Prospero Regained

by L. Jagi Lamplighter

  “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone,” urged Malagigi, stepping hastily between them and raising his hands, though I did not know what kind of a barrier his insubstantial body would have made.

  “So, this is what drove you mad.” Gregor leaned against his staff and nodded as if some ancient suspicion had been confirmed. “Consorting with the Powers of Hell!”

  “No, Brother, that was caused by … Arghh!” Mephistopheles tipped back his horned head and howled at the lurid sky. “Fools! You have caused me to recall what I must not!”

  Above, the sky rumbled.

  “Flee, fools!” Mephistopheles raised his arms toward the sky. “The Queen of Air and Darkness approaches!”

  The lurid red sky rolled back like a scroll, showing a foggy gray beyond. From this mist streamed a horde of demons, imps, demi-goblins, and cacodemons followed by a black chariot pulled by skeletal lions. Within the chariot, whip in hand, stood a figure of beauty and malice, cold as death, pale as bone.

  Alarmed, we Prosperos raised our staffs. Hellshadow seeped from Gregor’s staff and Erasmus’s began to hum. Unconcerned, Malagigi walked calmly to Mab and held out his hand. Reluctantly, Mab parted with the little silver star. Retreating until he stood a short distance from the rest of us, Malagigi bent his head in prayer and raised his hand, so that the light upon his palm shone brightly. Starless, Mab pulled out his lead pipe.

  Erasmus held his whirling, humming staff at arm’s length, wincing slightly because of the stiffness in his arm, tired after hours spent withering the plesiosaur. “Would it be out of place of me to ask why Lilith is attacking us?” he asked airily. “Is it just a general she’s-evil-we’re-good thing? Or is it personal?”

  “It’s personal,” Mab replied. “She owns your brother … but only when he remembers that she does … which is why he drank from the Lethe.”

  “And Gregor just made him remember. Got it. Good going, Greggie-Poo.”

  The demon Mephistopheles turned his head and regarded us. “How did you four escape the Hellwinds? How did you stay together?”

  “Gregor’s staff,” I replied. “It protected us.”

  Mephistopheles’s head swiveled until his glowing eyes fixed on Gregor. “Protect us, Brother, for only the Hellwinds will save us now!”

  “Brothers, to me!” Gregor grabbed me about the waist with one arm, as he planted his feet and raised his staff. Darkness poured from its black, rune-carved length. Erasmus and Mab lunged for Gregor, each grabbing on to the crimson robes.

  Mephistopheles cried, “Play, Sister! Call up the Hellwinds and blow the Queen of Air and Darkness from the sky!”

  “What?” I cried, The specter of Theo’s face as he was torn from my grasp rose before my thoughts. “I can’t! It will go badly again! I’ll lose you all!”

  “Great,” Erasmus murmured. “She’s only willing to play her flute when it’s going to harm her own family. Can’t bear to hurt the poor Queen of Air and Darkness. That wouldn’t be nice.”

  By God, sometimes I hated Erasmus! With an angry jerk, I shook the grime and mud from my flute and lifted it to my lips.

  As the marvelous music issued forth, Mephistopheles crossed his arms, lowered his head, and shrank, until he was Mephisto again. He looked wildly right and left and then dived toward Gregor, landing full out on his stomach where he hugged Gregor’s right leg, his staff clattering beside him. Malagigi glanced up from his prayers, smiled, and lowered his head again. Apparently, the Hellwinds did not worry him.

  The song of the flute rang out across the swamp, evoking memories of birds in flight and spring mornings washed clean by fresh warm rain. All around us, the demons and the damned turned toward the music. Some came toward me, wondering, imploring, as if drawn against their will. Others recoiled, covering their ears and yowling. Not even the slightest breeze blew, however, and I feared the Hellwinds would not heed my command.

  Could it have been an accident that the Hellwinds came the first time, not my doing after all? A great sense of relief washed over me.

  Then, we heard it, a roar like unto a thousand jet engines, bearing straight down upon us. The Hellwinds had come.

  Darkness billowed out of Gregor’s staff, obscuring much of our view. Through it, we could barely make out the clouds of inky soot as they bore down upon the flying horde. Lilith’s entourage, now terrified, turned and fled. Some of the quicker ones darted to safety, but the rest were caught up and carried away.

