Prospero Regained

by L. Jagi Lamplighter

  “Don’t you judge me! I cannot afford to live up to your lofty ideals!”

  Even though I continued to say nothing, Uncle Antonio let out an inarticulate cry and buried his face in his hands. Perhaps, there was a drop of decency left within him somewhere.

  “I am waiting, Antonio,” Lilith called sweetly, tapping her fingers on the edge of her chariot.

  “Stop!” King Vinae’s voice rang out across the ice.

  “Who speaks?” Lilith glanced about.

  “It is I, King Vinae. These mortals are under my protection.”

  That was unexpected!

  A great deal of our plan hinged upon whether or not the Club of Wisdom had told us the truth. So in many ways, we staked our lives upon King Vinae’s word. But I had not expected him to come to our defense himself.

  “Yours?” Lilith gestured toward Caliban. “You are stuck in a flute!”

  “I am the master of thirty-six legions, nor have my rights and perquisites been stripped from me. I am still recognized here,” the voice issuing from the Club replied. Caliban kept the club and the flute together, so that there would be no opportunity for Lilith to discover her mistake and anticipate our plan.

  Lilith pursed her rosy lips. “What do you want?”

  “I call upon the right of last request. By ancient law, I cannot be refused.”

  “King Vinae!” Lilith frowned. “Whose side are you on?”

  “I am on their side—the side of Solomon’s Heirs,” replied the demon’s voice.

  There was a protracted gasp across the entire makeshift stadium. In all my long life, I had never been so surprised. I gawked at the club. Was this a trick? Could he … could the demon actually mean it?

  The Queen of Air and Darkness laughed. “Fool! You will never be welcomed back into Heaven!”

  “Heaven?” snorted the club. “Who said anything about Heaven? If they win, you lose. As long as I am doomed to live in the eternal darkness forever, you might as well be as miserable as I. Besides,” King Vinae added, “I have become fond of them. I would suffer my torment more cheerfully knowing they had made it to Paradise.”

  Lilith gnashed her teeth, screaming with rage at the mention of Paradise. Then, she regained her self-control and smiled charmingly.

  “Shall I allow their brother his last request as Vinae asks?” Lilith addressed the crowd. “It is more pathetic that way!”

  There was a roar of approval and more hoots. Lilith waved a hand at the Torturers, and they made several passes over Erasmus and his cage with their sickles. Erasmus’s screams ceased, and he hung limply against the thorns. Logistilla broke from the rest of us and, running to him, wiped the blood from his face. Erasmus raised his head and recognition came into his eyes. He seemed very surprised to see her.

  “What is the meaning of this?” my brother cried. There was a faint glimmer of hope in his eyes. “How did you get here so quickly?”

  “I have come to play you one last song,” I said, struggling against the Torturer’s grip.

  The hope died in Erasmus’s eyes, and he gave a shaky laugh. “Came to kill me by your own hand, have you? Quite sporting of you to travel all this way just for that. You could just as easily have killed me from the camp … though I suppose that would lack the added pleasure of being able to rub it in.” He tried to raise his hand, but could not. “That was not gracious of me. Please forgive me. I’ve had a hard day.”

  Erasmus’s eyes narrowed as he took in me, Logistilla, Ulysses, Caliban, and Mab. “Odd bunch to send to see me off.”

  Moving closer, Logistilla hissed through the bars, “How could you do this, Erasmus? You of all people! I thought you wanted to live more than any of us.”

  “Only because I feared I’d end up here.” Erasmus tried to shrug and then winced. Apparently, even with the supernaturally painful effect dampened, the thorns were still sharp. “But I am already here, so what is there to be afraid of now? I have failed everyone in my life! Father, Maria…” his voice trailed off.

  “Not everyone,” I replied softly. “You have never failed Cornelius.”

  Erasmus looked up, puzzled. Before he could speak, Caliban loped forward until he was in the center of the ring of demons. Head thrust forward and shoulders hunched, he looked the image of a wild brute. He scratched his chest and his armpits.

  “What funny creature is this?” Lilith leaned over, her interest piqued.

