Prospero Regained (43 page)

“Nephews!” Uncle Antonio waved. He spoke in Italian. “Nieces. How fortuitous!”

Erasmus bowed respectfully. Mephisto jumped up and down, waving. Theo leaned on his staff and frowned. The others stayed back, never having met Uncle Antonio, who died before they were born.

I saw all this with my eyes, but my mind, which seemed to be moving slowly, as if in a cart pulled by a very elderly donkey, could not grasp it. My brothers were speaking to him? They were smiling at him? Had they forgotten that his was the hand that had slain my only hope of escaping a joyless, barren life?

Trembling with rage, I strode forward to confront him. My heart pounded in my ears, as if hatred had a sound like rushing waters. “Murderer! Vile monster! You killed Ferdinand! You exiled Father to that tiny island, you plotted against the King of Naples, and you murdered his son!” I thought but did not add “and my love!”

“Remain calm,” Gregor whispered gently under his breath. “Remember Malagigi’s warning.”

“So, you finally enlightened her, did you?” Uncle Antonio directed his magnetic smile upon Erasmus, pulling my brother in like an iron filing. To me, he merely gave a courtly flourish of the hand. “Guilty as charged. I did slay the young whelp, and I plotted against his father, the King of Naples, that I admit.

“But, exile Prospero? Quite the opposite! Prospero betrayed us! He tucked you under his arm and crept away under the cover of night, taking with him all our treasures. I had no objections to him taking Vinae, but he could have left Paimon for me. Selfish knave. Would not even share with own his brother!”

“Father wasn’t exiled?” Theo asked.

“Exiled? By whom?” My uncle spread his arms in an expansive Italian shrug. “He was the duke. Milan was a sovereign state. Who was there to exile him? No. He ran, the coward. He ran and hid and gathered his power. Then, armed with his newfound knowledge, he came back, and used magic to wage war against us, until he had remade the
Orbis Suleimani
in his own image.”

“Why did Father do all this?” Gregor came up beside us, his face impassive. His half cape billowed in the icy wind.

“You must be one of the young ones.” Uncle Antonio bowed. “I am Antonio, your uncle.” He nodded toward the others whom he had not met, Cornelius, Titus, Caliban, Ulysses, Mab, and, finally, Logistilla, at whom he flashed a charming smile. Logistilla lowered her dark lashes and smiled mysteriously.

Watching this exchange, I wondered if some illusion showed the others the missing portions of his face. I reached out and touched my sister’s shoulder. She gave a little gasp and jerked away from Uncle Antonio, repulsed.

Uncle Antonio turned back to Gregor and shrugged. “I know no more of Prospero’s musings than you, less most likely. At first, I thought King Vinae, in some effort to put himself above his fellow demons in glory, had offered my brother yet another gift. Later, we learned otherwise. Apparently, Prospero used the summoning magic Vinae taught him to call up some abomination. This wicked creature offered him yet more power, if he would betray the rest of us. Probably, it was that witch who could control the moon, the one whose bastard we found living on the island where Prospero was hiding.”

“Or Lilith,” Erasmus murmured softly, his dark malicious glance resting on me.

“While this is fascinating,” I spoke through gritted teeth, held rigidly due to both anger and cold, “you killed Ferdinand!”

“And I am here to pay for my sins.” Uncle Antonio gestured as if to take in all of Hell. “What more would you require of me?”

I stood mute, not knowing what to say to that.

“What is your position here, Uncle?” Theo eyed the motley procession with distaste.

“I am Duke of Infernal Milan.”

“How is it that you are a duke, Uncle?” Erasmus asked. “That hardly seems like a vile torment.”

“I am glad you asked,” my uncle smiled at Erasmus as if they were comrades at a drinking party, “for it is thanks to you, Nephew.”

“Me?” Erasmus asked, surprised and pleased.

