“Cease! Their freedom does me no honor. If they are bound, and I am free, I will be the greater. Fire will rule Earth, Water, and Air.” The coal-black eyes shifted amid the flames. “Where is Air?”
“I know not, Great Lord. The pot containing the King of the Air was not here when I arrived,” Seir replied.
“Worship me!” boomed the King of Fire. “Why do you not bow down? Press your face to the floor!”
“Who? Me?” The incubus laughed. “I am no subject of yours, Fire-King. I am Seir, called ‘of the Shadows,’ a Mighty Prince of Hell. I myself govern twenty-six legions of spirits. I bow to none but the Seven Rulers of Iniquity themselves.”
“Bah! The Great Seven.” The flames of his body grew brighter until he glowed like a stoked furnace, and the air around him wavered from the heat. “I, Iblis al-Shaitan, am mightier than the Lords of Hell. Lucifer himself is but my servant. I was created by the Hand of Allah himself, from a pure and smokeless flame of fire! Into my keeping, he gave all vessels of crude clay who were not faithful to his Law.”
“As you say.” Seir nodded politely. As the King of Fire swept down upon him, he added quickly, “Perhaps you should concern yourself with them.”
And he pointed at us.
Caurus and I had not been idle while the supernatural entities quarreled. Caurus had grabbed the long shield and remaining gauntlet of shining Urim from the stand holding the angel’s armor. Meanwhile, I knew I had to stop Seir before he broke open another seal, and the only means I had at my disposal was the lightning-throwing power of my demon-infested flute. I wanted to draw electricity for the blast from the node nearest to him, to minimize the damage, but as the Elemental Chamber was dark, it took time to figure out where the electrical nodes might be and to direct my flute—or the demon within it—to the correct spot.
As I was peering across the rotunda into the semi-darkness, trying to catch a glimpse of a lightning glyph as the Fire-King’s body illuminated various sections of the wall, Caurus whispered, “Milady, what is your plan?”
“I want to dispense with Seir first,” I whispered back. “Even if I don’t manage to strike him, he will flee. Teleporters are like that.” One had only to say ‘boo’ to Ulysses, and he would be halfway across the continent. “Seir might come back, but at least it should give us a few minutes to deal with the King of Flame.”
“How do we do that?”
“I’m hoping something in the Weapons Chamber will stop him, if I can get over there.”
“I will distract him!” Caurus swung his ice skates from his shoulder and tossed his scarf atop them, then slipped his right arm into the strap at the back of the long Urim shield. Glancing down at his knitted sweater and his large capable hand, he sighed. “I do hope this body does not get damaged beyond repair. I’ve gotten rather fond of it over the years.”
“I as well, Caurus,” I replied with sympathy. “I as well.”
The King of Fire moved, and his flame lit a glyph. I pointed two fingers at the glyph and rapidly gestured toward the incubus. As I lifted the mouthpiece of the instrument to my lips, a wave of revulsion toward the demon within swept over me. I hesitated. It was at that moment that Seir had directed the Fire-King’s attention toward us.
Pressing the demon-flute against my mouth, I blew a sharp trill. With a thunderous crack, a fork of blue electricity leapt from the wall, striking at the incubus, who vanished into the shadows like a dream.
“One down, one to go,” I whispered, wiping the sweat from my forehead. Even where we were, a distance from the Fire-King, the air was becoming unpleasantly warm.
Iblis al-Shaitan poured out of the Elemental Chamber, swelling until the pure flame of his body filled the central rotunda, blackening the walls, which had begun to smoke. He glared down at us, his ebony eyes gleaming.
“Vile half-breed!” his words dripped with disdain. “Accursed Nephilim! Your very existence sullies Allah’s kingdom!”
“I care little for your assessment of my nature, Fire-King,” Caurus replied bravely, though I noted his limbs were trembling. Iblis was a far greater spirit than he, and winds were not particularly good at putting out fires. He lifted the invulnerable shield and stepped forward. “I am Caurus Skeiron Boreal, Lord of the Northwest Winds!”
The Flame-lord’s eyes shifted to Caurus. He laughed contemptuously, “Little spirit, you are almost too small to concern me, save that every living thing should bow before me. Bow down now and worship me, and I will spare you.”
