Prospero Regained

by L. Jagi Lamplighter

  “Huh, look at that!” Mab whispered to me, awed. “All that Eleusinian stuff must have worked! Demeter really did adopt Mr. Prospero, which makes him the brother of the Maiden.” He jerked his head in the direction of the death god. “This guy’s wife!”

  “And you let your wife rule you?” The Queen of Air and Darkness gave him a long sultry look. “I remember you being made of more manly stuff back in our day.”

  He crossed his arms. “Your point being…?”

  Exasperated, she let out a stream of curses.

  “You are undone, Lilith,” Father spoke kindly. “Leave while you can still do so with dignity.”

  “Damn you, Prospero! And damn your family!”

  “No, thank you.” Father bowed respectfully, a twinkle in his eye. “We’ll stick with Heaven.”

  Turning her back on us, the Queen of Air and Darkness stormed to her chariot and drove away.

  “Thank you, Brother-In-Law.” My father addressed the armored death god. “We will depart now and not impose on your hospitality any longer. Come, Children!”

  The others, including Astreus, moved quickly to Father’s side, but I hesitated, trying to catch a glimpse of the god’s forehead. He caught me looking and pushed back his hair, showing me a smooth sable brow.

  “I see you know who I really am. Sibyls always seem to know more than is good for them. Keep it to yourself!” He glared at me, an intimidating experience. “My mark vanished when Our Savior forgave my sins at Calvary, but you would not have cared to see it. It was not pretty like yours.”

  I blushed, embarrassed to have been caught staring, and started to turn away, but I could not let the opportunity slip by entirely. Moving closer to him, I asked softly, “I’ve always wanted to know … Which story is real? What really happened in the Garden?”

  He crossed his arms again. At close range, his shoulders were huge. It was like standing next to a bull or a very large wolf. “I wouldn’t know. It was before my time.”

  I lowered my head, chastened.

  “But I will tell you this…” A gleam of humor came into his sardonic eyes. “My Lady Mother’s tale never quite agreed with the story told by my Lord Father, and—like all things—the real events were far more complicated than any fable.” He leaned forward, towering over me. “Now, White Maiden, take your people and go. Your blessedness disturbs my sullen kingdom.”

  I fled, quickly returning to where my family stood. We put our hands on Ulysses’s staff.

  “Nice to have met you, Hades.” Mephisto held up his free hand, spreading his thumb and his third and fourth fingers. “Live long and Prospero!”

  The god of the dead snorted. Returning his great plumed helmet to his head, he vanished from view. Though whether he stayed or left, no mortal could say.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-TWO

  Into the Tempest

  In the twinkling of an eye, Ulysses transported us back to the courtyard on Father’s island. Immediately, gale force winds dragged us across the orchids. Rains drenched us; our wet clothes stuck to our bodies. Ulysses screamed and vanished again, taking those who were still holding on with him, which happened to be Logistilla and Gregor. The rest of us had already let go of the Staff of Transportation and were now pushed along by the winds until we reached the trees, where we grabbed onto their trunks and held on for dear life.

  Overhead a storm raged as violently as even I had never seen. The heavens clashed. Fire and pitch rained from the sky. Forty-five-foot waves crashed against the shore, and, as far as we could see, the surface of the ocean was entirely white with foam and spray. A mix of rain and seawater blew in our faces; the air smelled of ozone.

  With a horrific grinding noise, the tower at the top of Father’s house tumbled off, crashing down into the ravine where the Eridanus flowed, the river Father had named after the constellation. It was awe-inspiring and terrifying.

  “Now, that’s a storm! The way I remember ’em from the old days!” Mab grinned furiously as he clung to the bole of a pine.

  “What is happening?” Father shouted. He had his back pressed against a wide oak, his arm up to shield his face from the winds. “Miranda, quickly! Put a stop to this!”

  “She can’t!” called Erasmus. “She broke her flute to save me.”

  Father cried in horror. “Miranda! What were you thinking!”

  “I was thinking that it did not contain a demon!” I shouted back, most of my words carried away by the storm. Looking over my shoulder, I noticed that my wings were no longer visible. “I was thinking about the Great Fire of London!”

  “Excuse me?” Father knit his brow.