  The Queen of Air and Darkness held up her hand, and the Hellwinds parted around her. Those of her servants who were behind her quickly moved into the safety of her wake. Slowly, the area of calmness around her spread, and she continued her advance.

  “Geesh!” whispered Mab. “That’s not good!”

  Just then, a fleeing cacodemon, desperate to escape the dark winds, crashed into Lilith, knocking her backward. The moment she ceased commanding them, the Hellwinds bore down upon her. The clouds of billowing darkness caught up her carriage and tumbled it over and over again. Then all was quiet and dark.

  * * *

  “SHE’S gone. You can emerge.” Malagigi’s voice calmly cut through the darkness. The Hellwinds were gone, and all was quiet again, save for the moans of the damned. The smell of brimstone was strong in the air.

  Mephisto rose to his feet and cheered, punching the air. “Yah! Yippee!” Turning to Malagigi, he threw his arms out wide and cried, “Hi, I’m Mephisto. Don’t you recognize me?”

  “Yes, I know who you are,” Malagigi responded.

  Mephisto began to say something else, but paused when he saw Erasmus’s and Gregor’s expressions.

  “What? What did I do now?” He looked down. “Why am I naked except for my surcoat?”

  “Too busy orgying with the likes of them.” Erasmus gestured at the emaciated men and women groveling on the island about us. It was less crowded than before. Apparently, a few of the locals had been caught up in the Hellwinds, along with Lilith’s entourage and moved to some other place. Those who remained cowered on the ground; one or two gazed with fascination at Malagigi’s star.

  “Yuck!” Mephisto clapped his knees together and waved his hands about excitedly, his staff flying freely. “Ewww!” Then, he straightened and looked down at the rest of his clothes, which Mab thrust at him. “Why’d I do that?”

  Gregor moved toward Mephisto, his expression serene, but his staff upraised menacingly. I stepped in his way.

  “He doesn’t remember, Gregor. He doesn’t remember anything about it. That’s how he protects himself from his oath to…” I paused and wet my lips, pointing up at where the Queen of Air and Darkness had just departed. “From the person who just came after us. There’s no use questioning him. He doesn’t remember a thing.”

  Gregor regarded Mephisto who was busily trying to get dressed—a process that involved undoing and reattaching the handcuffs.

  “Is this true?” Gregor asked hoarsely.

  “Is what true?” Mephisto looked happily between our faces, frowning slightly when he saw Gregor’s scowl. “What?”

  “Bah!” Gregor spat and turned away. He stood with his back to Mephisto, his arms crossed. Then, his shoulders relaxed. He shook his head and chuckled softly. “It just does not pay to become upset. Not even when one’s family members become demons.”

  I gawked at Gregor. Was this the same thundering brother I remembered? Boy, had he changed!

  “Just get dressed, Harebrain,” muttered Mab, “and be thankful that it was these guys who found you, and not Mr. Theophrastus and the Staff of Devastation!”

  * * *

  AS we waited for Mephisto to dress, Malagigi joined us, his tiny star gleaming on the palm of his outstretched hand. “I must part with you all. Miranda’s music has stirred memories of better things in a few of these poor souls. There may be good I can do here.”

  “It has been a pleasure to see you, Malagigi,” Erasmus replied sincerely. “Particularly, to see you in that”—he indicated the blue rob
e with the anchor and star on its shoulder—“rather than in this.” He gestured toward the swamp and Hell beyond.

  “It is not a bad life—for life is what we of the Brotherhood of Hope call it, even though, for us, the word does not have the same meaning it does for you,” Malagigi replied. “In many ways, my life is better now than it was on Earth.”

  “How so?” Gregor came forward, his crimson robes billowing about him. He leaned upon his staff, watching Mephisto.

  “I had become callous.” Malagigi tucked his hands in his sleeves. “As a youth, I was raised by a good Christian fairy—there are some, you know,” he added when Gregor frowned skeptically. “I was taught to help others and do good. But, I could not seem to do good. Those I helped turned out to be the villains, or they died of old age despite my best efforts. After a time, my enthusiasm waned. Now, finally, I can help others, because I can see exactly what is good and what is not!”

