Prospero Regained

by L. Jagi Lamplighter

  “I’ve lost the rest of my armor,” he explained. “The heat of the lava was too much for it. Too hot even for the enchanted garments I wore beneath. Both melted. I must thank Logistilla, though, as her handiwork saved my life, allowing me to live long enough to swim to the edge, where Caliban was able to reach me. Where is Logistilla?” He looked around.

  “We haven’t rescued her yet.” Erasmus held his staff at arm’s length. It was still whirring. Mephisto, Mab, and I took a careful step back. “That lava must be something! I’ve never heard of anything that could damage Logistilla’s cloth!”

  “Erasmus, can you do the same to Caliban as you did for me?” Theo tapped the new skin of his arm with some pleasure.

  “Only if Miranda gives him some Water of Life,” Erasmus replied. “All the Staff of Decay can do is speed up the normal healing process. Without the Water to regenerate him, my staff will scar him for life … if it doesn’t just kill him outright.”

  They all looked at me.

  The sharp edges of the tiny crystal vial bit into my hand as my fingers clenched around it. There was so little Water left. It was so rare now, so vital! Each drop represented years of life for one of my brothers, years that Theo or Mephisto or Titus would lose if I gave out what was necessary to help Caliban. Nor would a single drop do. Or rather, one drop would stabilize him, but it would leave him ugly and fleshless. It had taken four drops to heal the airy, bodiless Zephyrus, after he had been attacked by angry djinn. Caliban would undoubtedly require more.

  If I refused, Caliban would die. My would-be-rapist, my ancient enemy, would perish, never to set foot upon the face of the Earth again. True, I said I forgave him, but did that erase his crimes? Father had saved me that day, but how many other women had he raped down through the years, before Mephisto managed to tame him and make a mockery of a gentleman out of him?

  How many women had not been saved, as I had not been saved on New Year’s Day?

  My old hatred rose a hundredfold. For centuries, his savage violence had haunted my dreams. I remembered the awful smell, the groping hands, the pain when he broke my forearm, snapping it in two—it had tingled when the weather changed for years afterward—until my first trip to the Well at the World’s End put a stop to mortal aches and pains.

  My broken arm, with all its aches, was insignificant compared to the betrayal—the terrible, awful knowledge that a friend could not be trusted. This first betrayal now cut me afresh. I saw it as the harbinger of all the betrayals that had followed … including my father’s.

  I could not turn on my father. I could not destroy Hell and the many demons whose temptations had ruined my family, but I could put an end to this one, first traitor.

  Caliban knelt on the sharp obsidian, chest heaving, most of his weight resting on his club. As he gazed at me with his blackened blistered face, hope slowly drained from his eyes.

  “Hurry up, Miranda,” whined Mephisto. “Fix my Bully Boy!”

  Mephisto gave me an encouraging smile, but Caliban knew better. He nodded, once, and lowered his head.

  My head throbbed oddly as time seemed to stand still. To leave another human being like this was unthinkable, and yet I could not raise my hand to offer him the Water.

  I forced myself to look at my surroundings. All around us lay the stark, inhuman landscape of twisted and writhing stone. Rivers of lava, with their cargo of burning souls, flowed between the islands, and jets of red-orange flame shot up against the blackened sky. The Hellwinds had brought Caliban here. Was this where his soul would rest if he died now? Would he be trapped here forever, burning, suffering?

  If so, could I condemn a man to this? Condemn him for a crime attempted five hundred years ago? Did not forgiveness mean one washed the slate clean and started anew? I recalled the kindly things Caliban had said about me when I overheard him speaking to Erasmus near Eurynome’s Chapel on Father’s Island. Suddenly, I felt chagrined.

  “She’s not going to do it.” Erasmus smirked. “She didn’t rescue me, either.”

  It brought me an iota of comfort to know that I had already moved to kneel beside Caliban before Erasmus spoke.

  With Herculean effort, I pulled the stopper from the little vial. At first, my hand would hardly obey me. Only the firmest pride and discipline forced the motion of my arm. But then, as I lifted the stopper, and the glorious smell again assailed us, a warmth crept into my heart. As my spirits rose, a huge burden was lifted from my shoulders. I felt so light, I feared my feet might lose contact with the ground.