  “The Great Fire of London! When Erasmus stopped the salamanders from killing the people?” I shouted over the roar of the storm. “I thought if we worked together, we could stop any supernatural threat! But if one of us were dead, how could we work together?”

  Father looked faintly surprised, but before he could respond, Astreus’s voice cut through the driving winds.

  “Enough!” Astreus still stood in the center of the courtyard amidst the orchids. The feathers of his wings billowed, and his hair whipped about his face, but he himself seemed untroubled by the storm. “Winds, obey your lord! Carry our words and do not constrain our persons, both myself and my fair companions.”

  Immediately, we were free to move. The winds did not lose their ferocity nor did the moaning and roaring lessen, but we were no longer being crushed and dragged about, and we could now hear each other clearly.

  “Astreus!” Mephisto’s face lit up with joy. “You’re okay! You have wings!”

  He dashed across the intervening distance and threw his arms about the Elf Lord, hugging him. Astreus’s wings whooshed opened in surprise, but he laughed and returned the embrace.

  “Mephistopheles? And you are free as well?” The elf grabbed my brother by his shoulders and looked down into his face. Mephisto nodded. “Centuries of sorrow have I endured waiting to hear these joyful tidings! For this, all my suffering has been worthwhile!”

  “Yup! Except I still have to wear this stupid hat if I want to remember anything.” My brother put the hat on his head, and he and Astreus conversed in soft voices. They looked like two prisoners who had suddenly burst free of their cells, comradery and relief mirrored on both their faces.

  Back by the trees, the rest of us righted ourselves and brushed at the sticky pine sap on our clothing.

  “The Aerie Ones! You mean Miranda let them free?” Cornelius cried aghast, as he brushed at the orchid petals that were plastered to his face. “There is nothing controlling them?”

  “You have undone a fourth of Solomon’s work. You have freed the King of the Air!” Father shouted, as a bolt of lightning struck the tallest oak on the island, splitting it in two. “Planes will fall out of the sky. Air need not remain breathable! What will become of mankind?”

  Closing my eyes, I spoke to my Lady, whom—now that I was a Sibyl—I could reach directly. If I call him, will he come?

  He will come.

  I whistled a trill I used to play often upon my flute.

  A third of the force of the storm broke away and began twisting about itself, forming a long sinuous length of wind, rain, and spray that stretched as far as the eye could see. Down from the sky came a great triangular serpent head with long slitted eyes of mist. It encircled us, wrapping once about the courtyard, a second coil about the house, and a third about the island itself, before trailing off through the sky into the horizon.

  “Ophion!” I cried. “To me!”

  “Miranda!” the Serpent of the Winds hissed as he buffeted me with his head. It was like being pushed by a cyclone.

  “Great Serpent,” I said, realizing with a sudden joyful lurch that this great being was my flute—that the love I had lavished upon my beloved instrument had been accepted and returned, just as I had always imagined. “You must re-swear your oath to Solomon. You must swear to uphold the laws of nature.”

  The great
snake head drew back and hissed with the force of a tornado. I would have been blown from my feet and smashed against the trees, were it not for Astreus’s magic. Instead, I faced him calmly.

  “I am free! Why should I put my head back into the noose?”

  “For the love of mankind.”

  “Mankind? What are they to me?”

  Softly, I replied, “Should you not ask, rather, what are they to your Lady?”

  Ophion writhed, his long body twisting and shaking. Part of him struck Father’s house and more of the tower tumbled into the ravine. Then, he lowered his head down beside me.

  “Not for mankind, nay. I have given them their due. But for love of you and of She who stands behind you, I will do it.”

  I stroked his giant triangular nose. The shape of it pushed back against my hand. It was like patting a wind tunnel. “Thank you.”

  Titus came forward and pushed the Staff of Darkness against the King of the Air’s snout. Erasmus, who had the words of Solomon’s oath memorized, instructed the Serpent of the Winds as to what he should say.

  When, it was done, Eurynome’s voice spoke in my mind: Tell him to come to Me among the stars.

  “Your Lady has need of you.” I stroked the Serpent’s head. My hand kept buffeting off of him, as if I were trying to push against the jets of water in a Jacuzzi. “She asks that you join Her among the stars.”