  Erasmus snorted with contempt. Malagigi arched his very French eyebrow.

  “Mais non? You think I cannot?” he asked. “Good moves you up. Evil moves you down. It is all very obvious and straightforward…”

  “You make it sound so easy,” Erasmus said dubiously.

  “Oh, no! It is difficult! This work is difficult, too.” He gave a shamefaced smile. “Difficult and humbling. In my day, I had been the master of secrets, walking paths only I could walk and speaking to friends with whom only I could converse. Now, I am no longer unique. Everyone in the Brotherhood, except the most abject novices, can walk the hidden ways and talk to elementals. I, who lived by subterfuge and mystery, have no more secrets to sustain me. I am stripped bare.”

  Malagigi untied his golden belt and slowly opened his blue robe. Underneath, he wore a garment of glimmering white, only the cloth was stained, as if it had had been dipped in blood and gore. Erasmus recoiled visibly; his gaze fixed upon the gruesome blots that marred the robe’s purity.

  “Ew!” Mephisto cried from where he hopped about trying to get his leg into his pants. “Yucky! Pewwy!”

  Malagigi hung his head sheepishly. “Every time I help someone I’ve harmed, a stain fades; so now, as those who attended will recall, I seek out those who are here due to the French Revolution. But the damage done to France by the Reign of Terror still goes on, and new stains appear even as the old ones fade.

  “And then there are stains for those who were damaged by my students,” he added, sighing heavily.

  “You suffer for your students’ sins?” Gregor asked.

  Malagigi shook his head. “Only for the harm done with secrets that were not mine to share. It is the penalty I must pay for having divulged mysteries I had been told to keep privy.”

  “I don’t remember you doing much teaching.” Erasmus leaned forward with interest. “Did you take many students?”

  “Only a few. None after Theophrastus betrayed me.” Seeing our glares, he cried, “Mais non! Not your brother Theo! I was speaking of Philippus Aureolus Theophrastus Bombastus Von Hohenheim.”

  “Oh, him!” Mephisto nodded knowingly.

  “Philippus-wha-who?” Mab asked.

  “A student of mine wrote down the secrets I taught him and published them before all the world.” Malagigi sighed again.

  “He means Paracelsus,” Erasmus drawled. “Though, in his defense, Paracelsus is still much revered by the medical community for his contributions to the healing arts.”

  “That perp I’ve heard of! Paved the way for no end of trouble, he did.” Mab slapped his lead pipe against his fist. “Letting on about the existence of sylphs, for instance. Mortals and spirits shouldn’t mix. No good will come of it.”

  “Paracelsus was a dodo head,” Mephisto declared. “He confused gnomes with oreads.”

  “Actually, I did that,” Erasmus admitted airily, examining his fingernails. “I was a member of the Paracelsus Obscuration Team—though we did not call it that, at the time. His work had been spread too widely for the Orbis Suleimani to squelch it entirely, but we could alter it, make it less effective. We made changes to the original and to some primary copies. Later, our false version was taken as the true copy and proliferated. Of course, having the wrong information led to some would-be magicians making deadly errors but…” Erasmus shrugged. “Better the magician than his victims.”

  Mab pulled out his notebook. “Why gnomes instead of oreads?”

  “Gnomes can’t cause earthquakes.”

  “Ah … good point!”

  Malagigi shivered. “Even now, the Circle of Solomon fills me with terror. Perhaps, more so now, since I would be a shade to them and vulnerable to their exorcists!” He drew his robes together. Then, with a quick little smile, he opened them again and pointed to a splotch like an old bruise over his hip. “This one is our attack on Milan.”

  Erasmus had trouble finding his voice. “Whatever my part of that, I forgive you.”

  A tiny portion of the stain, nearly imperceptible, faded.

  “Dear God!” whispered Erasmus. He looked more shaken than I had ever seen him.

  “And I!” I stepped forward. “I forgive you, too.”

  “And me! Me, too! Oh, oh, pick me!” Mephisto jumped around with his hand in the air, the sleeve of his half-donned shirt flailing wildly about his head. “I want to forgive!”

  “And mine for what it’s worth, though I was not there,” rumbled Gregor.