  Overcome by this strange fierce joy, I let six drops fall into Caliban’s mouth. Startled, he jerked his head, and the first drop missed him, splashing against the ashen rock.

  A single green sprout broke through the volcanic glass with a crack. Then, a second and a third, then a dozen, and then fifty. Obsidian crackled all around us. Vines grew and sprouted, making a soft rustling noise, like leaves in the wind. Morning glories, ferns, lily of the valley, and soft green moss spread outward, until our entire island was a garden wonderland, such as I had seldom seen even in the most beautiful gardens of Old Europe. Across the river of lava, I could see Gregor and Titus gaping in astonishment.

  A little breeze stirred, cooling our sweaty faces.

  “How beautiful,” whispered Theo.

  Kneeling, he put his hands together and bowed his head. Mab took off his hat and held it over his heart.

  “Ma’am, this is bad,” Mab muttered, despite his clear delight at the change of scenery. “Even up on top, Water of Life attracts stuff. But, down here? Only…” He paused, searching for the name of one of his gods by which to swear. After mopping his brow, he threw up a hand to signify defeat. “Heck, none of the guys I call upon know what might be attracted down here!”

  From the distance came a crash. One of the other volcanic islands heaved, splitting apart into a geyser of lava. Then, another island rose and cracked, and then a third. Something big moved beneath the surface of the lava. Guessing from the landmasses it displaced, it was even bigger than our kronosaur, and it was coming this way! Overhead, flocks of bat-winged imps rose into the air, swarming toward us. They were followed by larger flying demons.

  “Time to go!” Erasmus swung his humming staff near Caliban, whose flesh leapt across his body, causing the large man to cry out in agony. Quickly, I gave him one more drop and then put the vial away.

  Grabbing Caliban’s hand, I ran through the lilies and wisteria to the edge of our island. My brothers and Mab ran with us.

  “How are we going to get across?” I released the large man, who received a bear hug from Mephisto, who then gave him his blue fleur-de-lis surcoat to cover Caliban’s nakedness. “What about Mephisto’s friends?”

  Behind us, though still some distance away, another island rose and fell as the whatever-it-was grew closer.

  “No good. Most of them are afraid of fire.” Mephisto wiped sweat from his eyes. “The ones big enough to carry us, anyway. Besides, I checked while you were helping Theo, and the bigger ones are still asleep, even the snake.”

  “Then, how?” Gregor asked hoarsely.

  “Caliban can throw us,” Mephisto shouted confidently. “He’s practiced. He’s been in the circus.”

  “How will he cross?” cried Theo, as Caliban hefted Mephisto and tossed him across the lava-filled gap.

  Tumbling through the air, Mephisto shouted back, “He’ll have to juuump!”

  Great, I thought, as my turn came to be flung across the great fiery gulch. He’ll fall in the lava, and all that Water I just gave him will have been wasted.

  I flew through the air, cinders catching in my hair. The glass-coated ground rushed at me far too quickly. I threw up my hands to protect my face, only the ground never made it. Instead, something caught me by the waist, and I found myself hanging upside down. With a toss, Titus threw me into the air and spun me about, righting me. Then he put me gently on my feet.

  “Thank you, Titus. Very kind of you,” I murmured as he
reached up to catch Theo.

  Caliban threw Erasmus and then Mab. Titus caught them, stumbling a bit the last time. When we were all on our feet, Caliban drew back, preparing to run. As he charged, his foot slipped on the uneven ground, and he fell heavily, slicing open his naked arm and thigh on the sharp obsidian. Sheepishly, he rose to his feet and tried again. This time, when he slipped, he managed, arms windmilling, to catch himself before he fell. After a few more false starts, Caliban walked to the very edge of the gap, his naked body dripping with blood, and called:

  “It’s no good. I’m going to have to jump without a running start.”

  “Ridiculous,” snapped Erasmus.

  “What else can he do?” asked Titus.

  Mephisto slapped his hand against his head and tapped his staff. I began to imagine that Caliban was no longer crouched on the far side preparing to jump, rather that he stood next to Mephisto. Then he was here, next to Mephisto, smiling broadly.

