This idyllic period of Titus’s life came to an abrupt halt when his wife, Birdie, and the little ones fell prey to smallpox. Titus sweated out the illness himself but the rest of his family did not make it. When he recovered, he burned their cottage to the ground and returned to our family estate, a sadder and quieter man.
I once overheard Erasmus asking him why he did not use his Water of Life to save his family from the illness that claimed their lives. Titus shook his head sadly and replied: “That is not what the Water is for. I gave my family into God’s hands … and God took them.”
From thoughts of Titus’s family, my mind meandered aimlessly, so weary was I from my exertions. Thoughts I would rather not contemplate snuck around my guard. Was Astreus gone already, consumed by wickedness and hate? Or did some part of him linger on in Seir, dwindling with each passing hour?
No. I could not think about that now. It was too sad. My heart would break.
Memories of my childhood seemed safer. Portraits of Father and his young family drifted by my mind’s eye: my father, Lady Portia, and my infant self. How sweet and tinged with the gold of happy memories did these recollections seem, until I recalled that it had never been so, and the gold-tinged images burst like the filmy bubbles that children blow.
For Lady Portia, the great love of Father’s life, was not my mother … if there had even been a great love of Father’s life. If that was not a lie, as well.
Had Father loved her? I wondered. Or Sycorax, or the mermaid, or sylph, or maybe a river sprite—the woman who had given birth to me? Whomever he had summoned the first time he used the great spell that now powered Mephisto’s staff. Who had he known back then upon whom he might have fathered me? Whom had he called upon?
“M.”
I sat straight up and swung my legs around before me, my bottom sinking into the spongy moss. “M,” Father’s “Fair Queen.” If my mother was not Sycorax, then it must be the mysterious supernatural benefactor who helped Father arrange his return to power.
I would have no proper soul if I were a child of the Queen of Air and Darkness!
I did not know for certain the identity of “M.” It could be someone else: Malagigi’s sister, the serpentine enchantress Melusine, or even his mother, Morgana La Fey. But could either of those beings arrange for the King of Naples to be sailing near our island during a storm? Melusine certainly could not. Morgana? Perhaps, but I believe she had already retreated from our world by then, departing to dwell in Avalon.
But Maeve, Queen of the Elves, who was secretly the demon Lilith? She could have done it. Only the Powers of Heaven had more sway over the mortal world than she!
* * *
TWO hours later, or perhaps two minutes, but it certainly seemed like a long time, I reached the end of my strength. I willed myself to go forward, but my limbs did not move. I could still see, but only through the thinnest cracks in my eyelids.
So close. I could make out the pattern of Titus’s plaid jacket and the cedar Y that was the top of the Staff of Silence sticking up beside him. But it was no good. I could not continue. I should not be surprised, I told myself. Malagigi had warned me that my soul was flawed. Like Astreus, like Mephisto’s friends, I did not have whatever it took to hold out against the terrible fatigue.
Only, as my eyes slid mercifully closed, a stray thought drifted through my mind: How come I made it this far?
My brothers had surrendered, except for Gregor. Why was I still moving?
I gritted my teeth. It could not end like this! Theo could not be abandoned to die in agony and Father to be tortured to death by demons because the rest of us fell asleep!
If my soul could not help me, what of my sins? Why bear the Pride of Angels, if I could not use it to goad me forward?
I turned to my Lady, something I had remembered not to do until now. Of course, nothing was there, but I prayed anyway. Then, gathering the very last of my strength, I shouted.
“Help! Please!”
It seemed a foolish thing to do, but maybe someone else from Malagigi’s Brotherhood of Hope would hear me. On the other hand, something far less pleasant might hear me. But it was all I could think of. My limbs were too tired even to tremble. I lay there no more able to rise than if I had been made of lead.
That was it. It was over.
Gazing through my lashes, I saw a flicker of motion. Ahead of me, Titus stirred. My brother sat up, then rose, moving slowly and sluggishly. Bog muck dripped from his garments. His Highland jacket was splotched with mud, and the once-white socks beneath his green and black kilt were black and filthy. He paused, his knees bending as if he might sink down and rest. However, he caught himself, pulling himself forward with his staff.