  “Then, there I shall go. Take care, Little Miranda. Whistle for me if you need me.” The Serpent of the Winds circled once more about me, then swept across the island, over the side of the ravine and dived into the Eridanus. Immediately, the fury of the storm lessened. It was now merely a hurricane, instead of something more.

  In awe, I watched the tail of the Serpent go over the edge of the ravine. “Is there really a connection between our little Eridanus and the Milky Way?”

  “According to the Laws of Sympathy and Contagion, the similarity of the name would be enough to make a connection for a spirit being.” Erasmus walked back to the courtyard where Astreus stood. “I must say that was pretty impressive, Miranda! Guess he came to like you during all those years of having you toot on his tail.”

  “Miranda, sacrificing your flute to save your brother was noble indeed, especially as I know you are not very fond of Erasmus.” Father lay a hand on my shoulder. “Noble, but not wise. Many shall die today. Somehow, we must bind up the Aerie Ones!”

  “Silence, Slaver!” Astreus stepped up to Father and glared down from his greater height, his eyes a deep midnight black. “I have given my word to help the Lady Miranda control my people.” He looked to me and gestured upward. “Shall we put a stop to this display of playful spirits?”

  I nodded, my heart leaping at his glance.

  Astreus whistled then, and a long, flowing cloak of silver tinged with an indigo hue floated out of the sky. It hung in the air before him, and he regarded his reflection within its indigo-mirrored surface. Within, he appeared garbed in raiments of sapphire and storm gray with a coronet of stars upon his brow. Astreus reached out and touched the cloak, which rippled like the surface of a pond. As if it was actually made of water, he stepped into it and emerged on the far side of the cloak, garbed and crowned as his reflection had been. The mirrored cloak rolled up into a pearl. He put it in his pocket.

  Turning, he offered me his hand, which I accepted. All eight pairs of wings opened with a shoosh and upward we soared.

  * * *

  WE flew into the storm. The winds parted before us. Rain soaked our faces and ozone-tinged air blew all about us. Twice the sky lit as thunderbolts ripped the clouds. High in the thunderclouds, Astreus called out in a strong voice:

  “Boreas!”

  A face appeared in the sky, not a human face, but a face of wind and cloud; yet it resembled the Russian face Boreas had worn these last decades.

  “Lord Astreus!” His eyes flashed. “I rejoice to see that you have returned.”

  “Fair Boreas, it does my heart good to see you, too,” Astreus replied.

  Boreas cried, “The great days of yore have come again! Let us join together and wreak havoc upon this mortal world, as we have done in ages past! Let us toss ships and break masts and scatter the splinters of great vessels across the white waves!”

  Astreus’s expression changed, his eyes growing brighter, “And knock down towers and carry off chariots…”

  “And blow planes from the air and smash skyscrapers…” Boreas chanted.

  “And rip off roofs and tumble water towers!”

  Astreus’s eyes were now blood red, the same red as Seir’s. The wind tossed his storm-gray hair so that it seemed to leap about his face like a living thing. An eerie light transformed his features, until he looked the epitome of a wild elf lord bent on strife and mischief.

  I was hundreds of feet in the air supported by the whim of a mad elf. Would he even remember I was here before he joined Boreas on their course of mayhem and destruction? Or would he forget me and let go?

  Astreus threw back his head, laughing; his wings springing upward. The motion seemed to startle him. He glanced at them in surprise and, for an instant, so quick that I could hardly be sure I had seen it, his eyes turned a brilliant gold.

  He drew me closer, wrapping a wing or two around me, and gave me an encouraging smile. His eyes had returned to the dark gray of an undisturbed lake. It was soft and warm beneath his feathers and smelled of stardust. The speed of my heart began to drop.

  Astreus said, “Greatly do your words call to me and stir my heart, Boreas. And yet, were I to do as you suggest, it would bring this lady sorrow, and that my heart could not endure.”

  Astreus drew back his wings, so that Boreas could see me.

  “Hello, Boreas,” I cried over the tremendous roar of the storm, waving.

