Children had thrown rocks at him too, when he first had gone to Milan with Prospero. Before he realized how strange he looked. But he had never been afraid, only angry. The stars were his brothers. He had nothing to be ashamed of, back then.
Not like now.
“What did she love?” he asked, forcing his mind back to his unknown sister.
“My father,” she replied instantly. Then she thought longer. “She love the snakes.”
“Snakes?” he asked.
“Yes, also the ones that bite. She never let snakes be hurt, never. She talk to them. They sit on the rocks in the sun and she stand in the door, and she talk to them. She name them. The snakes, they be her one friends, I think.”
He smiled. He had always liked snakes himself, their strong sinuous grace and speed, their darting tongues. He had kept one in the palace, until Prospero learned of it. The old man hated them. He had to set it free. Chiara had come with him. He remembered her holding the long, black snake gently in her hands as it wound itself around her arm and between her fingers. She stroked its back and then set it on the ground. It had lain there for a moment, tasting the air before it flashed away. “They never look back, do they, Caliban,” she had said, wistfully. “No,” he’d told her, “they live only in the moment. They don’t remember.” She had looked thoughtful then, and chewed on the tip of her braid. “Too bad for the snakes,” she’d said.
“She love me, too,” Calypso whispered.
“She never knew you,” Caliban said, until he realized she meant her mother, and not Chiara. “Oh. My sister. Of course she loved you.”
“She wish I had not the magic. She said it was gift-curse.” She looked down at her hand. Caliban saw her flinch.
“Because of Sycorax, my mother. Her mother,” he added. “I hate magic, too. I refused to use the staff when she died, because of what it did to her.”
It was a dangerous comment to make. Calypso turned her face away, her body trembling. “I’m sorry, Calypso,” he said, immediately. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Why?” she said, turning back to him. It was his mother’s haggard face once more, speaking fluently in her own tongue. “You are right, Caliban. My magic destroyed me and everyone I loved. Except your father, of course.” Then she began to laugh and sob at once, folding her left hand over her head and pressing her face against her chest, smothering her cries.
Caliban did not know what to do. If he called back Calypso, he would lose this chance to finally learn about his father. There was no Setebos. He had never been the son of a god. He’d faced that truth long ago. Perhaps now he could learn the truth.
But he could not let Calypso be swallowed up by Sycorax. He could not loose that madness on the island again. “Calypso,” he said, reaching out to the girl, stilling her shaking shoulders with the heaviness of his hand. “Calypso,” he said, “you are stronger than she is. She is dead and you are alive, Calypso. You rule yourself.”
Her sobs grew quiet. Finally she lifted her head. Calypso was restored. For now.
V.v.
The deeps were quiet. Leviathan lay awake, but all of the heads were silent. Finally the central head spoke. “It is the third day,” it said.
The horse head snorted softly, but said nothing.
“The third day,” the goat head said. “The day life came to be. Resurrection day. The day of the triple goddess, of the three-part god.”
“The day we finally get to eat,” hissed the serpent head.
“And about time, too,” the dog head laughed, barking in agreement.
The bearded head lifted and tilted to one side, as though listening. “I’d say not. There’s life in her still.”
“She may survive the trial,” the horse head said.
“I hope so,” grunted the armored head. “We haven’t had a successful trial for over a thousand years, as the small ones count time. It gets dull.”
“Successful!” the dog head sneered. “She’s still a long way from success.”
“Not as long as we may think,” the central head whispered. “Listen. She grows wise.”
They all looked within themselves. Even the serpent’s mind began to feel the glow of excitement.
Chiara thought of nothing and knew everything. Her heart’s pulse was that of the stars. She was caught up in the breath of the universe, part of its joyous exhalation.
“I am nothing,” she thought. “I am everywhere. I am not afraid anymore.”
“Really?” said the Leviathan. “Do you not fear the burn of our body digesting you? Do you not fear the weight of water crushing your bones once we have spat them out? Do you not fear having your eternal soul kept here, imprisoned in this dark and airless place?”
Chiara felt her way through the questions. “I do not,” she said at last. She marveled at the truth of her answer.
Leviathan laughed. “Shall we believe, then,” it said, “that you do not long to see the sun once more? That you do not yearn to walk freely again, to feel the arms of your beloved around you, to grow and live and taste the world? Do you truly not desire the richness of a full life?”
Chiara sifted the words of the Leviathan through her mind and heart. They fell away, husks of dreams that were no longer her own, pale and shallow against the great gasp of life she had just seen. What was the warmth of one small sun to her now? She was sister to the stars. She did not need life. She was life.
“I do not,” she said. She was not even amazed at her own words. She feared nothing, she wanted nothing. She simply was.
Light blossomed in her mind, the light of the Leviathan, the light of the universe’s core.
—You are our child now, the light said to her.
“Yes,” she agreed. And then she added, “But I don’t really know what that means.”
—Babies never do, the light laughed.
“Babies?” she said.
—You are to be reborn, Chiara. You have passed the guardians and found the treasure.
“I have only found myself,” she said.
—Then you have found everything.