“Every living thing?” Caurus laughed. “Been in that copper can a little too long, haven’t you, Flame-Face! Begun to pickle?”
“Impudent fool!” roared the King of Fire.
Iblis al-Shaitan dived into the Holy Chamber, the towering holocaust of his body bearing down upon Caurus, who ducked behind his invulnerable shield. Fire curled around the edges of the shield. Caurus cried out in pain and I smelt the unpleasant odor of burning hair.
Determined that Caurus’s bravery should not be in vain, I moved quickly away from the Holy Chamber, skirting around the intense heat of the Fire-King toward the armory. His burning body was eerie, for his flames were pure and silent. No smoke issued from them, neither did they crackle. Where the wall still smoldered from the heat of his passing, however, smoke billowed up, choking the rotunda with ash. I struggled not to cough.
A loud snapping-crackle behind me caused me to whirl about. The table in the Holy Chamber was aflame. To my horror, the tent made by Saint Paul and Saint Peter’s net ignited. In a single instant, the fire consumed the two-thousand-year-old relics that had once belonged to the most holy men who ever trod the Earth. Helpless, I saw the tongues of fire began licking the Savior’s wheel.
Unable to watch, I turned away and ran the rest of the distance to the Weapons Chamber. Behind me, to my great joy, I heard Caurus’s voice.
“Look!” he shouted, amazed. “The God of the Bloody Cross is more powerful than the Lord of Djinn!”
“Arrgghhh!” The cry of Iblis al-Shaitan shook the room, followed by a burst of heat worse than any that had come before. Caurus screamed.
Glancing over my shoulder, I saw the Fire-King reeling back, clutching the simple cart wheel. No matter how much flame radiated, the wood remained untouched. As Iblis ranted and shouted, I saw Caurus, his sweater burned in places and his straw-colored hair singed black, slip away into the Treasure Chamber. My heart leapt into my mouth as I pictured all the precious fragile things in that wing, but there was nothing I could do. Plunging into the armory, I glimpsed Caurus crouching behind the golden donkey and heard him calling out taunts again.
Within the armory, I glanced rapidly from one case to another. Which of these legendary weapons could help me? Dyrnwyn could burst into flame, not a wise choice for fighting the King of Fire. Durendel? It could cut a man and his horse in half with a single blow but that would not stop a flame. Brutus’s knife? Useful for killing friends, but hardly helpful here. Kusanagi? It was so sharp it cut water droplets in the air, forming rainbows, and it could cut grass, rare in a medieval sword, but I had never heard that it had supernatural powers beyond these. Fragarach? Tyrfing? Nothung? Fine swords all, but not what I needed now.
Gungnir? According to legend, Odin fought ice giants and fire giants. Tybalt claimed Odin, Jupiter, Zeus, and Alastor the Elf-king were all the same individual. Could the spear of the King of Gods and Elves stop the King of Fire?
I yanked Gungnir from its stand and hefted it. It was heavy and smelled of old ash. Behind me, Caurus screamed. As I turned to investigate, I smelled newly lit matches.
Seir?
Taking no chances, I threw the god’s spear. I had no particular skill as a spearmaiden, but with this spear, skill was not required. I did not even need to know where the target was.
“Gungnir! Strike the incubus!”
Swift as a swallow, the rune-marked spear flew through the air and, swerving to find its target, struck the sable demon through the shoulder, pinning him to the wall
.
Seir swore softly. Wincing, he pulled the shaft from his body.
I remembered a lesson long ago where Father had lectured me on the talisman of the Norse Gods. One of the gifts of Gungnir, if I recalled correctly, was that it would return to the hand of its wielder. The moment the spearhead was free of the incubus’s shoulder, its tip dripping with bright red blood that matched Seir’s eyes, I reached up, shouting:
“Gungnir, return to me!”
The great spear tore itself out of Seir’s grasp and flew across the room to my hand. I threw it again, calling, “Gungnir, strike the incubus!”
Seir faded into shadow. The great spear hung in the air. Twice, the spear turned, speeding toward some corner where shadows gathered. Each time, Seir vanished before it could strike him. When the demon did not return again, the spear remained hanging in midair, humming with eldritch power as it awaited its prey.
