by Eve Langlais
“Why does it matter?” Michelina crinkled her nose. “The Lord makes us new brothers and sisters then gives them to the storks to deliver.”
The answer didn’t satisfy Helen. “How can the Lord be making them? Isn’t our Father, who art in heaven, currently being detained?”
Formerly known as God, some said his insistence on being called Elyon was a sign of his madness and why he had been placed inside a secret and secured location by his son, Jesus Christ—who preferred to go by Charlie. He’d said his dad had served the world long and well, and now just needed to rest.
However, if Helen listened to rumors—which she never ever did because everyone knew they were spread by evil minions—their Lord had not only suffered a mental break, he’d tried to start a war with his brother.
Obviously, that was a lie since their Father was a pacifist. The same couldn’t be sure about his son. Charlie was in charge, and things had been changing. Which led her to question if they were all God’s children, why was Charlie the chosen heir? There were angels older than him. Why didn’t they handle things while Elyon recovered?
“Just because our Father, who gazes upon us in heaven, is currently enjoying a retreat, doesn’t mean he’s not taking care of us. I also don’t understand your obsession. What does it matter where the cherubs come from?”
“Aren’t you curious about how babies are made?”
“No.”
Helen, however, didn’t feel the same. “Remember Loreanna?”
“The one who tried to jump off the building and forgot to fly?” Some said Loreanna tried to commit the sin of suicide.
“Yes. Her. She was taken to a healer for repair, and when she returned”—Helen’s voice dropped as she whispered the next juicy tidbit—“she told me humans make babies via a ritual called fornication, where two individuals, a male and female, slot their opposing genital pieces together and create an infant.”
Michelina’s eyes widened as she exclaimed, “How dare you repeat such filthy gossip. I am going to report you to Archnanny Rafaella.” The head angel in charge of all things nursery related. Someone had to manage the cherubs and their caretakers.
“Don’t do that.” The last time Helen dared to question she spent five hundred days in quiet contemplation in the room of nothing. Meaning she was put in a space with no light, sound, or sensation. She hadn’t felt like herself since, and it hadn’t cured her desire to know things. And not just where babies came from, but why they couldn’t leave the nursery, or better yet, why couldn’t she see what lay outside of Heaven? She knew there was a world out there, a dangerous one called Earth. Only the soldiers with the deadly task of defending their realm from the forces of evil—aka Lucifer’s legions—could leave Heaven, along with those specially chosen for Guardian Angel duty. Every other angel stayed in their section. Did their job. Lived a perfect life under the eye of their Father—who was being detained in Heaven.
In the last decade, though, she couldn’t help but notice the boredom. The stagnancy. The lack of risk of any kind.
They weren’t allowed to run, because they might trip.
Laughter, especially the loud kind, was forbidden, as it might interfere with those in quiet contemplation.
No nudity so that no one could feel as if another person’s flesh was better than theirs.
The only books allowed were those approved by the Archangels who ran things. Seven books. Only seven and yet she remembered Loreanna telling her that, on Earth, there were millions of stories.
Millions. It sounded impossible. It had to be a lie, but how to know for sure? Helen couldn’t ask, or she’d be sent to the quiet place.
She also couldn’t scream. Screaming was frowned upon.
No going past the walls of the nursery. No standing on them to gaze longingly at the outside either. The funny part being there was nothing technically stopping her from going, just the rule that said she mustn’t.
The list of things they couldn’t do filled a scroll several feet long. Some which she didn’t understand, like no skateboards. What was a skateboard?
She had no one to answer her questions. As a nursery worker, she was kept to an even stricter set of rules than other angels, or so she was made to understand. As the shaper of young angelic minds, nannies had to remain the purest. The austerity supposedly made them God’s favorites.
But if she was favored, how come she’d never even met him? In the Bible, Fathers cared for their children.
