The Devil's Secret Read Free Page B

He spun to the harpist. “Keep playing!”
    The angel’s fingers darted back to his harp with a fearsome urgency. Sweat drizzled down his brow.
    God breathed in and out a few times, calming Himself. Then He smiled and nodded a polite apology. “Sorry.”
    He seemed to notice the fear in Thorn’s expression. He waved His hand and a huge rock the size of a bulldozer appeared next to them out of thin air. God made a show of pushing on it, but it didn’t budge. He laughed, for Thorn’s sake—a phony chuckling likely meant to ease Thorn’s tension. “Look,” God said. “I created a rock so big even I can’t move it.”
    Thorn laughed politely at the joke. He was angry, but also glad that God had chosen to be benevolent in the face of criticism.
    The limited deity gave a long sigh, as if the weight of the universe had just left His shoulders but would soon return. “Uh, clean this rock up, guys.” A dozen angels sprang into action. Each moved with a sense of desperation, like they all had guns to their heads.
    God lumbered toward the immense window, and Thorn followed, full of questions. He kept his silence for a few moments though, since God’s confession had illustrated just how little Thorn knew about this being to whom he spoke.
    A chinchilla leaped out of the way as God rested His elbows on the sill and gazed out on His celestial city. Leaning out, Thorn realized that this room rested atop a steep cliff face: the mountainside beneath the window dropped straight down. And far below, at the base of the cliff, lay the city: dense masses of hulking buildings overshadowing a network of golden roads, the Sanctuary feed looming over all. In the distance, another part of the city had been built into the mountain range, lending the cityscape an impressive scale in height as well as width. The dreary red sun loomed just above the mountains as if setting, although mere minutes ago, it had appeared bright and yellow in the sky. Thorn wondered if God’s mood had affected the change. The Creator looked sad. More than sad. Wounded.
    “I come from a place you could only dream of,” God started, then coughed a little. “In your nightmares.” He shook His head as He searched for more words. “I needed—I need to create minds. I need to atone—” He turned His gaze from the city to Thorn, who found difficulty meeting those piercing eyes with his own. “I can’t create morally flawless beings. I’d do it if I knew how, but every time I’ve tried, they’ve disappointed Me. They’re dumb robots, and they make horrible companions.
    “I can only create beings like Myself, you see: emergent from natural evolution. Flawed beings. But beings who aspire! Who grow! Beings who can become better than they are!” He waved His orange fervently at the rotating planet Earth, floating past the drop-off from Heaven nearly a mile away. Central Africa was coming up.
    God’s momentary excitement stalled, then faded. He frowned, and seemed to be embarrassed that He’d gotten so exuberant. He turned back to the city below. “I get so discouraged sometimes, you know. Seeing the wars, the ignorance, the subjugation. My creation continues to disappoint Me even after so much time, and it fills Me with hopelessness. With anger. Sometimes I just want to…” His eyes still on Earth, He clenched His fist around the orange. Pulp burst from fresh lesions in the crushed fruit, and God’s meaning became all too clear. He sighed. “But no, I can’t give up yet. There’s still time. The tests do work, if slowly. The humans grow smarter and more moral over time. The suffering and evil in the world is necessary for that, and if I intervened in Earth’s problems, then yes, I would ruin My precious tests. But I don’t think I could stop the suffering on Earth even if I wanted to.”
    “On Earth, perhaps. But what about what happens to people after they die?”
    “I keep those people here, as valued friends.”
    “And the people who don’t