Prospero Regained

by L. Jagi Lamplighter

  “I am yet still an elf, and my people still capricious winds. I cannot promise that all will swear again, or that there will be no terrible storms in years to come. But what I can do, I shall do, and all for love of you.”

  His eyes reflecting the fury of the tempest, he lowered his head and kissed me.

  I entwined my arms about his neck, my lips yielding willingly beneath his mouth. He clasped me to him, and his wings enfolded me, sheltering me in a soft feathery embrace. Breathing the air about my elvish love, I dreamt we danced together in the sky, twirling and spiraling through cloud and wind and storm. Only, this time, it was not a dream at all. Or perhaps, the dream and the reality were one.

  When we parted again, still dancing and gazing into each other’s eyes, I asked, “Will you answer a question for me? Something I have been curious about?”

  “For you? Anything,” his eyes flashing green, “so long as it suits my elvish fancy.”

  “In your pact with Mephisto, where you promised to help him with Queen Maeve, what did he promise you?”

  Few mortals have ever seen an elf blush. I now joined that lucky elite.

  “We made a solemn oath that”—he spun me about—“if I helped him win the affection of the Elf Queen, he would help me win yours. At first, I must admit, I sought merely dalliance, for you were lovely to behold, like a rainbow over the morning dew, or the light of a newborn star piercing a cloudy night. However, Mephisto made it clear you were a vestal virgin and not to be trifled with. After that, the hope grew in my breast that, by bringing you the Book of the Sibyl, I might win both my freedom from Hell and you for myself.”

  And he kissed me again.

  The clouds parted around us briefly, and I could see Father’s island beneath us. I felt a stab of sadness as I saw that the lightning-damaged oak was the one in the Grove of Books, from which Theo’s staff came.

  “The poor oak! Remind me to go by and give it a drop of Water.”

  Astreus touched the ivory mark upon my forehead. “Cannot you help it right now, from here?”

  I gazed at it, picturing what the world might be like from an oak’s point-of-view. As the warmth began to flow from my Lady’s mark, a thunderbolt ripped across the sky, following the invisible beam coming from my forehead. Quickly, I averted my gaze, and the bolt struck the first thing my eyes fell upon, a high plinth of rock.

  Again and again, I picked some object beneath me, the tip of a wave, a ledge of rock, an open field. Each time, lightning flashed across the sky, striking the place I had chosen.

  I threw back my head, laughing.

  After five hundred years, I had become a Sibyl of Eurynome, and it was even more splendid than I had imagined!

  “The Gifts of the Sibyl!” I shouted. “Command the Lightning!”

  Astreus touched the mark on my forehead and smiled. “Indeed, and even more wonderful gifts await you, the secondary gifts. Did you not read the book I so laboriously copied for you? ‘The very elements themselves rejoice in Her love, standing firm or fleeing as She requires.’ I have seen Sibyls run across the waves and sink fleets, make quagmires firm and rocks porous, dance in the midst of flames, and fly.”

  “Fly!” I cried joyously, clapping a hand to my forehead. A joyous jolt of strength passed through my arm. “You mean, with this I can fly?”

  Astreus drew me close. “We are birds of a kind, you and I.” His eyes still sparkled a merry green. “Perhaps we should form a flock.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-THREE

  Prospero’s Secrets

  My family had repaired to the library, a great cavern of a chamber with a vaulted cathedral ceiling and book stacks over twenty-five feet high. Most of the vast shelf space was empty or contained a smattering of modern volumes, paperbacks, and hardcovers with brightly colored dust jackets, as the majority of Father’s books were in Prospero’s Mansion in Oregon or at Erasmus’s. The place was both drafty and musty, but this was preferable to the torrents of rain currently drenching many of the house’s other chambers, now that the great glassless windows no longer had Aerie Spirits to keep the elements at bay. The library had a few skylights set among the arching vaults of the ceiling, but they had been installed recently and were made of glass.