  “Well,” Erasmus laughed, “that was amazingly easy. Really nice being a Prospero, isn’t it?”

  “It is, indeed.” Mephisto hugged his staff to his chest and rubbed his cheek against the winged lion that topped it.

  “A very nice staff, Mephisto, though I like mine…”—Gregor paused, glanced between his hand and Titus’s, and frowned—“… better.”

  “What now?” rumbled Titus.

  We looked around. We were surrounded, for as far as the eye could see, by black islands separated by rivers of lava. The great island-crushing thing and the flocks of demons were quickly approaching.

  “Hey, Harebrain? Any chance of calling back that big black bird?” asked Mab.

  “After we burned her?” Mephisto shook his head. “Not a chance! She’d be as likely to join their side as to help us.” He pointed toward the nearest flock of imps with his elbow as he said “their side.” Then, he pulled off the scarf he had wrapped around his neck and handed it to Caliban.

  “Here, this will make a nice loincloth.”

  “Loincloth,” Gregor snorted. “That is hardly more decent than nakedness. Here, let me take off my outer garment.”

  “Sorry, there’s nothing I can do about your feet … D’oh!” Mephisto slapped his forehead again. “What a dope I am! I shouldn’t have called Caliban to me. I should have sent him home, back to where I’d first called him from. He could have picked up a few things for us before I called him back.”

  “Can’t you send him back now?” Mab asked.

  “I could,” Mephisto replied, “but now he’d appear back on the other side of the lava river, where I just called him from. But it does give me an idea!”

  As Gregor removed his crimson robe, Mephisto tapped his staff. I began to imagine seven rough-looking young men in jeans, hooded sweatshirts, and a few spiked leather jackets, each with a great deal of gold jewelry hanging about his neck. Then, they were here. The seven young men looked around and clung to one another, wailing and wide-eyed with terror.

  “Hi, there! It’s me. Remember me? The guy who pays for all your bling-bling?” Mephisto spread his arms, giving them a cheerful smile. Then, he pointed toward the biggest one, and another one who was about Theo’s size. “You! You! Strip! That’s right, take off all your clothes. Hurry, boys, you don’t want to stay in Hell a moment longer than you have to, do you? Vite! Vite!”

  “Holy Croesus! His staff can actually call seven thugs from D.C.” Mab whistled. He scratched his stubble, grimacing. “He mentioned this when we first met him, during the drive to Vermont to visit Mr. Theophrastus, but all this time, I thought that was his idea of a joke.”

  Quickly, two of the young men stripped down to their underwear, which Theo insisted they be allowed to keep. Their companions huddled together, the hoods of their sweatshirts pulled over their heads to protect them from the ash and cinders. As soon as their clothing was on the ground, Mephisto tapped his staff and sent the terrified hoodlums home.

  “How did you acquire such unsavory servants?” Gregor asked disapprovingly.

  “They mugged me,” Mephisto explained. “After I had my friends”—he patted the figurines on his staff fondly—“explain things to them, they agreed to come work for me.”

  “Hardly nice to bring them to a place like this … even if they are muggers,” Erasmus said. He ducked his head as the sky rained cinders. “On the other hand, this place would make one heck of a Scared Straight program!”

  “I’ll give ’em a bonus,” Mephisto said confidently. “Maybe a Lear jet or a Humvee.” As he handed the sweatshirts, jeans, and sneakers to Theo and Caliban, I could not help wondering who Mephisto expected would pay for these new toys.

  Mab wondered the same thing, only he did it out loud. “Hey, Harebrain, how do you pay for all this stuff you give them if you are always broke?”

  “Why do you think I go broke so quickly?” Mephisto answered cheerfully. “I am a rich, stock-owning Prospero, after all. But by the time I get done feeding and taking care of all my friends, I seldom have anything left. I do have a lot of friends, you know.” He patted his staff. “That and taking pretty girls on expensive dates. That eats up the lucre, too.”

  Caliban squeezed into the larger thug’s jeans and Nikes but not the leather jacket, which was too small. He managed to pull on one of the sweatshirts. Theo received a hooded sweatshirt, jeans, and a pair of black boots. He put on the leather jacket Caliban had discarded and ripped the hooded sweatshirt into strips which he used to strap on his breastplate. Then, he took charge.