  Boreas eyed me coldly and opened his mouth as if to blow me away. Remembering the lessons of our last encounter at the eyrie, when I had ruled him through firmness rather than through force, I refused to be daunted. I met his gaze squarely and spoke in a stern voice. “Boreas, what are you doing?”

  His face swelling with bluster and wrath, he boomed, “I am asserting my independence!”

  “Boreas, you’ve worked for my family for years. You were our enforcer. You’ve seen the other unruly spirits forced into obedience by my brothers: the oreads, the nymphs, the oni, the phoenixes. Is that the fate you desire? How long will you enjoy your freedom, if you carry on thus?”

  Boreas glared at me, furrowed his brow, and blew five-hundred-mile-an-hour winds from his nostrils. There was a blast of terrible cold, but the torrential winds did not even so much as ruffle Astreus’s feathers. My hand was still firmly clasped in his, and his protection continued to extend to me. Unmoved, I gazed evenly at Boreas, waiting.

  Then, he saw me, really saw me. The great Lord of the North Wind beheld the mark of Eurynome upon my brow, and his icy eyes widened in awe and astonishment. His head of wind bowed.

  “Mistress…” He breathed a gentle cold sigh. “You are a Sibyl! You can make Water of Life! That which gives us heart and strength and makes us great!”

  “I can.” I touched my forehead. “Now listen carefully, Boreas. Spread this message; I know you are good at that. Every wind who calms his people, I shall reward with Water of Life: a dozen drops for himself and one drop for each minion who obeys him. Any minion who disobeys and continues to rage shall not be rewarded. In addition, I shall reward you similarly upon the birth of each new year. With time, those who are obedient will receive more Water and grow stronger than those who are unruly.

  “What is more,” I continued, “any Aerie One who wishes to continue working for Prospero, Inc., will receive a regular salary of Water. Also, any Aerie One who returns to work will have access to a fleshy body such as you and your fellow Northerly have worn.” I leaned toward him, smiling. “By wearing such a body, Caekias has developed a soul!”

  “Caekias? But he is the worst of us!”

  “Was the worst,�
� I replied.

  Boreas let out a frigid gasp of wonder. “Lady, I beg your pardon for my previous impertinence. I will be returning to my body now.”

  The cloudy face dissolved, and Boreas was gone. Moments later, another face formed slightly to the left. This one had a long nose and wisps of cloud indicating a scarf.

  “Congratulations, Milady!” Caurus cried in his Scandinavian accent. “Boreas told me the splendid news. A Sibyl, at last. We all have received our heart’s desire!”

  “Except the innocent mortals harmed by this storm.”

  “Not to worry, Milady. I and mine have not taken part in any storms over the continents. Neither has Ariel, Afer, Eurus, or Notus; we understand what will become of us if we betray mankind. We may have tipped a few ships in our celebrations, though, and for that I apologize. I will send my servants and winglings to scoop up the sailors and carry them safely to dry land.

  “Boreas and Zephyrus have been a bit more exuberant, as has Zetes and Calias, the sons of Boreas who have been filling in for Caekias and myself while we were incarnated. By the way, where is Caekias?”

  “He is below.” I pointed down toward where I thought the courtyard to be. I could not see through the storm clouds.

  “Wonderful! I would not wish him to miss all this. Father!” Caurus addressed Astreus. “I did not recognize you with your wings! How splendid you look!”

  “My thanks, Caurus.” Astreus inclined his head. “Go, spread this word: I have returned, and I am lending the strength of my authority to the Lady Miranda. Who offends her, offends me!”

  “I shall tell all straightaway!” Caurus promised, and his cloud face dissolved into wind and rain.

  The winds above us slowly died down to the speeds of a tropical storm. Astreus drew me to him, wrapping his arms about my waist. With the merest motion of his wings, he waltzed us through the clouds. The warmth of his body was a wonderful contrast to the chill of the winds.

  “I was dead, and you rekindled my life.” He stared down at me, his changeable eyes a deep fascinating blue. “Every moment of my life, hereafter, is a gift from you. And to that end, I lay my people at your feet. No longer shall I whip up their fury, urging them to rage and storm and crush the ships and homes of mankind. I see now the harm I did when I walked that path. For I have walked the roads of Hell, and I would not send so much as one mortal there before his time.