  A few massive tomes still rested upon their custom-made pedestals, one or two of which I recalled from my childhood. These books were enormous and fascinating to behold. One had the ages of man etched into its white leather cover, so that as one watched, a babe seemed to grow into a child into a youth into a man into an old man and back to a babe again. Another had as its cover a mirror that reflected the sky of other worlds. Yet a third bore a demonic face that grimaced menacingly, hissing and growling, whenever any of us came near. This last one was bound up with a thick iron chain.

  Near the center of the library stood a table surrounded by straight-backed chairs. Food from many nations, in variously shaped cardboard and Styrofoam boxes, littered its teak surface. I gathered this bounty had been provided by Ulysses, for he and the others who had vanished with him were now present again, as were Logistilla’s and Titus’s children, who munched on Happy Meals. Stacks of plates, silverware, and napkins stood to one side.

  At the head of the table, my father sat in his old armchair eating doughnuts and Chinese takeout. His hair and beard had been brushed and trimmed, and he was garbed in his enchanted gold robes with their royal purple trim, which, like our garments, had been woven by Logistilla. Though he was still gaunt, he looked much more like his old self. The thorn wounds were already healing, thanks to the Water I had given him. He smiled at the rest of the family who were already seated around the table.

  I came to join the others after landing and visiting the oak tree, to which I gave a liberal dose of Water of Life. Then Astreus headed skyward again, and I went to see my family.

  As I came into the library, the first thing I did was touch two fingers to my forehead and point first at Ulysses, who was sporting a black eye I did not recall having seen after the battle, and then at Logistilla, who was tending Titus’s wounds, her face covered with a mass of bandages.

  “By the power granted to me as a Sibyl of Eurynome,” I announced, “I free Ulysses Reginald Prospero and Logistilla Violante Prospero from their oaths to Abaddon, the Angel of the Bottomless Pit, and from any other foolish promises or vows undertaken in times past.”

  My younger siblings were not Sforza, our family having officially changed our name to Prospero during our years in England.

  “Jolly good!” Ulysses leapt up and punched the air. His voice echoed throughout the mostly empty library. “Miranda, you are literally the best sister a guy could have!”

  Logistilla breathed an audible sigh of relief. “Thank you, Sister. That is one nightmare I am happy to have behind me! You cannot imagine…” She shuddered and held up a hand. “No, I shan’t speak of it!”

  “The fake Seal of Solomon!” Ulysses blurted out. “Now that the geas is gone, I can tell you! It’s an imp in disguise. I was supposed to smuggle it into Father’s mansion so that it could let other demons in past his wards.”

  “Which explains how Seir of the Shadows got into the Vault.” Mab flipped open his notebook and made a note of this, crossing off yet another unanswered question. “And how he got onto the grounds of the Oregon mansion in the first place. I wager it helped that the demons had Mr. Prospero’s blood and could pass the wards, right?”

  “Yes.” Father inclined his head. “Lilith was ‘kind’ enough to inform me when they cast the spell to let Seir into the mansion. I suppose she hoped it would weaken my resolve. Make a note, Mab, to remove that fake piece first thing when you return to Oregon.”

  Mab scribbled obediently in his notebook.

  My stomach rumbled. The mingled smells of the many cuisines all warred for my attention. Realizing that I was very hungry indeed, I quickly served myself from the various boxes and sat down.

  “We’ve settled the storm, for now,” I explained between b
ites. “Some of the Aerie Ones will be coming back to work, and Caurus has gone to scoop up sailors who would otherwise drown at sea.”

  “A worldwide storm.” Cornelius shook his head sadly. He sat at the table between Ulysses and Theo, his staff resting beside him, his shoulders slumped, and his expression dejected. “It is going to take a great deal of work to clean this up in the history books.”

  His voice seemed flat, as if it echoed from a great distance away, as if his soul were elsewhere, far from us, and resented being dragged back in order to speak.

  Again, I felt a pang of sharp regret and wished that it had not been my words that had convinced him to forgo Heaven.

  “Nonsense!” Erasmus did not bother looking up from where he knelt treating Theo’s head wound. “Just blame it on global climate changes. People blame all sorts of things on global climate changes—earthquakes, the losses of their favorite rugby teams—and everyone believes it.”

