicked aside offending trinkets. He picked up a piece of glass that looked like a dodecahedron, though Lucifer couldn’t count the sides. Lucifer struggled to remember where he had seen it before.
“Well, I should probably put this one somewhere safe, don’t you think?” Archimedes asked.
“Is that …?” Lucifer asked. “Is that an anur quppu?”
Archimedes nodded. “Dangerous little sucker. Don’t worry. We’re getting you something much more powerful, right after I find my chronographer.”
“How many of these things do you have?”
The old man shrugged and pointed around at the various piles. “One? A hundred? Depends on how many have been pilfered by my good-for-nothing apprentices.”
Lucifer put his face in his hands, and Archimedes came over and pushed a separate pile of papers off the desk. He sat down and dropped his elbows to his knees.
“If you are worried about Chaos,” Archimedes said, “don’t be. A person would have to bring one of those things into the heart of the projection to do any real damage. Jehovah’s pattern is only so vulnerable because the primal is leaking from billions of different places because of that death ray he’s pointing at Chaos. He’s young, and it’s his first pattern. Rookie mistake.”
“According to him, everything he does is deliberate.”
“A child can intentionally slide face first down a flight of stairs. Does that mean he’s a genius because he was deliberate?”
Lucifer chuckled. “I guess not.”
“Now, help me find this chronographer.”
“What does it look like?”
“Cylindrical,” Archimedes said. “It’ll have lenses on the ends and along the top.”
Lucifer found a metallic cylinder. It only had one lens, but it had lots of little buttons. He held it up for Archimedes. Unfortunately, the old man was swimming through paper again. It didn’t have a lot of lenses. Couldn’t have been the chronographer.
“It’s a flashlight,” Archimedes grumbled. “Honestly …” The old man swatted papers aside and picked up a trinket. “Aha!”
He tossed the cylinder into the air and it spun around like a viewing orb. Above it, a red line blinked into existence. An arrow pointed at the end closest to Lucifer.
“Well, go ahead,” Archimedes said.
“Go ahead and what?”
“This pattern chronographer shows a timeline of all recorded history—at least, everything that I’m aware of. Give it a shot. Name an event.”
Lucifer meandered closer to the door so he could see the line in profile. He tried to think of historical events. His almost brother-in-law’s coronation seemed to be fairly historic.
“Elandril’s coronation,” Lucifer said and waited for a new arrow to appear. “It seems to be broken.”
Archimedes crossed his arms and glared at Lucifer.
“Well, then, where is the arrow?”
Archimedes pointed at the original arrow location.
“But that one was already there,” Lucifer said.
“There are two arrows now,” Archimedes grunted. “You’re going to have to go further back than that.”
“My birth,” Lucifer said, but the arrow still defied him.
“Erase all arrows,” Archimedes commanded, and the device immediately stopped projecting the markers. “Chaos Primal creation.”
A green arrow appeared an inch from the end of the timeline.
“You can’t be serious,” Lucifer said.
Archimedes motioned toward the timeline. “Try it yourself.”
“Elven Primal creation.”
A purple arrow appeared at the center. Lucifer shook his head in disbelief.
“My other nine pattern creations,” Archimedes said. His voice wavered as he gave the command.
The timeline projected three more markers just behind the Elven Primal, and the other six were randomly distributed between the middle and the end, where the Chaos Primal was.
“Hundreds of billions of Chaos years,” the white-bearded man said. “Blood, sweat, and toil spent making my creations, and your kind erases them in the blink of an eye. That can’t happen to the Elven Realm. That’s why I must find the prophesied anomaly. The oracles say it is our doom.”
“The Chaos Primal is your creation too, you know!”
Archimedes pulled his hair back into a pony tail, exposing his elongated, pointed elven ears. “An affectation for the children that didn’t turn their backs on me.”
Lucifer nodded and bit his lip.
“My birth, highlight white,” Archimedes said.
An arrow appeared at the quarter mark. Lucifer watched it for almost a minute before Archimedes broke the silence.
“What it took me billions of years to learn, Jehovah did in a million.”
“Overachiever,” Lucifer said.