“Indeed. Do you recall the kindness you did me on the battlefield, as I lay dying, my innards spilling out upon the earth? You soothed my brow and gave me a drink from your own wineskin. A bond was forged between us by your kindness. Because of that kindness, I escaped my torment, after many years spent trapped and freezing in a field of ice.”

“Did my brother pray for you?” Gregor gazed at Erasmus with newfound approval.

“Not quite.” Uncle Antonio smirked. “Not one to leave a kind turn unrewarded, I bent my will and sorcery to aid you, Erasmus. All the best moments of your life, I was with you.”

Erasmus brushed his lank hair from his eyes and straightened his shoulders. Something hopeful flickered across his face, like the first breath of spring breeze after a particularly harsh winter. “Thank you, Uncle.”

My uncle gave my brother a smile I did not like. “When your pride in your ancestry ruled your actions, I was with you. When you treated your soulless seal wives cruelly, as such creatures deserve, I was with you. When you denounced your scheming sister as a witch and a harridan, I was with you.”

The color drained from Erasmus’s face. “Those were hardly my best moments…” His voice faltered. His throat convulsed. “In fact, one might argue they were my worst. I learned during this trip that those poor faery women might have gained souls had I treated them with human kindness.”

Uncle Antonio shrugged. “If God meant such creatures to have souls, would he not have granted them souls at the hour of their creation? Surely, you are doing His work by keeping such women from growing a human heart.”

“You are vile!” Erasmus backed away, sliding on the slick ice. “This ‘kindness’ of yours has done me nothing but harm!”

Theo caught him, steadying him. I reached over and touched Erasmus’s arm. He shrugged me off, but not before his back stiffened. He had seen what I had wanted him to see.

Uncle Antonio swaggered forward. “Shall I tell you how you helped me, Nephew? Oh, this will amuse you, of that I am certain! Listen closely and learn how you have benefited your fond uncle.

“When first I awoke, after my death, I found myself in the freezing ice fields where traitors are punished—not this ice. It’s smooth and bluish and much, much colder. A wasted and inhuman place, where no care or human affection ever lingers. Not a place men, even dead men, should ever be.” His face took on a strange, haunted gauntness as he spoke of his torture. I almost felt sorry for him. “For a hundred years, maybe twice that, I suffered thus. Then, one day—in the midst of this numb nothingness of ice—a woman of incomparable grace and beauty appeared. She came to me and spoke words of comfort, saying she would set me free, grant me power and honors, and make me Duke of Infernal Milan, if I would only agree to help her. All that was required was that I help destroy my hated brother Prospero and his despicable daughter.

“She explained she was Lilith, the Queen of Air and Darkness, one of the Seven Rulers of Hell. She wished to strike a blow against her nemesis, the White Lady of Spiral Wisdom. To do this, she needed a damned soul that had some bond of blood or affection tying him to Prospero and his daughter, her enemy’s Handmaiden. Since I had in my heart a drop of affection for Prospero’s youngest son, Erasmus, and since, even more importantly, Erasmus was fond of me but hated Miranda, I would do splendidly.

“The Queen of Air and Darkness was as good as her word. She freed me from the ice and made me the duke here. All she required in return was that I breathe hatred into my nephew and turn his heart against my loathsome niece. I objected when I learned that my actions might cause you discomfort, Nephew, for I am genuinely fond of you. You were kind to me, when you might have been otherwise, and made my last moments more bearable. However, Lilith made it clear that if I refused, I would return to that ice, forever. Reluctantly, I agreed.

“Thus, my sorcery restored, I have spent my days ruling over those damned souls who dwell here and working my magic against my traitor of a brother. I have whispered to you day and night, inflaming your hatred, reminding you how Miranda had robbed you, had stolen what was yours, had lied and abused and defamed you. Anything you might believe.”

“My sister…” Erasmus swallowed as if his mouth were too dry to continue. “Did … did she do any of those things?”

Uncle Antonio raised his shoulders in another elaborate Italian shrug. “How would I know? Most likely, as she is her father’s daughter, and he was a traitorous cur.”