  Father looked around the table, his eyes traveling from one of our faces to the next, until he had studied each of us.

  “Miranda has learned a great deal in the short time I have been away,” he said. “I expect to discover the rest of you have done as well.”

  “I could wax poetic about life as a bear.” Titus sat with his leg out so that Logistilla could treat his wound.

  “You were a bear? No wonder my servants could not find you!” Father’s eyes narrowed as he regarded Logistilla speculatively. “I see there is much I have not yet heard.”

  “I was a leopard for over fifty years,” Gregor volunteered, raising a hand. He turned to Titus. “You and I should swap tales. One interesting thing I discovered—”

  “Before we go telling you all our little secrets, Father,” Erasmus interrupted, “or fill you in on our new plan for family-wide, periodic, staff rotation, perhaps it is time for you to answer a few questions of ours.”

  We all looked at Father with great interest, but he gave a curt shake of his head.

  “That would not be wise,” he explained. “Our enemies are very dangerous. It is best you ask me your questions later, one at a time.”

  Erasmus shrugged and went back to applying bandages, though some of the others looked quite disappointed. I sighed. Apparently, everything was going right back to the way it had been. Somehow, I had hoped things would be different.

  Mab had been sitting at the far end of the table, eating a Boston Cream doughnut. He came forward to stand politely before Father, his hat in his hand.

  “Begging your pardon, Mr. Pros…” Midword, Mab halted and threw down his hat. “Beggin’ nothing! I’m a free agent now!” He jabbed a finger at Father. “You listen to me, Lucretius, and listen well! I’m far older than you and a good lick wiser. So take it from me: secrecy breeds distrust, and distrust is a primary weapon of our enemy! True, it was useful that the demons did not know about the Staff of Wisdom—but look at the price you paid!”

  Father appeared quite taken aback. It had been a long time since someone had addressed him by his given name. I wondered if he had forgotten he had one.

  “I beg your pardon.” He drew his bushy brows together and frowned, quite an intimidating sight. “How so?”

  Mab refused to be daunted. “If you had encouraged Miss Miranda to be honest about being jilted by Ferdinand, Mr. Erasmus would not have come to distrust her. If Mr. Erasmus had not distrusted her, your brother Antonio would never have gotten the hold on Mr. Erasmus that he did. If Antonio had not gotten his claws into Mr. Erasmus, he would not have been able to cast his spell, and Miss Miranda and the Professor would not have bickered so much. If they had not bickered so much, Mr. Ulysses would not have gone off on his own to be captured by Abaddon, which led to no end of mess.

  “What’s more, if Mr. Ulysses and Madam Logistilla had known about the antidemonic effect of the Staff of Silence, Mr. Ulysses could have written out his plea for help back in 1921, before Mr. Gregor spent most of a century in prison and Mr. Theophrastus nearly died from the influence of the Staff of Persuasion, which had fallen under the influences of the demons.” As Mab spoke, Father looked rapidly from Cornelius to Theo, and I realized how many things we had not yet told him.

  “Secrecy has harmed your family a great deal,” Mab concluded, “nearly costing several lives. I, for one, say the time has come to do away with it!”

  Titus lifted his hands and brought them together with a resounding crack, once and then again. Moments later, the rest of us joined in, until we all clapped furiously. Mab looked faintly embarrassed, but he winked at me.

  “Whatever answer you give, Father, I’d give it politely.” Erasmus finished off Theo’s bandage. He leaned forward and announced in a stage whisper, “This Mab fellow is secretly the god of the Nor’easterly, and he doesn’t work for us anymore.”

  Father stroked his beard, regarding us without saying anything for quite some time. Finally, he replied, “Very well. I will answer one question from each of you. After that, you will have to wait until I have rested and regained my strength before you quiz me further. For I have endured more than any man who has ever descended into the Inferno and returned to the sunlit lands, and I am very weary.”

  He turned to me, where I sat to his right. “Miranda, you are the heroine of the hour. You may go first. After that, I will take one question each, in order, from eldest to youngest.”