A speck in the perfect sky, blue without end, grew into a massive bird, its wings longer than her arms. It banked, and its cargo tilted, the bundled fabric clutched in its talons shifted. A pudgy arm waved free.
And then a body tumbled out.
2
Before Michelina uttered her shocked gasp, Helen was running for the edge of the tower’s roof. She threw herself off, arms outstretched, her wings snapping behind her, halting her plunge, so she could glide and catch the falling baby.
“Hello, little one.” Helen smiled, holding the solid frame. The child, wide eyed and startled, held in its yell and beamed back.
Helen landed on the rooftop, and the baby was snatched by Michelina. With lips pursed, she offered a disapproving, “This one will be trouble.”
“Because it fell? How is that the child’s fault?” Seemed like an accident to her.
“Clearly displaying a rebellious nature. I’ll handle its processing while you wait for the next one.” Off marched Michelina, body stiff, her long white robes flaring with each snapped step. She showed no comfort to the baby who’d begun to wail. It hurt Helen’s heart to hear the child crying. She would have snuggled it close, murmured soft reassurance. However, Michelina wasn’t the soft or coddling type of nanny.
With a sigh—because she could hardly criticize the older more experienced angel—she turned to watch the big blue sky. Always the same shade. Never marred or obscured by anything. The bibles spoke of things called clouds and storms. She couldn’t fathom what that meant. How frightening it must be to have the sun hidden or for water to fall from the sky. And strong gusts of wind? How would they fly?
The day passed, and the sun set at exactly the same time every day, and her stomach, trained to know what it meant, grumbled in hunger. Dinnertime and no second baby. Rather than leave immediately, she stood and watched the unfolding canvas of color, spectacular and vivid. The exact same medley of colors that she’d seen the last time she was outdoors for a sunset, and the time before, and the time before that. It never, ever changed.
Sunrise would occur with the same precision. Not that she’d see it in her windowless room. She was usually eating breakfast, although, in her younger years, she’d skipped that first meal to be outside and watch it. The novelty wore off quickly, especially since missing breakfast left her with nothing until dinner.
Her lessons claimed that on Earth—past the pearly gates into a mist that no one but their brave soldiers dared enter—no sunrise or sunset was ever the same. Her teachers taught that Earth was a place of chaos and evil. Of sin and damnation. Where humans strived to recreate Heaven and failed miserably.
And she’d believed in that until, during one of their stork watches, Betty recited a rumor she’d heard. A rumor that humans were God’s children. Blasphemy, of course. Angels were nothing like those hairy, smelly beasts. Not that she’d ever met one, but by their description in the Bible, they were primitive.
When Loreanna returned, she told the same story as Betty had, with more details. She claimed they were being lied to. That humans and Earth were wonderful compared to Heaven. And then one day she was gone. The Archnanny never explained where she went. Loreanna never came back.
Nobody who left the nursery ever returned, not even the babies Helen helped care for. Once they reached a certain age, unless they were assigned to be nannies, they departed and never returned.
Helen often wondered what her life would be like outside the nursery. Wished she could have been posted as a guard, as they appeared t
o have more freedom to roam.
The sun set. With twilight making it hard to see, and still no stork, she couldn’t wait any longer. She would have to let the Archnanny know. All angels were to be inside before twilight ended and night began.
“Why can’t we go outside at night?” she’d innocently asked.
“Because bad things happen at night,” her teacher told her.
“What kind of bad things?”
The teacher, who didn’t like being questioned, gave Helen a hundred days in solitary, a sealed room with only what she needed to contemplate her faith until she agreed Heaven and its rules protected her. Her Father, who ruled Heaven, hallowed be his name, only wanted to keep her safe. How could she be so ungrateful?
She went inside before dusk ended and never rose before the sun tickled the sky. She couldn’t help but recall Betty, who’d giggled when asked where she got her information about humans and earth. She claimed to go out at night and to be in love with one of Heaven’s soldiers. Carnal love.
Which was forbidden!
Probably why Betty eventually disappeared.
