Prospero Regained (19 page)

“Oh, that sounds just dandy,” growled Mab.

“Thank the stars! You’ve come!” croaked the second burnt figure in a hoarse mockery of Caliban’s voice. He rose shakily to a kneeling position, propping himself up with his club. Beside him, a charred skinless form with an Urim helmet and breastplate embedded in his burnt flesh, gasped for air.

“Theo…” I whispered.

Pelting across the uneven landscape, I fell to my knees beside him. My brother still wore his goggles, which appeared unharmed, so his unscathed eyes looked out from his blackened and blistered skinless face. Bile rose in my throat, and I feared I would vomit. The smell of charred flesh and burnt hair was nearly unbearable.

Could this mass of smoldering flesh be my beloved brother? My mind balked when equating this charred monstrosity with the handsome youth he had been: the fierce courageous young man that Mephisto had portrayed in the white marble statue that had stood for centuries in the Great Hall of Prospero’s Mansion.

Belatedly, I recalled that Seir’s attack had damaged Theo’s statue. That face, too, had been lost.

It would take more than a drop or two of Water of Life to fix this damage. Five drops, at least, likely even more. But if I did not heal him quickly, if his body were allowed to remain like this, then even Water would not wash away such scars.

The world could not spare that much Water.

Was this to be my brother, then? A smoldering husk. Would he remain like this forever, a ghastly horror to make children shriek?

Unbidden, the image of little Theo, the solid small boy with lithe brown limbs and a head of black curls, rose in my mind, and I recalled the first words he ever spoke to me, the night when, at the age of four, he had followed me up the stairs of the
Filarete
tower:
Sistah, Mephto told me we can see whole world from up here. Is it true?

I yanked out the precious crystal vial and splashed nine or ten drops of Water of Life into Theo’s mouth. A scent, more beautiful than blooming lilacs after a morning rain filled the air, driving away all other odors. The fist of fear that clenched my heart opened. I found I could breathe again. I had not even been aware I had been holding my breath.

There was no outward change, but immediately, the pain went from his eyes. His skinless mouth opened as if he were trying to smile.

“Theo,” I cried. “Thank God!”

Charred muscles along his face and legs regained their reddish meaty look. A bit of skin spread over his cheeks.

But that was all.

All that Water—ten to forty more years more that one of us could have lived on to continue the fight against the denizens of Hell—and it had not been enough.

Behind me, Erasmus’s staff whirled. He said calmly, “Out of the way, Sister. It’s my turn now.”

Kneeling beside Theo, he yanked the helmet and breastplate from Theo’s chest with an awful
thwak.
Something was stuck to the inside of the breastplate. Amid the flesh and grime, I caught a glimmer of gold. Too worried about my brother to investigate further, I moved to the side to make room for Erasmus.

Erasmus’s staff hummed in his dull white gauntlet. He knelt and passed it over our brother’s body. The air around Theo grew reddish and warm. New flesh grew before our eyes as Erasmus’s staff sped up the regeneration process. Slowly, it spread until it covered his whole body. His nose returned; his lips grew back. His arms and legs became as firm and smooth as baby’s skin.

Theo stood up, naked, but young and whole again. Rushing forward, I embraced him, tears running down my cheeks. He hugged me back fiercely, laughing and spinning me about. Setting me gently on my feet, he kissed my cheek. Then, he gave Mephisto and Erasmus a bear hug and shook Mab’s hand vigorously.

Pulling off his goggles, Theo wiped his eyes. Then, realizing his state of undress, he held his breastplate sheepishly before his groin. Mab shrugged off his trench coat and held it out. Theo quickly donned it, thanking him.

“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.”