“Prodigy,” Archimedes said. “If I had searched for a demon apprentice, I might have avoided all of this mess.”
“But you wouldn’t have found Horace.”
Archimedes nodded, leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. “Let’s look for your son’s gift.”
“What does it look like?”
“You’ll know when you find it.”
Lucifer rummaged through documents and gadgets on his side of the room, while Archimedes resumed searching the far bookcases. Lucifer pushed his wings out again and used them to knock over stacks of paper.
For hours, they overturned desks and ransacked the drawers. Archimedes and Lucifer grunted at each other whenever they crossed paths. After clearing a desk of all its parchment and trinkets, Lucifer climbed atop it and lay down. He brought his arm to his forehead and stared into the lamps that hung from the ceiling. Then he started looking at the rafters. Each was perfectly crafted and fitted into the buttresses that spanned the roof. Well, all except for one.
An apprentice must have been overzealous in shoring up one of the joints as it was bulky and misshapen on one side. Lucifer squinted and tried to figure out what the laborer must have used for reinforcement. It wasn’t putty.
His wings raised him from the table, and as he came closer, he saw fur. And then a nose and sewn mouth. It was a stuffed bear, nestled against the rafter joint.
“Aha!” Archimedes yelled. “I must have wanted to hide it from the sticky fingers of my apprentices.”
Lucifer grabbed the bear and lowered himself back to the floor. “What does it do?”
“Whatever you can imagine,” Archimedes said cryptically.
“How does it work?”
“Just push the buttons.”
Lucifer pressed his finger into its nose, but nothing happened. Archimedes trudged through a disheveled pile of scrolls toward the door.
“So, now that you’ve got what you came for, put those goggles back on and help me search for this anomaly.”
Lucifer played with one of the bear’s eyes that was hanging precariously from a string. “He’s seen better days.”
“Hey,” Archimedes said. “Let’s just see how you look after a few hundred million years!”
Lucifer put his thumb on the other eye and pressed down. Something clicked and a translucent bubble began expanding around the device. When Lucifer was fully enveloped, the bear morphed into a small metallic pen and emitted a faint wind. Within seconds the wind became a whooshing torrent, and papers began circling the room.
“Nooooooooo!” Archimedes screamed.
He ran at Lucifer, but the winds swept him hard into a wall. A red jet burst from the pen and burned through the ceiling. Stars and nebulae blinked through the seared opening and the heat and smoke rising from the emitted beam. Lucifer set his feet and pressed his wings into the wooden supports behind him to fight the fierce pressure being exerted against him by the pen.
Archimedes tumbled across the floor and into a corner. His hands scraped against the boards as he climbed to the rafters and clung to a so
lid, unyielding joint.
“Press the damned button!”
“Which one?”
“Surprise me, you imbecile!” Archimedes yelled.
The pen only had three buttons, and the green one was depressed. That left black and blue. With how disastrously the green one turned out being, Lucifer felt there was no reason to tempt fate and test out new buttons. Instead, he clicked down on the green one, and it thankfully reset its position to the top of the pen.
The winds died down, and Archimedes fell onto a pile of papers. Universes weren’t the only things that Archimedes could create. Lucifer was certain that many of the combinations of curse words the old man came up with were truly unique, but he thought he had his own reasons for being furious.
“You wanted me to give this to my son? A toy that shoots a destructive jet of energy when he presses on its eyeball? What is wrong with you?”
Archimedes huffed and pointed a finger into Lucifer’s face, but he shook his head as he apparently thought about Lucifer’s objections.
“The blue button just produces a benign writing utensil,” he said lamely.
Lucifer didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so he did both. The old man stared at the hole that the pen had made.
“I’m afraid to look,” he said.
“At what?”
“I think I’ve found the anomaly,” Horace said as he peered at them through the opening in the ceiling.
“I figured as much,” Archimedes said.
“You better get out here,” Horace said. “And bring the device … quickly.”
Archimedes dashed to the door and grabbed a pair of goggles from his robe.
Lucifer ran after him and hastily put his lenses on. By the time he reached the door, Archimedes had already leapt four staircases. Lucifer tried to find the anomaly, but all he saw were galaxies.