  “Will you really answer, Father?” I asked hopefully and then, grinning, quoted Shakespeare’s lines for my alter ego. “For ‘You have often begun to tell me what I am, but stopp’d, And left me to a bootless inquisition, Concluding “Stay: not yet.”’”

  “You cannot best me with the Bard.” Father chuckled. Smiling, he quoted back. “‘The hour’s now come; The very minute bids thee ope thine ear; Obey and be attentive.’”

  I asked without hesitation, “Why didn’t you tell us that there were demons in our staffs?”

  “I told each of you what I felt you needed to know,” Father replied. “There was no demon in your staff, Daughter, so I did not see the need to explain the matter to you. The more people I told, the more chance of the information falling into the wrong hands.”

  “Did you tell my siblings about how, if they resisted the demons in their staffs…”

  “Shhhh!” Father raised his finger to his lips, cutting me off. “They are present in this room.” He pointed his elbow at Cornelius’s staff. “They will hear you.”

  “Oh!”

  “We’ll discuss that later, Child,” he promised.

  Mephisto jumped up and down waving his hand. “Me! Pick me! I’m next.”

  “No, Mephistopheles,” Father replied mildly, “Caliban is next.”

  “Oops!” Mephisto covered his mouth with both hands. “Your turn, Calvin.”

  Caliban grasped his club, turning it in his lap. “I don’t have many questions that haven’t been answered by…” He looked down at his club. “But there is something I would like to ask you …

  “Master … Brother Mephisto told me that Erasmus had spoken of a place in your journal where you wrote of Sycorax’s child. I know you spoke to this matter in Hell, but I wanted to hear it again, directly from your lips, when we were not being overheard by enemies, so that you do not have a reason to be hiding anything or, perhaps, lying.”

  Father colored faintly. He glanced at Erasmus, his eyes narrowing. “I didn’t know you had that journal.”

  I snorted with irony and self-amusement. And to think that I had been jealous.

  Erasmus smiled and shrugged. “You said I could take any journal I found in the teak chest. This one was next to the chest. I figured that counted.”

  “Indeed.” Father’s eyes glittered with amusement. “And from reading it, you learned that I had a child by the witch Sycorax. Ah, I see now: you thought it was Miranda.” Pushing his food aside, Father reached out and clasped Caliban’s shoulder. “Yes. I am your father, and you are my son.”

  Caliban gazed at us all with worshipful delight. He ha
d already known, but he, who had lived in such solitude, seemed overwhelmed, to be joining such a large, noisy family. He probably would probably always be closest to Mephisto, yet he was already establishing relationships with my other siblings, particularly Cornelius and Ulysses, whom he had toted around in Hell. This was a good thing, I decided. Ulysses could use a little exposure to wisdom.

  “That’s right,” Erasmus laughed. He stood and came over and slapped Caliban on the back. “You are our older brother, now. Next time Father disappears, you’ll be the one in charge.”

  “Oh, no!’ Caliban gasped. “T-that’s Master Mephisto’s job!”

  “Oh-ho-ho!” Mephisto chortled. “You’re the eldest now! I’m off the hook!” He immediately plopped his head down on the table and pretended to snooze making konk-feewww noises. He opened one eye. “Besides, I’m Little Brother now. Not Master.”

  “He’s right,” Titus rumpled. “You’re our eldest brother, and there’s no getting out of it.” He grinned and gave Caliban a friendly punch on the shoulder. “Nice having another big ‘un around to help me with the heavy lifting.”

  Caliban smiled, touched. The others grinned at him. Ulysses gave him a thumbs-up. He blushed under all the attention.

  I reached out and lay my hand on his arm. “Welcome to the family, brother. You’re really one of us now.”

  Tears came into his eyes. He opened his mouth but could not speak.

  Father cleared his throat. “Please. Stop choking the boy up. He can’t finish his question.”

  “How come you treated him so much more badly than you treated the rest of us?” Logistilla asked archly, giving Caliban a sisterly smile.

  “Do not think me too heartless, Daughter,” Father replied. “I treated Caliban as my son until his attack on Miranda. After that, I admit I was less than fatherly. As soon as Mephisto was up to the task, I sent him to take care of Caliban, which he has done admirably over the years.”