He came across the fens, one ponderous step at a time. His face was ruddy with exertion. His eyelids drooped, threatening to close, but he did not slow down.
I could not believe it. Titus? Lazy, sleepy Titus? From where did this stamina come?
He reached me and offered his hand. I smiled but was too tired to talk. Using the last of my strength, I reached up. Wordlessly, he heaved me up over his back and wrapped my arms about his great neck. Then, he began plodding forward.
I bounced on his back, sometimes watching, sometimes dozing. At times, we sank into the water, and Titus was forced to swim—I chuckled sleepily at this. Bog snorkeling was a favorite sport of his, though he had never had to do it while lugging a sister. At other times, he walked through brambles as if they were nothing, despite that the thorns must have scratched his legs beneath his kilt. Perhaps Logistilla had knitted him enchanted knee socks.
With Herculean effort, I handed him the ball. With it, he located the others.
When we reached the others, Titus scooped up both Mephisto and Mab, leaving Gregor to carry Erasmus. Gregor had been resting with his head upon his staff, but he roused himself, lifted our brother, and retrieved his robes. By this time, I had revived some. Titus put me down. I found I could walk again, though shakily. I walked beside him, while he continued with Mab over his back and Mephisto in his arms.
Finally, an eternity later, Mab began to stir. Titus and Gregor lay down their burdens and rested. Mephisto and Erasmus still slept.
“Sorry, Ma’am,” Mab mumbled sleepily.
“We need to rouse them,” Gregor said hoarsely. “Too bad we don’t have any smelling salts.”
“Ah, but we do!” I laughed suddenly. Drawing out my vial of Water of Life, I uncorked it and waved it briefly under the noses of the sleeping men.
A wondrous scent, more beautiful than any rose garden at dawn, filled the air. My eyes opened, and I realized that they had been half closed for hours. For an instant, I felt that I was not in Hell at all, but someplace glorious and holy.
Then, I saw Erasmus staring at me. He did not say anything, but his eyes were black with hatred.
I knew what he was thinking, of course. He was replaying in his mind the last thing he had seen before he went under: me, just standing still, watching him get dragged under the sod. I thought of telling him what happened next, how I had leapt in after him, but decided against it. He would only turn it against me anyway, and there was Theo to rescue.
Mab and Mephisto were both rising.
“Let’s go!” I cried. “Theo needs our help!”
Mephisto tapped his staff, calling back the two snakes, both of whom were asleep, and sending them safely home. “Titus, we need your help to get through the … Titus?”
My great titan of a brother fell facedown upon the spongy loam.
“He’s fallen asleep! After all that!” I laughed and knelt beside him with my vial in my hand. “Help me turn him over.”
Gregor and Erasmus rolled Titus over, but he was not asleep. His eyes were open, almost fixedly so, and his face was deathly pale.
“You must go on without me.” Titus spoke with great effort. “I cannot continue. I have done all that I…” He grabbed at his chest and his upper arm, moaning. “I have saved you. I can do no
more.”
“Don’t be silly!” I said, beginning to open the vial further, but Titus shook his head.
“It will take too much Water to save me now. Water you will need to protect Mankind. Go.”
“That’s ridiculous!” I cried. “You just saved my life! You saved us all! I’m not going to leave you here!”
“I have done my part,” Titus whispered.
“Actually, you’re not done yet,” Erasmus drawled. “Theophrasatus has been burnt from head to toe. We can’t reach him to save him unless you get us through the Wall of Flame.”
“Yeah, you dodo head! We still need you, so there!” Mephisto squatted down beside him and hammered on Titus’s chest with his fists. Then, he knelt and listened to Titus’s heart.
“Miranda,” Mephisto cried, rising. His face was now as pale as Titus’s. “Give him some Water! Quick!”
Mephisto began tapping his staff again and again, calling up one beast after another and sending them away almost as quickly. Anything large enough to carry Titus was either asleep already or began to fall asleep once it arrived.