  He spoke in the slow slurred speech of an idiot. “Great Queen. I am Caliban, whose rightful island Prospero stole and made his own. I salute you and offer to lay my club at your feet, if you will but raise me up as you have done unto Antonio.”

  “Sounds intriguing. Tell me more.”

  “Great Lilith, you promised pretty Miranda to your cat. I, too, will be your cat and lap at your feet, if you will give her to me as well. Surely, there will be something left of her once your servant is done with her. Long have I longed to beget little Calibans upon her.”

  My skin crawled, and I felt suddenly weak and clammy. This, too, was part of our plan, or rather, Caliban’s distraction was—King Vinae had predicted that Lilith and her minions would be amused by crude antics. Nothing had been said, however, about what Caliban should say.

  Only now, when I was helpless and trapped, did I realize the flaw in our plan. With a word, Caliban could reveal our plot and deliver us all into Lilith’s grasp. If he was loyal to us, to Father, to Mephisto, all was well.

  But, could we trust him?

  A cold sweat now coated the back of my neck. What if Caliban betrayed us? After all, he was not fam …

  But he was family. He was my half-brother, the son of my father, as much my family as Ulysses, or Titus, or Theo. Silently, I committed my life into his hands, convinced that he was worthy of my trust.

  Lilith laughed, “We might enjoy seeing that, mightn’t we, my subjects?” The crowd roared. “You are an entertaining thing; what else can you do?”

  “I can sing.” Caliban danced about before Erasmus’s cage, belting out words Shakespeare had written for him:

  No more dams I’ll make for fish

  Nor fetch in firing

  At requiring;

  Nor scrape trencher, nor wash dish

  ’Ban, ’Ban, Cacaliban

  Has a new master: get a new man.

  Freedom, hey-day! hey-day, freedom! freedom,

  hey-day, freedom!

  “I can tell stories, too! Would you like to hear one?” Turning toward Erasmus’s cage, Caliban declared in a loud voice, “And the cat in the boots said to the young man, ‘Behold, if you wish to make your fortune, you must do exactly as I say!’”

  As he said this, Caliban looked directly into Erasmus’s eyes and extended his club in a dramatic flourish. I heard nothing, but Erasmus started and looked rapidly from the club to me.

  Caliban had done it! He had given King Vinae a chance to fill Erasmus in on the plan. The hardest part had been accomplished! From here on, everything would go smoothly—unless someone betrayed us.

  It was out of my hands. I would have to trust my family.

  Caliban babbled on a bit, mixing lines from various fairy tales. Lilith yawned. “Enough! The time has come for Erasmus Prospero to die.”

  “Remember. Last request,” King Vinae’s voice called, as Caliban quickly moved the club next to the flute again.

  “Ah. Right.” The Queen of Air and Darkness directed her attention toward my brother. “Erasmus Prospero, do you have a last request before we kill you—which is when the real torture will begin?” The hordes of demons and goblins cackled gleefully. Lilith continued, “You may ask for anything you desire, except for your release. Do you wish us to allow one soul out of Hell? I will escort the lucky person myself. You could grant freedom to your uncle Antonio here. Then he would not be constrained to sully his soul further by striking the blow against you, for he would no longer need to fear what I could do to him. He would be free to spend eternity in Limbo.

  “Or, you could
ask that your own soul be escorted to Limbo. Or that your body be returned to your father, who could then use his new Staff of Eternity to resurrect you, undoing all our wicked work.

  “Or, you may ask for the life of your son Fiachra. Otherwise, seven years after Mab here takes the Last Walk, Fiachra Swan-Lord will be the next denizen of Fairyland to be tithed.”

  “Rather decent of her,” Ulysses murmured to Mab and Logistilla, “to make cracking suggestions. That idea about letting us take his body back is the dog’s bollocks! We’d get Erasmus back, and everything would be fine.”

  “Not really,” Mab growled back. “She’s got Miss Miranda!”

  “Oh! Bloody Hell!” Ulysses exclaimed. “That’s no good!”

  Erasmus hesitated, torn. He glanced at the carved length of wood in Caliban’s hand, as if debating whether or not to trust King Vinae’s advice. Would he do as the Club had instructed? Or would he request some other boon?