Across the rotunda, in the Treasure Chamber, a scene of horror was transpiring. Caurus’s ruse had worked, and the Lord of Djinn had brushed against the golden donkey of King Midas in its effort to reach Caurus. His outer flames were turning into gold. As quickly as he transformed, however, the heat of his body melted the gold, showering the molten metal across the precious talismans stored nearby.
The damage was horrifying! The silk curtain covering the Fey Threshold had burnt to ash, leaving the ivory doorway itself vulnerable. The tarnhelm and the Cauldron of Rebirth were splattered with molten gold, perhaps ruined. The heat had caused the mermaid cap, which Titus had suffered so to obtain, to shrivel away into nothing. The vessels continuing the organs of Pharaoh Ozymandius burst as I watched. His royal innards sprayed across the chamber. The amphora containing the precious water from the River Styx had spilled. Its priceless contents seeped over the floor.
The Halter of Clynoeiddyn, one of Mephisto’s greatest treasures and an invaluable help in capturing magical beasts, was on fire, as was Erasmus’s collection of swan and crane cloaks. The figurehead on Dagna’s Harp sang a last swan song as it burned.
Tears filled my eyes. These precious things. All these beautiful precious things!
And Caurus? Where was Caurus?
Desperately, I ran back to the sword cases. There must be something here that could help me. As I looked here and there, however, nothing seemed promising. Even here in the Weapons Chamber, the air was now unpleasantly hot. Sweat ran down my face and down the back of my neck. In the distance, the Celtic harp’s figurehead continued its aria. If I did not think of something quickly, this Vault would soon become my grave, for, right now, there was no way to open the door without letting the King of Fire loose upon the world.
It was possible that, even if he escaped, his previous oaths would still constrain him, but it was by no means certain. Should Iblis escape the oaths he swore to King Solomon, all fire, everywhere, would no longer be constrained to obey the laws of physics. Machines that relied upon combustion engines would not merely cease to work, they would turn on mankind. Gas mains would explode. Furnaces, dryers, and kitchen stoves would ignite, destroying the houses around them. Cars, trucks, and jets would burst into flame simultaneously.
Closing my eyes for an instant, I prayed to my Lady for guidence. Then, I spun in a circle. A refreshing coolness assailed me. Opening my eyes, I found myself standing before a long frosty case.
No! I was not going to wield that sword!
But what else could I do?
Quickly, I ran to the rotunda and peered around. On the floor of the Holy Chamber, the remaining Urim gauntlet lay where Caurus had dropped it when he fled. I sprinted across the hall and grabbed it.
With the angel’s gauntlet on my left hand, I smashed the glass case that held Laevateinn. The Wounding Wand was an eerie, haunting weapon, as pale as bone. It had a cruel and curling hilt, and mist rose from the length of its fog-gray blade. Gingerly, I lifted it with my gauntleted left hand.
“Kill. Slay,” whispered a ghostly voice inside my head, its voice feather-soft. “I and I alone can avenge the harm done your treasures. I will quench the King of Flames!”
“Shut up!” I growled, terrified, and pelted toward the Treasure Chamber and its molten inferno.
The heat at the entrance of the Treasure Chamber was unbearable and yet, despite the nigh-invulnerable gauntlet, the cold radiated by Laevateinn was biting and painful. There was no happy medium. Part of my body shivered and part burned.
“Eurynome!” I screamed as I charged into the Treasure Chamber and stabbed the King of Fire with the Wounding Wand.
The terribly cold sword struck the molten flames, and the Fire-King’s body grew brighter. Terror seized me. What if that coolness I had felt had just been the cold of Laevateinn, and not a message from my Lady? What if the Wounding Ward could not help?
I need not have feared. Where the Wounding Wand struck the molten flames, a black smoke rose.
“Nooooo!” Iblis al-Shaitan screamed. “I smoke! My pureness has been sullied! Aiieeee!”
The Lord of Djinn’s fire collapsed in upon itself, until he was no longer flame, but a solid body of dark smoke surrounded by billowing clouds of pale ash. Behind him, the pool of spilled Styx water was spreading. Despite the heat that singed my eyebrows and stifled my breath, the arm holding the sword was growing numb from cold. I drove the sword forward; the King of Fire withdrew until his trailing smoke touched the black liquid of the Styx.
“I freeze! I die! Vile abomination! What do you do to me?” the djinn cried.