  As we watched, tiny bits of the purple and green bruise that was the attack of Charlemagne’s Brood on Milan vanished, leaving slightly more of the robe white and pure.

  “Glorious!” Gregor whispered hoarsely. “To have seen it with my own eyes.”

  “Come on, Detective!” Mephisto pulled on Mab’s coat. “Join in!”

  “What?” Mab drew back, outraged. “I didn’t contribute to that stain! I’ve never even been to Milan. Not that I remember, anyway.” Turning to Malagigi, he added, “But I want to keep this new soul of mine clean, so if there is anything I can forgive you of, I do.”

  Malagigi drew his dark blue garments closed, hiding the stained robe, and fastened his golden belt. His eyes filled with tears. “My one great regret is that I cannot share this knowledge—that redemption is possible even here, in Hell—with my brother, Eliaures. I cannot find him. I have spoken to my sister Melusine. She is too caught up in her spite to hear me yet, but I pray for her daily. Never underestimate the power of prayer, nor cease to pray for your loved ones, whether alive or no!”

  “If I see ’em, I’ll let ’em know,” Mab promised.

  “What of your other sisters?” I asked.

  “Alcina and Falerina are above.” Malagigi pointed up. “They were never as wicked as the rest of us, so they could find it in their hearts to forgive our murderers. I see them occasionally, when they descend to the foot of Mount Purgatory to visit me. But Eliaures, I cannot find.”

  “Your wish is my command,” Mephisto chirped, snatching the crystal sphere back from Mab. “Ball, show me Eliaures.”

  Within, we saw a group of souls carrying great boulders as they walked along a raised causeway. Recognizing his brother among them, Malagigi cried out with joy.

  “He’s on the Pathway of Pride at the foot of the Mountains of Misery,” Mephisto said. “We’re going that way.”

  “If you see him, tell him my story! Tell him that redemption still awaits!”

  “We will do so,” Erasmus promised, clasping the Frenchman’s hand one last time.

  “God go with you, Prosperos!” Malagigi’s face shone. “Go in peace, and may your family be reunited! Should you have need of the Brotherhood of Hope, pray. We will not be able to help you in your quest, but if you find someone worthy of our attentions, we will come.

  “Blessings to you, too, Souled Elemental! Bright this day will remain in my mind: the day I saw that even the living air can be accepted into the bosom of God!”

  Mab returned a crooked grin, then frowned. “What if Lilith returns?” He slapped his lead pipe menacingly across his pal
m. “Will you be okay?”

  “She cannot hurt me, so long as I neither fear nor desire her,” Malagigi replied, smiling. “And after the glories I have seen Above, nothing here holds the power to tempt me.”

  “May God bless thee and watch over thee, my Son.” Gregor made the sign of the cross over Malagigi.

  “Thank you, Most Holy Father.”

  Gregor blessed him as he had blessed countless thousands. Unlike when he performed this ritual on earth, the half cape of his crimson robes billowed, as if an invisible wind stirred the fabric. A halo of golden light appeared above his head. Awed, Malagigi bowed his head reverently.

  All around the damned paused. Most then fled, screaming. A few stumbled toward my brother, their hands raised before their eyes, as if they longed for the holiness that they recognized, but could not bear the brightness of the light that radiated from him.

  “Wow!” Mab gaped.

  “Well, he was pope,” Erasmus murmured. “Once a pope always a pope, you know.”

  “Just like the kings and queens of Narnia!” Mephisto exclaimed in delight. When the rest of us glanced at him in puzzlement, he just smiled.

  The golden light faded slowly. Then, Gregor was merely Gregor again, but few lost souls approaching him were not daunted. They came toward him, one even daring to touch the hem of his robes. Gregor blessed them, too, and the strange phenomena of light and holy breeze happened again.

  * * *

  MALAGIGI moved forward to speak to the souls who had been blessed by Gregor, while the rest of us walked back toward our skull-boat. Overhead, the sky had rolled back, and the ruddy sky streaked with bands of gray had returned.

  We drew near the shore and began dragging the skull-boat back into the swampy waters. Mephisto kept poking at the boat, making it rock. He leapt up and danced around the rim of the skull, his hands spread like an acrobat on a high wire. The rest of us stood, wearily, urging him to stop so that we could come aboard.