She spun around, was pressed on all sides. Her mind shrank in on itself. She felt herself swept along in a current of light and confusion. There was pain, too, but most of it was not hers. It was the pain of birth.
And then she was surrounded by water once more. Before she could think, a scaly arm reached out and broought her gently before the faces of the Leviathan. She smiled at them, amazed that they were ever terrifying to her.
For a long time they regarded one another. She smiled at the differences among the heads, heard their unique voices in her mind. They were surprised, even pleased. She looked down and was amazed to see that she was still herself, human and small. “I thought I’d become a dragon,” she said.
“You have,” Leviathan answered, “in every way that matters.” They smiled, showing all manner of terrifying jaws and teeth. Chiara grinned back at them affectionately.
“It has been a long time since one of our children walked on the face of the earth,” Leviathan said.
She would have to go back. The small life that she had sloughed away twisted itself around her legs, pulling her back to reality. “What am I supposed to do there?” she asked. “I don’t know how to be a dragon. I barely knew how to be a human being.”
One of the heads bent down and nuzzled her. It had a tough golden hide and hundreds of teeth, but what she noticed most was the long, red beard that trailed from its jaws. That, and the kindness of its eyes. “You will learn,” it said, encouragingly. “All our children find their place.”
“But where will I go?” she asked, feeling suddenly overwhelmed.
A long goat-like head, heavy with curling horns, twisted toward her. “Wherever you choose,” it said. “You are a dragon now. Wherever you go is the place you should be.”
Memory stirred within her new mind. “But first I must heal the island,” she said.
Images flashed through her mind, the brilli
ant speech of the Oldest. She saw the healing that had happened, with its terrible price. She spoke to the island, heard its bitter voice, its anger grown through years of suffering. “I will not release her!” it shrieked. “Calypso’s blood will heal my wounds!”
“The island has gone mad,” Chiara said, pulling her mind away.
“It has been so for many years now,” Leviathan replied. “Now, it has found its voice.”
Leviathan shifted slightly and Chiara saw the spell book, suddenly revealed between the beast’s forepaws. She lifted it up. It belonged to her. She did not even need to open it to read it. The spells simply flowed into her, becoming her own knowledge. When she had swallowed them all, she put the book back down, to rest again in its place of protection.
“Go now,” they said. “The upper world calls you. Take this,” they added.
Chiara held out her hand and they dropped a pearl into it. It was perfectly round, rose-colored, and as big as a large apple. Her alchemical training told her what it must be. “The thunderball,” she whispered.
“You have the right to wield it,” they said. “Some day you will make your own. For now, take it as a mother’s parting gift.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. And then she felt a great sadness, for she knew that she would never return to the deeps. Her realm would be somewhere else.
“Blessings, daughter,” they replied.
She turned and began to walk home, cradling the pearl against her heart. She could have transported herself to the island with a thought. She felt the summons of the upper reaches, just as her new monster-mother had, but still she walked on, savoring the peace of the deeps. Every creature she met shied away from her.
Chiara came to the soul field. The mermaid was gone. Chiara stood for a while, listening to the soft moans coming from the traps. With a word and a gesture she could free them all.
But she had lost her desire to help them. Their cries no longer tore at her heart. They were here because they chose to be here, because they wanted to be fooled. The siren’s song had not really deceived them. Deep down they knew the peril of following the music beneath the waves. But they leapt anyway. The danger itself was a delight. And they each thought that they alone could survive the risk. The mermaid was right. They had given themselves away.
And then, with her new dragon knowledge, she discovered a strange truth. The souls had built their own cages. They were not woven out of metal, but of all the false hopes and empty wishes that had lived in their human hearts. The souls could free themselves. They were trapped because they were still caught by the lure of fool’s gold.
But she could not tell them this. They wailed so loudly that they could no longer hear anything but the sound of their own sorrow. Chiara turned away from them. Perhaps, in time, they would find their own salvation.
It was surprising that the mermaid had left the field. Chiara threw out a spellnet, searching for the creature. At last she found her, up at the surface. She was singing up a storm with her two sisters.
And they were fighting Caliban.
Her young dragon wisdom evaporated. She was a girl once more, and the only person she had left in the world needed her.
V.vi.
The raging wind shook Caliban awake. It tore around him, screamed across the stones. Every joint of his body had seized, twisting and knotting him cruelly. He wrenched himself up. The grinding of his bones made him grit his teeth until his jaw ached and the tears welled in the corners of his eyes. He had no idea how long he had slept or even what day it was. The air stank of magic. He looked over at the other bed to check on Calypso.
She was gone.
In the pale dawn light, he looked around the room wildly, as though he might find her hiding in a corner or beneath a bed. He cursed himself for falling asleep. He did not know where to begin looking for her, and his body ached so badly that he doubted he could go far to find her.
Lightning ripped down the sky, piercing the water like a great trident. He began to run then, ignoring every cry from his tortured joints.
She was Sycorax, and she was attacking the ship.