“It is not him, but I!” I announced bravely. “I am Miranda Prospero, Handmaiden of Eurynome! Swear upon the Styx that you will go back into your copper pot and stay there until it is properly sealed!”
“Never! Aiiee!” His defiance turned to screams of agony as I pushed the sword deeper into his substance.
“Swear you will return to your pot and stay there for a year and a day!” That should give us enough time to figure out how to rebind him.
“Aiieei! I swear! I swear!”
As the Fire-King writhed, the cold feather-soft voice came again in my thoughts. “With me in your hand, you have made the unconquerable Lord of Djin yield, but there are others who dare to defy you still: the Three Shadowed Ones, the wretched Caliban—should he still live, your brother Erasmus. You know the secret yearnings of your heart; together we can silence them, forever.”
Behind the Lord of Djinn, Caurus opened his mouth. A blast of Arctic wind caught up the smoke of Iblis al-Shaitan’s body, and carried it out of the Treasure Chamber and back to the pedestal where the copper pot waited. A last low wail issued from the Elemental Chamber, as the King of Fire accepted his fate. Closer at hand, Caurus flopped over. His body lay burned and charred before the doorway to Fairyland.
The burning harp of Dagna uttered one last note and fell into ashes.
Quickly, I threw Laevateinn into the central rotunda, where it lay surrounded by mist. The floor beneath it cracked from its terrible cold. Grabbing the Urim shield that lay before Caurus’s supine body, I ran to the Elemental Chamber and lay it across the mouth of the copper pot. I pinned the shield down with the Savior’s wheel, which was still in pristine condition despite the Fire-King’s best efforts.
As soon as this was done, I ran back to Caurus. His hair was half charred. Terrible burns marred his cheek and his shoulder. Kneeling beside him, I drew out my crystal vial and gave him a drop of the pearly liquid within. Its wondrous fragrance drove off the stench of burnt flesh and hair.
Yet, Caurus did not stir.
When the Water of Life failed to rouse him, terror gripped my heart like a giant’s hand, squeezing. I shook him. I checked for breathing. There was none.
He could not be dead! Not Caurus! The Aerie Ones were immortal. Caurus was the Northwest Wind. He was a god! But Gooseberry had been an Aerie One, too, and the bullet that ended the life of his fleshy body had slain him. Was Caurus gone, too, burned to death?
Bowing my head over him, I wept.
My voice
choked with sobs, I began to sing the lullaby Caurus had recited by my bedside so long ago.
Lucciola lucciola, gialla gialla
metti la briglia alla cavalla
che la vuole il figlio del re
lucciola lucciola vieni con me.
Firefly, firefly, yellow and bright,
Bridle the filly under your light,
The son of the king is ready to ride,
Firefly, firefly, come to my side.
As I sang it the second time, in English, a voice joined me, reedy yet vibrant.
“Caurus!”
“Fear not, Milady,” Caurus’s inhuman voice—sounding much like the music of a hornpipe formed into words—spoke from the air over my shoulder. “I am well. My body is damaged, but will heal under your ministering. I merely came out of it to chase that scoundrel back into his pot!”
“Glad to hear it,” I snapped brusquely, blushing. It was uncharacteristic of me to weep over a servant. To have been caught was unseemly.
Caurus’s airy voice chuckled, “No need to be embarrassed, Milady. We all know you love us.”
“I do?” I asked, astonished.
“Of course,” he replied, “And we love you! Why else do you think we all work so hard?”
In the end, I departed through the damaged Fey Threshold alone. While Iblis’s oath theoretically kept him in the pot for the next year and a day, Caurus and I agreed that someone needed to stand watch until the pot could be properly sealed. Caurus returned to his body, and I gave him a second drop of Water of Life to speed his healing. He agreed to stand watch wearing the Urim gauntlet but refused to touch Laevateinn unless it was absolutely necessary.
I did not blame him. The sword terrified me as well. My right arm still tingled with numbness, and several times, I thought I heard its voice whispering to me, urging me to revenge. I left him standing guard with Laevateinn, stashed within the Urim sheath from the angel’s armor, resting atop the empty fourth pedestal. The spear Gungnir hovered in the air nearby. It patroled the vault, still seeking its quarry, Seir of the Shadows.
Prospero in Hell Page 9