“Where is it?” he asked Horace.
Horace, who had his own goggles on, pointed directly above him.
Lucifer peered through his lenses at the sky, but everything was inverted and blurry.
“They’re on upside down,” Horace said.
Lucifer flipped the straps on the back of his head, and the primal came into focus. Above him, a small green nebula pulsated light back to him. It didn’t seem unusual. He shrugged his shoulders at the apprentice.
Horace made twisting motions next to his goggles. “Magnify the view.”
Lucifer lifted his chin and turned the knobs on the sides of the glasses. As he dialed the knob clockwise, the green blob grew larger. Soon, he could see the pulsating space cloud across all of his periphery. It didn’t have any stars in it, which was odd.
“What’s so wrong about that? It’s just a cloud.”
“Fundamentally?” Horace asked. “There is nothing wrong with the cloud. Though it's spreading, it's certainly containable. The real problem is what used to be there.”
“And what’s that?”
“Uldram.”
Lucifer raced up the stairs and jammed his wings into neighboring paths to propel him forward. He looked for traces of a white beard and a frayed robe, but Archimedes was nowhere to be seen. Lucifer groped for staircases higher in the primal and pulled himself toward the anomaly.
“Archimedes?” he called.
“Bring me the device,” a weak voice said from nearby.
Archimedes’ knees were tucked into his chest as he rocked back and forth behind a bend in one of the staircases. Lucifer sat down on the upper stairs and handed the pen to the old man.
“Sorry,” Lucifer said.
Archimedes held the pen up, aimed it at the nebula overhead and then looked at Lucifer. He pointed at the black button and then pressed it. Instead of emitting another jet, the green cloud reversed itself into the pen. Unlike the damage the green button had done, the black one was slow and windless. In fact, there was no sound—almost like being plopped down into a soundproof box.
“The voiding mode will probably be useful for Jehovah’s jet in Chaos,” Archimedes said. “Use it wisely.”
“I’m not giving this to my son,” Lucifer said firmly.
“That’s up to you, I guess,” Archimedes said as he nodded. “But it has a child-safety mode. I obviously forgot to enable it before I placed the bear in the rafters. That was my fault. Just press the blue button before you shift it back into the bear, and your son won’t destroy any galaxies.”
Archimedes chuckled. “At least, not until you are ready for him to.”
Lucifer stared into the blackness left behind from the cloud. There weren’t any stars in the area at all. “How did the cloud destroy all the stars behind it?”
“There is no behind it from our point of view,” Archimedes said. “I morphed the primal to give me a view of the projections, but in only two dimensions. What you are seeing is a flattened three-dimensional perspective of an entire universe, panoramically stitched together.”
“So, the cloud cut across all of the third dimension?”
Archimedes nodded. “And the most populous elven city in existence was wiped from the map. Uldram was the center of our trade networks. It had grown so big that it required three dedicated planets from separate galaxies to handle the ship volume.”
Lucifer’s lip quivered. This was the worst possible thing that could have possibly happened. He came to the Elven Realm to ask for help and solidify the relationship with the elves; not destroy millions of them!
“We need to get back to Arnessa,” Archimedes said. “It was my job to protect the Elven Primal. In my haste to scour the pattern for the anomaly, I neglected my duties in passing this terrifyingly powerful child’s toy to you. I’ll take full responsibility with Elandril.”
“I’m not letting you take sole credit for this,” Lucifer said. “I’ll do whatever I have to. There has to be a way to make this right.”
Archimedes used Lucifer’s shoulder to get back to his feet. The stars twinkled outside of the void, and Lucifer removed his goggles to look at the old man, his creator.
“You’ve done everything you can,” Archimedes said. “but this isn’t Order. Millions of elves don’t come back.”
They walked beside each other and peered at the stars as they descended the stairs past the study. Archimedes pointed to star formations and galaxies and reminisced on their creation. He offered tips on pattern creation and maintenance, and how Jehovah’s jet would react once the voiding mode of the pen was used on it.
As they arrived at the portal that brought them here, they both stopped and looked at each other.
“Time to pay the piper,” Lucifer said.
“This bill is more than either you or I can afford.”