  Coolly, in his best Theophrastus the Demonslayer voice, my brother instructed: “Mephisto, find us a path out of here. Erasmus and Titus—Gregor, keep your staves ready. Gregor, unlimber the Staff of Darkness and get us some cover!” He glanced in puzzlement at Titus, who held up Gregor’s old staff. Theo shrugged and clicked his goggles, which were, amazingly, still working, and a low noise, like a dynamo beginning to spin, reverberated from his staff. “As for the rest of you, stay behind me!”

  Spreading his legs and setting his feet on the bumpy ground, he shouldered the Staff of Devastation and took aim.

  CHAPTER

  TEN

  Promises of Marriage

  Fifteen minutes later, blazing sunlight, more brilliant than the eye could tolerate, flooded the lava tube where we had paused, hiding and waiting for Theo and Gregor to catch up. It was warm here, but only pleasantly so, not like the oppressive heat of the lava fields we had just fled. We stood around Mephisto who was attempting to use John Dee’s crystal globe to provide light.

  “Show me the sun,” he had instructed the ball.

  “Too bright! Too bright!” several of us shouted as a brilliant glow lit the room, hurting our eyes.

  “Daylight, Harebrain, not the sun itself!” Mab had turned his back and covered his face with his arms. “You wanna blind us all?”

  “Show me daylight.” Mephisto’s voice came cheerfully.

  A moment later, a pleasant glow poured out of the glass sphere, illuminating the cruel points of the stalactites hanging overhead and the pumice floor, which crunched beneath our step.

  Behind us, Theo and Gregor came running down the tube. When they reached the rest of us, they stopped, panting. Theo’s staff still hummed and vibrated in his hand.

  “Got him,” Theo said. “At least, I think I did, but I had to shoot him twice.” He paused while Erasmus whistled in astonishment. “I’ve never had to shoot anything twice before. Must have been something big, in all senses of the word!”

  “What about the flying flocks?” asked Caliban.

  “Scattered after the first blast, those that didn’t immediately crisp,” Theo replied. He twisted his white metallic staff, and the whirring dynamo noise fell silent. He then separated it and slipped the two parts into the holster on his back.

  Gregor said, “It’s a very good thing we found the lava tube before Theo fired at full-strength. When the glare cleared from the first shot, the entire landscape—islands, demons, sinners, and all—had b
een transformed into one giant glassy crater, which promptly sank with a loud pop, lava pouring over its lip. This sent a wave of molten magma over the place where we had all been standing.” He shook his head. “I am not a soft man, but even I feel sorry for the sinners caught in that blast. True, they will return eventually, but pain is still painful, even in Hell.”

  “Good thing the ball showed us the tube,” Mab said. “Not sure I could have taken much more of that squiggly landscape that looked like weird petrified intestines.”

  “Speaking of this tube,” asked Titus, “where does it come out, do we know?”

  “In the country of Gluttons,” Mephisto confided, smiling down at the glowing ball, so that his face was suffused with light. “I peeked ahead.”

  “Sounds unpleasant.” Gregor shook his head. “Especially since my stomach is so empty, the burning wine Maugris spoke about is beginning to sound appealing.”

  Titus removed his pack. “I have some rations still. Oh, wait, they’ve been dipped in the bog. Is that going to harm them?”

  “Let’s take a look,” insisted Erasmus, opening Titus’s pack.

  Titus’s food turned out to have been mainly prewrapped or in sealed bags. The bread and chocolate were ruined, but there were various nuts, summer sausage, a bag of baby carrots, and some protein bars, which he kindly shared among the eight of us, along with three cans of soda pop. The smell of sausage and grape soda pop made my mouth water. I sat on the pumice and eagerly devoured my share. I could not recall having been this hungry since the late seventeenth century, the time I had spent three days trapped in a fallen house.

  “Best not to go into the Hell of the Gluttons hungry, if we can help it,” observed Mab, munching on a handful of carrots.

  I bit into a carrot. I could not recall the last time I had eaten something that tasted so good. One benefit of our recent traumas was that my thoughts were no longer obsessed with Astreus. I felt sane again; my mind was my own.