Titus moaned. “Very well. I can manage one more task, if it will save Theo.”
He struggled to sit up but was unable to do so. Mephisto and Gregor helped him to sit. I offered him Water again, but he shook his head, clutching his chest.
Mab leaned down beside him and said softly, “Mr. Titus, you don’t want to die here! Who knows how long it will take the angels to find out that your soul isn’t in its right place?”
Reluctantly, Titus opened his mouth. I gave him a single drop of Water. The marvelous fragrance filled the air again. The sod beneath our feet trembled as nearby sleepers stirred. Spiky red flowers and little five petaled white ones opened on some nearby brush.
We stood around peering hopefully. Titus struggled to rise but fell back again before reaching his feet.
“It is no good,” he whispered. “I can go no farther. Even with the Water you sacrificed. You will have to find a way to save Theo without me.”
“We cannot just leave you here!” Erasmus exclaimed.
“You will have to,” Titus replied, his Scottish brogue more pronounced than normal. “I canna go on. You canna carry me.” He smiled wanly. “You may tell me that you will collect me on the return trip, if it will make you feel better.”
Erasmus squatted down. “We both know that we may never make it back. For one thing, we had been planning to teleport out, once we found Father … assuming we ever find Ulysses again.”
“Don’t be silly! We’re not leaving anybody!” Mephisto stamped his foot, causing the ground to undulate. Lifting his staff, he peered at its carvings. “I’ll have one of my friends carry you. There must be someone who is not asleep.”
“Please…” whispered Titus.
“But why, Titus?” I asked. “It’s as if you don’t want to continue.”
Titus sat quiet for a time, pale and sweating. Then, finally, he said, “The rest of you cannot imagine what life is like for me.”
“We can imagine a great deal,” said Gregor, of all people. “What in particular do you mean?”
Titus’s breath was coming unevenly, and a hand was still pressed against his chest. He sat for a time with his head resting on his other hand. Finally, he looked up. A single drop of Water would preserve him from death, but it apparently was not enough to cure what ailed him. I clutched the vial in my hand, debating whether to give him more.
“Explain yourself!” Mephisto snapped curtly.
My head snapped up, startled. I could not remember the last time Mephisto had been short with anyone. Titus seemed startled as well. He looked at Mephisto. Then, hanging his head again, he said, “Perhaps, I should start at the beginning.”
“The beginning of what?” I asked.
“The beginning of the Orbis Suleimani.”
“This, I got to hear!” Mab whipped out his notebook and pen.
“But what about Theo?” I cried. “We’ve got to…”
“Shhh.” Gregor put a calming hand on my shoulder. “Hear him out. If Theo has lasted this long, he can wait a few more minutes.”
Mephisto took the crystal sphere from me.
“Theo’s still alive!” he announced. “The other guy with the club—I assume it’s Caliban, because it’s Caliban’s club—is watching over him. Theo’s still…” Mephisto bent close over the ball. “… still breathing!”
“Very well.” Gregor knelt beside Titus. “Speak, Brother.”
“When the demons fell, they formed an infernal council,” Titus whispered, “and swore an oath of obedience to their dark masters. Among other things, they promised to be still and silent when the Great Seven of Hell called upon them to do so—so that the matter of attacking Heaven could be discussed. The right to enforce this oath was given into the hands of the Devil’s bailiff, a demon named Gaap, of the rank of president—which, of course, existed as a rank of office before it became associated with the United States. Gaap is this demon who resides in my staff.
“Hell lost a great deal of power the day King Solomon captured Gaap. So long as Gaap remains restrained, the Great Seven cannot call their people to order. They cannot force them to listen, or fall silent, or to cease their debauched antics in order to organize them toward any useful purpose. Or toward any purpose whatsoever.”
“That’s great,” Mab said enthusiastically. “What a victory that was for the Forces of Good!”