If Helen wasn’t careful, she’d end up punished, too. Never question. Her Father, who made rules in Heaven, knew best.
She headed down from the rooftop and fetched her dinner. A bowl of gruel, filling and satisfying. The flavor and texture were the same for every meal. It never changed, just like her evening routine remained consistent. Wash her dishes. Say her prayers. Then go to bed.
Except for the umpteenth night in a row, Helen found herself too restless to sleep. She rose from her pallet and paced her room, three strides by three strides. All the room she needed for a bed, a chair, and a desk. It was greed to want more space. What should have been satisfying felt confining. She tugged at her night robe, snug to the neck and billowy to make her shapeless. Her wings were tucked away for easier sleeping on the bed. She’d not yet reached the age where she preferred to roost.
One, two, three, pivot. One two, three. Flip. It agitated her she couldn’t move farther. There was a park outside where she usually walked a good portion of the day. Roof duty meant she’d not gotten enough exercise. If she could just walk off the restless energy surely she would sleep?
She couldn’t leave. One of their rules, strictly enforced, was curfew. No angels out after dark.
She eyed her door. What would happen if she went for a walk? Unlike Betty, she wouldn’t sin with any soldiers but pray as she went for a stroll within the nursery courtyard.
Two circuits and then back to bed. Before she knew it, she stood outside her room.
The hallway, lined with doors identical to hers, remained empty and quiet. She hustled to the far end and the stairs, expecting to hear a shout.
She went around and around down the stairs to the main level and paused as she finally heard sound. A rustle of fabric then voices. She hugged the wall, her chest thumping as she worried about getting caught.
“Hey, Andreas,” a lilting voice said.
Helen frowned as she tried to place it.
A deeper tone replied, “I brought you a present.”
“Really? Let’s go to my room and you can show me.”
Helen heard the rustle as they moved and the snick of a door shutting. Only after thirty breaths of silence did she ease out of the stairwell, the door soundlessly swinging shut after her.
She tiptoed quickly to the door leading outside, only to pause at the threshold. Once she stepped outside, she’d be in trouble. Right now, if caught, she could claim she’d woken and thought it was past dawn. No windows meant no light. She’d claim her internal clock must be off.
She’d lie.
Her eyes widened. How far was she willing to go to break the rules?
Shoving open the door, she put a toe on the tile past the ledge. It didn’t get zapped. No alarm went off. Next, she eased her whole body outside. Waited for someone to question her wandering.
Nothing moved. Nor did she perceive any noise. She glanced around to find a different Heaven than she knew during the day.
For one, no blue skies, but so many stars casting a silvery glow. How pretty. She didn’t see the fabled moon and wondered if it even shone in Heaven.
The starlight proved enough to outline in stark relief the jutting monolith of a building that housed the rooms for the nursery and teaching staff and the wards for the babies. Three levels circling around the park. Windowless. And even if it weren’t, who would see her? Everyone was supposed to be asleep. From the voices she’d heard during her escape outside, she already knew not everyone was, but that worked to her advantage. The guardian angel that protected from the rooftop was in a nanny’s bedroom. Doing what?
None of her business. With him gone, this was her chance.
She took a few more steps, enough for the door to close behind her. Click.
Hopefully not locked. From sunrise to sunset, the door was open.
The flutter in her stomach wasn’t entirely fear but excitement. She moved from her dorm to the park that lay at the center of the courtyard, pleased to see the paths lit by glowing orbs set in stakes.
It was lovely; however, it did make her wonder about the curfew at night. Why have the place lit if not for use? In the daytime, it was a busy place for the nannies to take the cherubs out for a stroll. Yet as she strode along the straight paths that bisected the park with its perfectly shaped bushes, she saw no one else. Was she the only one to ever dare walk outside at night?
I’m such a rebel. It made her giddy.
And bold.