“I curse you!” Sycorax screamed. “May my hatred be the last air that you breathe! May the waters smother you slowly, crushing you with their weight until you beg for death! May all your children and all your mothers waste away waiting for you to return, until they walk the earth as pale shadows, always searching for you, never finding you. May your homes be burned to the ground and a pain strike any lip that dares to utter your names. I curse you, now and forever!”
She pulled the fire from the sky and set the ship ablaze. A wailing cry went up, but it was quickly lost in the roar of the flames. She danced on the shore, flinging her bare feet high and laughing as the ship burned on the waves. They would regret leaving her here upon this godforsaken land.
“No!” cried a man’s voice. She turned and saw a squat, lumbering creature moving awkwardly toward her across the rocks. He wore a cape of feathers. His arm was outstretched, words of power tumbled from his lips. He called down the rain. A deluge fell upon the ship, dousing the fire.
She leveled the staff at him, ready with the words needed to rend his bones from his flesh. Before she could speak she was thrown back upon the stones. A spirit of the air was before her, and in its hands a spellnet that would hold her fast. She turned her staff upon him, but he was torn away before she could utter a word.
The lumbering creature stood over her, protecting her. Tufts of gingery hair stood up around his ears. The sight made her pause. Confusion fell upon her once more. Years tumbled through her mind, a death, her death; a new mind surged forward, trying to control her.
The spirit of air shrieked. “She must be stopped, Caliban! You cannot hold her. She would have destroyed all the innocents on the ship!”
Caliban. Caliban must not be hurt. The thought singed her mind with its clarity. She bent herself around, closing the circle of pain.
“No, Calypso!” Caliban cried. He was frantic, trying to save his niece from his mother’s fate and fend off Ariel. The shouts from the ship distracted him further. Ariel was right about that; the ship must be protected. He pulled the green handkerchief from beneath his robe and loosed its knot once more.
The last faint whisper of Prospero’s breath went out across the waters, still powerful enough to catch Ariel in its tide and sweep both spirit and ship out to sea. He knew that Ariel would be back soon. In the meantime, he had to help Calypso. He knelt beside her and tried to unclench her left hand from her ankles, to break the punishment she was inflicting on herself. He was gentle at first, but in the end he had to tear her hand away with all his strength. She gasped when he did it, whether out of relief or because of the wrenching twist of her flesh he could not tell. She collapsed immediately into unconsciousness. He lifted her up and over his shoulder and stumbled with her to his cave.
Ariel had no power here, in the deep places of the earth. He could not enter without growing thin and pale. He’d done it once, long ago, on Sycorax’s command. When she saw that Ariel could not serve her, she’d sent him away. The spirit had never come back to the cave since.
Caliban spread his feather cloak over the old branch bed and then laid Calypso down upon it. In no time he had lit the small fire, bringing some warmth and light into the cave. He went back to Calypso and examined her hand. It would be bruised, but he had not broken any of the small bones. He supposed that she had her hardy existence as a sailor to thank for that. There was sweat on her brow, and she was muttering in Greek. He could not make out anything that she was saying.
Quickly he went to the far corner of the cave, to a dark crevice where the light of the cooking fire never penetrated. There he felt about until he found the small earthenware vessel he’d been looking for. He lifted it carefully and brought it out to the fire. He brushed the thick layer of dust off it and removed the lid.
There was some left. Not a lot, but enough. It was a powder Ariel had brought him when he was a
boy, a medicine for his mother. Poppy powder. It was the only time he had colluded with the spirit against his mother. Ariel had told him that it would take away pain and bring sleep. Caliban would sprinkle it on his mother’s food when she had gone too long without rest.
Carefully he measured a small amount of the powder and mixed it with some water in his old wooden drinking cup. He lifted Calypso’s head and gently encouraged her to swallow the liquid. Its bitter taste made her wince and cough, but still he was satisfied that she’d taken enough to help her. He sat beside her, his hand on the pulse in her left wrist, and watched her. Her breathing slowed, her muttering ceased. She slept, a smile curving her lips. Caliban knew that the powder brought dreams with it. His mother would recount them in the morning. He wondered what Calypso would dream about. He hoped they would be Calypso’s own dreams, and not the visions of abandoned palaces that had filled his mother’s nights.
He rose, his tired limbs aching. He wanted to lie down and sleep again, even take some of the mixture himself. But that escape was not for him, not now.
He went out from the cave, to face Ariel.
The air was electric with suspended spells. Ariel was not alone. He had been joined by the mermaids. The three sisters lay in the shallows of the shore, their wet hair streaming over their naked chests, their tails concealed by the waves.
Caliban bowed to them. They each bared their teeth in response, ghastly imitations of a smile.
“You have something we need, Caliban,” Peisinoe said. Her green eyes glared at him coldly. “Give her to us, Caliban,” she said.
For a moment he almost turned and obeyed her. Few could resist her suggestions, even fewer her commands. It was she who called sailors from their ships to their deaths, persuading them that she was a fair human maid, and not the green-skinned, green-haired water-witch their eyes first spied. But some far corner of his mind remembered the trick of her speech, and so he was able to stand against her will.
Rough Magic Page 16