  I waited, my heart hammering. Silently, I prayed, “Please, Erasmus! Please!” For, if he did not choose to have me play for him, I would surely die … or worse.

  Beside me, I saw Mab’s eyes quickly flicker over the various objects in the environment. He clearly reached the same conclusion I had just reached. If Erasmus chose his own freedom, in any form, Ulysses, Logistilla, Caliban, and Mab could still escape. They were close enough to one another that they could successfully flee using the Staff of Transportation. I, on the other hand, would be trapped in the numbing grip of the Torturers. Unless Lilith instructed them to release me, I would never leave Hell again.

  Even if my brother made a choice that did not benefit himself, such as the freedom of his son, if Erasmus failed to request that I play—requiring the Torturers to let go of me—my life as I knew it would be over.

  Looking across the snow, I met Erasmus’s gaze. His dark eyes stared mockingly back at me, and I realized Lilith had outwitted me.

  She had offered my brother everything he desired. Erasmus merely had to ask that Ulysses and Logistilla be allowed to take his body back to Father, and, most likely, he would one day live again. He would be home, with Father and all his family, and the only price paid would be me—exactly the outcome he had been plotting for when he suggested I be the volunteer for his spell. As to his son, if Erasmus were alive and free, he could find a way to save Fiachra.

  On the other hand, if he chose to go along with our plan, he would be trading a sure thing for the unknown. No, it was not that our plan was unknown that was holding him back. It was me. If he chose our plan, he would have to trust me, just as I, moments ago, had been forced to trust Caliban.

  But, Erasmus did not trust me.

  Uncle Antonio had won. The Queen of Air and Darkness had won. The Family Prospero was going to be undone by demon-sown mistrust.

  Would I have come had I known what was at stake? That I might lose everything and be handed over to Osae the Red as his plaything before being dragged off to the Tower of Pain?

  I recalled a thousand offenses Erasmus had committed against me: how he had mocked me ceaselessly; how he had ridiculed me in public; how he had called me unwomanly before the other ladies of the English court, provoking a duel with Theo, which led to my learning to embroider and to the coat-of-arms I sewed for Theo; how he had withered my hair and scalp, leaving my hair permanently white—he had not known at the time that I could restore its vitality using Water of Life; how he had dangled his shares of Prospero, Inc., before me just to yank them away again, resulting in the deaths of over a hundred thousand people when I was not present to mitigate the effects of the worst typhoon in recorded history.

  And I was willing to make such a sacrifice, to give up everything of worth left to me, to risk the lives of my family and those of countless people on earth for this man?

  Across the ice, our eyes met.

  For an instant, it was as if I was Erasmus, as if I suffered despair such as I had not previously thought possible; as if it were I who had lost all hope—lost my love, been betrayed, and wasted my life in hatred.

  It was as if I was the one who had loved Maria, who loved Father more than my own life, who loved Cornelius, despite his shortcomings, loved him for his intelligence, his wit, and his refusal to bow to despair, despite the mountain of challenges afflicting our blind brother.

  I felt such sorrow, such self-loathing. Nothing in my previous experience prepared me for such depth of anguish.

  I stumbled back, my heart pounding. The Torturer’s claws tore into my shoulder. I managed to stifle my scream.

  It had happened again. This time, I had seen a glimpse of the inner heart of my brother Erasmus. No wonder my brother had volunteered to take Father’s place. The comeuppance he had suffered at Uncle Antonio’s hands, and then again upon learning that I was not what he had taken me to be, was far worse than anything Hell might devise.

  I could not hold him fully responsible for his rancor toward me. Some of it had been Uncle Antonio’s doing. When it came down to it, Erasmus was not the enemy. He was a man whom Cornelius loved, and he was my brother.

  Closing my eyes, I forgave him.

  Opening them again, I met Erasmus’s gaze and hope leapt in my heart. Then, a sneer curled his lip, and I knew that I was lost. Tears blurred my vision, as sorrow for vanished opportunities swelled my throat. I could barely breathe. Silently, I prayed that Mab would be able to get the flute out of Hell before his entire race fell under the sway of the Queen of Air and Darkness.