If everyone was inside, there was no one to see. Helen flew to the top of the building and froze, waiting for an outcry. When none came, she glanced around for the first time. She saw more monoliths, massive contained areas. Were they also nurseries or the homes of the soldiers and the others who left?
The sudden flicker of starlight drew her gaze, and she noticed a shadow flying overhead. Someone else was out there. She almost dropped back into the nursery garden.
Almost. Instead, emboldened, she took flight, feeling exposed and hidden all at once. Exhilaration filled her as she coasted cool air currents and soared over places like the nursery, if differing in size. Some with illuminated courtyards, others dark and barren.
Past the group of twelve buildings, she found herself coasting over a vast expanse of fog. It covered the ground and scared her, pimpling her skin.
She’d not ever flown so far before. Usually only short trips around the courtyard, teaching the little angels to fly.
It was more enjoyable than expected.
She angled and pumped her wings to get higher, her view expanding, and she gasped. For ahead she saw lights. Lots of bright lights, small squat buildings with roads between them, and no high walls.
3
Helen neared the edge of the lit area. Feeling exposed, she dropped to skim over the fog before immersing herself in it. It dampened the skin but didn’t appear to sodden her robe. Her feet hit the ground, and she stumbled for a second before catching herself.
She walked in the direction of the lights, the mist fading as she reached a row of stakes planted in a line that kept the fog from drifting farther.
Hands clasped tight in nervousness, she stepped into the light. No one yelled, but to her surprise, she heard voices. She moved to the nearest building, a single-floor structure with a wide window and a door.
It was dark, but the next window cast a glow. She crept close for a peek and blinked at the sight. Angels, their wings ghostly gossamer at their backs, sat in a group, conversing, not praying. Fraternizing! Rule breakers like her.
She thought about knocking, only to hesitate. What if they turned her in? She had to know more.
Helen traversed past that building and found herself in a maze of hundreds. Only a small portion bore illumination, enough to move swiftly, as she wondered if this place was even part of Heaven. It resembled nothing she’d ever imagined. For one, not everyone was asleep like at the nursery. A male angel wear
ing a tunic and pants suddenly opened a door.
He stared at her then smiled. “Hello there. Want to come in?” He winked and stood aside.
Rather than reply, she ran. Impulse made her weave in and out of streets until she was utterly lost.
Hugging herself, she began to regret having broken the rules. She just wanted to go home. She glanced up and wondered if she could climb to a rooftop. There wasn’t space enough to launch from here.
Once more, a door opened, and rather than wait for them to ask questions, she slid into a dark alley. She crossed it, only to find herself pausing. From a dimly outlined door—light creeping past its edges—she could hear a rhythmic beat, as if someone played music but in a way she’d never imagined. It didn’t resemble at all the Heavenly choir they got to listen to during their weekly mass.
For a moment, she moved closer, intrigued and, at the same time, disturbed by the strong, thumping beat. She placed her hand on the door and felt it vibrate under her fingers.
What did they listen to? Could this be the devil music she’d learned about in school? They’d brushed over it in theology, and she’d often wondered what exactly it sounded like.
It was exhilarating, and she found herself moving in time to it, her hips twitching. Her body undulated in a sinuous way that was surely a sin.
Shocked, and a little worried, she moved away from the music—ran actually—until she spilled onto another road. More angels strolled along laughing, sinning by all appearances.
Helen kept jogging, past buildings that were eventually spaced out enough she could fly, but by now she could see a park up ahead with tall trees offering cover. The moment she stepped within, she realized others shared it with her. She heard soft murmurs and husky laughter. A rare noise usually uttered by the cherubs and quickly shushed. Mature angels did not guffaw.
She’d never understood. How could laughter be a sin?
The pure pleasure of it drew her along the spiral path between the twining garden of trees, each the exact same width, height, and number of leaves. That forest gave way to metal shapes. Gray-, gold-, and silver-hued, their forms were indistinct in the wispy clouds clinging to them. They were spread out around a tall hedge that showed a path leading into it.