“It is,” Titus replied heavily, “but there’s a price. Because the power my staff draws upon Gaap’s office, rather than a natural power he possesses, he could not be bound as tightly as the other demons. The result is that the power of the staff seeps out, stilling and quelling whatever is nearby. And what’s ‘nearby’ happens to be me.”
Titus raised his weary head and looked at us imploringly. “Do any of you even remember what I was like, before I grew tired, and weary, and slow?”
“Certainly,” Mephisto announced with great zeal. “You were as strong as a bull, as fierce as a bear, and as deadly as a boar!”
Titus’s face broke into a wide grin but it soon faded.
“I was a hero,” he said quietly. “A hero admired by my fellow men and adored by ladies. ‘Titus the Titan,’ they called me, the same way some still call Theo, ‘Theophrastus the Demonslayer.’” He looked down at where his big hands lay in his lap. “It was that hero whom Logistilla wanted. She still recalled me from her youth, my power, my prowess.” He spread his hands indicating himself. “I’m afraid the truth was a great disappointment to her.”
“What has that to do with anything?” Gregor asked, frowning.
“If it’s so hard on you, why don’t you give it up?” asked Mab. “The staff, I mean?”
“Give it to whom?” asked Titus. “If I can hardly endure it, I who could run all day and wrestle a wild horse to the ground? What would it do to my less-enduring siblings? No, it is my cross to bear, and I shall bear it … so long as I do not become a bear again.” He chuckled wanly at his own humor and added more cheerfully, “Though perhaps, I should thank Logistilla, for I feel my two years away from the staff have done me good. I am stronger and more alert since I’ve returned to being a man. More so than I have felt for years. I could never have heeded Miranda’s call just now, if I had not had those two years’ respite.”
“I know how you feel,” Gregor smiled. “I remember the day I turned back from being a leopard to find myself in my buried cell on Mars. I was in this dingy, tiny apartment, but my thoughts were filled with a peace I had not experienced during all those years spent carrying the Staff of Darkness.” He leaned his head back against a rock, reminiscing. “It was glorious! Of course, I didn’t know it was because there had been a demon in my staff poisoning my soul.”
“My two years away from the staff helped me save you all, but they were not enough to save me.” Titus’s chin sagged. He face was still an unhealthy putty color. “The hero in me lives no more … or perhaps he slu
mbers the sleep of no return, back there under the black waters. What is left of me … canna go on. I have not the courage, the resolve, needed to continue to face the power of Gaap. My staff is too heavy. I canna do it. The demon has won. I am done.”
We were silent a time, except for Mephisto, who was crying noisily. He hugged Titus and would not let go of him. Erasmus blew his nose on a handkerchief Mab offered him. My eyes, too, were wet with tears. I wiped them away quickly. Gregor, clad again in his crimson cardinal robes, bowed his head in prayer.
Then, Gregor raised his head. There was a light in his dark eyes. He touched Titus’s shoulder. “Brother,” he said hoarsely, “I have a solution for you!”
“And what is that?” Titus’s voice was nearly inaudible.
“We trade.”
“Wh-what?”
“Sloth is a vice I do not fear,” Gregor smiled. “Had it been able to conquer me, it would have done so during my many years of imprisonment. Instead, I have defeated it.”
“So, you say, Brother,” Titus said gently, “but what proof do we have of this?”
“Proof?” Gregor scowled, outraged. “Why, how about the fact that I am fit, when I could have been flabby and rotund from lack of exertion. How about…” Gregor threw back his head and gave a short laugh. He gestured grandly toward the swamp. “You have seen the proof with your own eyes. I stood watch over these”—he gestured at Mab, Erasmus, and Mephisto—“and I did not sleep. If sloth could conquer me, this would have been the time and place. Give your staff to me, Titus. I will carry it now.”
With that, he extended the Staff of Darkness to Titus.
A spark of hope came into Titus’s brown eyes, and he straightened, breathing more easily. Reaching out his big hand, he clasped Gregor’s tightly. Then, very slowly, very reluctantly, he extended his staff.
Partway, he paused and asked uncertainly, “The Staff of Darkness … what is its vice?”
“I do not know,” Gregor admitted.
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