  How different my life had turned out from what I had dreamt it might be when, as a maid of fifteen, I journeyed from Prospero’s Island to Milan. What great hopes I had had for the wide world beyond our island, that brave new world. I did not feel that I had wasted my time; yet, I had never become a Sibyl, never become a wife, or a mother, and my two chances at love had been so fleeting that I could hardly say I had loved at all.

  Both of the men were now dead; both killed by treachery.

  My one consolation was that my epitaph would not bear the cold inscription that the dream Astreus had predicted. I had trusted my family. That was what had brought me to this impasse. Perhaps, instead, it might read: “She was loyal.”

  No, even that was robbed of me, for my very last action had been to disobey my father. Father had been right, of course.

  Oh what a fool I had been to come!

  My brother turned his head what little he could until he could see the beautiful Queen of Air and Darkness in her black chariot. She nodded prettily, awaiting his request.

  Erasmus raised his voice: “Oh, Great Lilith, my last request is that my sister Miranda play one last song for me upon her flute.”

  I gasped. Ulysses and Caliban grinned. Logistilla sagged in relief. Mab let out a strangled cheer.

  “And risk having her slay you herself? For, if the Staff of Winds is one of the tighter bars, her first note will kill you.” Lilith clapped her hands. “Oh, that is splendid. Rather like Russian roulette, only with thorn bushes.” A tiny furrow appeared between her lovely brows as her eyes paused upon my emerald wings, but it did not dampen her enthusiasm. “Let the concert begin.”

  The Torturer released me. I slipped my hands free of the handcuffs, and Caliban offered me my flute. My upper arms felt numb where the crab-like claws had pinched me, but I was able to move my shoulders. I took the flute and walked forward.

  My brother watched me intently from where he waited in his warped cage. Some of his dark hair had pulled free of his queue and again hung in his eyes. His face was pale, except where it bled from multiple scratches.

  Still sneering, Erasmus looked straight at me, his gaze defiant, as if daring me to slay him. He spoke in a soft, almost menacing voice. “I would rather be damned for trusting my family than redeemed for doubting them.”

  “Good for you, Sir,” Mab murmured, taking off his hat and holding it in front of his chest.

  “Before, I play, I would like to make a dedication,” I announced.

  Lilith nodded and wav
ed her hand, encouraging me to add to the entertainment of her hordes.

  “This song is for my Lady Eurynome,” I began. There was a flash of lightning in the far distance. The ice beneath us shook, making a noise like thunder.

  “You better not say Her name again,” Logistilla hissed, “and shouldn’t you be dedicating this to Erasmus?”

  Drawing myself up, I chanted: “In the beginning, Eurynome moved across the face of Chaos, but found no place to rest her feet. Dancing upon the dark waters, she found the wind behind her had become a serpent, the great Ophion. Eurynome danced, and Ophion coiled about her divine limbs. Thus was the universe conceived.”

  I then told a succinct version of the tale Father Christmas told us at Landover Mall, about the demons and their garden and how the Divine Infinite breathed life into the first of men. Each time I spoke my Lady’s name, my infernal audience cringed, Lilith scowled, and a lightning bolt snaked across the sky.

  “As the woman sat beneath the blessed tree,” I concluded, “a fruit fell into her hand, and she bit into it. Some say that it fell by its own volition, but others claim that Ophion, the Serpent of the Wind, moved through its branches, disturbing them; for he was ever a champion of mankind and an enemy of all demons.

  “Many eons have passed since that long ago time,” I finished, ignoring the hisses of my disgruntled audience, “but still Eurynome dances, bringing forth life and trampling Chaos beneath Her feet. This song, I dedicate to Her and to Her consort, the mysterious Serpent of the Wind, wherever he may have wandered. May they find their way back to each other. For while Love may be postponed or delayed, it can never truly be denied … or bound.” I bowed my head. My audience hooted and booed.

  I stood in their midst, holding the Staff of Winds in my hands. Never had its four-foot length of pale, polished pinewood seemed so precious to me. I recalled the last time I had played it, how its sacred music had soothed the creatures who were tortured here, giving them a moment’s respite from their millennia of torture. Tears rose in my eyes. I longed to play it one more time, to hear its voice, to let it, just once more, transport me beyond this mortal coil into some realm more sublime.