“But you don’t know for sure?” Erasmus looked as if he had been punched in the solar plexus.

“Come, Nephew!” Uncle Antonio chided. “You should be grateful. I saved your life.”

“How so?”

“Without the hatred I breed in your heart to give your life focus, how would you resist the terrible despair that threatens daily to consume you?”

Erasmus was now as pale as the souls of the dead in the procession. His eyes glanced about wildly, as if hoping that the rest of us had not heard this. Perhaps, he feared we would mock him, but I did not mock him. Instead, I remembered the afternoon on Father’s island when all that had kept me from desolation had been my hatred of him. If he lived his life like that all the time, I felt very sorry for him indeed.

Our eyes met, and I saw him sway, as if one of the mainstays that held him up had been cut. It was not mockery he dreaded, but pity.

Uncle Antonio turned to the others, glancing from face to face. “Where is the blind one? I wish to pay my respects to King Paimon.”

“I am here, but he cannot hear you.” Cornelius tapped his way forward. He looked somewhat incongruous in his tailored suit and with a bright red and white bandana wrapped around his eyes. “He is bound and warded. Neither you nor I shall benefit by his company today.”

“Ah, a pity.” Uncle Antonio stared at the black-wrapped cane like a man coming upon the lover who had spurned him years before, choosing another in his stead.

“When … when did this start?” Erasmus croaked, his voice nearly too dry to hear. “This ‘help’ you have been giving me?”

“After Maria died,” Uncle Antonio replied. “Before that you were not accessible to the Darker Powers.” He leaned his head back and laughed. “Oh, Sweet Maria. What good she has done our cause, and how she has suffered for it!”

“What do you mean?” Erasmus cried. “Surely, she is not down…” His voice trailed off.

“Down here? No. She is on earth. She lives in Poland, where she is a sixty-three-year-old widow, mother of four.”

“Excuse me?” Erasmus asked, shocked.

Uncle Antonio leaned toward him, his dead eyes filled with malice. “Maria loved you so much. Such pity did she feel for your sorrow over her death that she had herself reborn and came back to be with you.”

“People can live more than one life?” Gregor interrupted skeptically.

“Some do,” Uncle Antonio replied with a shrug. Turning to Erasmus, he continued, “This was in the early eighteenth century. You met, but you spurned her because she reminded you of your lost love, and you could not bear the pain of it. She spent the remaining days of that life in a convent.”

“What?” Erasmus pressed the back of his hand to his mouth. He seemed to be swaying. “Oh! If I had only…”

“Oh, there’s more,” Uncle Antonio continued. “Undaunted, she tried again. The second time, you married her—remember Helena?—but you treated her coldly because you felt she did not measure up to your real wife, her previous self. The third time, you used her cruelly and would not wed her. Her name was Natalia then. Ah, I see you remember her, too. After that, Maria gave up. She asked to be granted a life that had nothing to do with you.”

“No!” My brother’s legs wobbled and then gave out. He collapsed to the dirty snow. Hiding his face in his hands, he wept, a harsh and heart-raking sound.

Much as I hated him, my heart ached for him. Learning that he had spurned the very woman he had loved so all-consumingly was very possibly the worst moment of his long, immortal life.

Uncle Antonio leaned over my weeping brother. He seemed taller, as if Erasmus’s defeat gave him strength. “That was my greatest victory,” he chortled, “hardening your heart toward her. Had you allowed yourself to love again, you would have been lost to me!”

Erasmus pounded on the snow. Sharp shards of ice cut his hands. Red blood stained the ever-present white.

Mephisto stepped between Erasmus and my uncle. “That’s enough, you bully! You leave my little brother alone!”

“Ah, Mephisto. Lost your marbles, have you? A shame. You had such promise in your youth! And look at you now, pale and pathetic. An insult to the demon after whom you were named!”

Mephisto held up a finger, objecting. “Um, actually, I think he was named after me.”

Ignoring Mephisto, Uncle Antonio sneered at Erasmus. “You could have been great, Erasmus, had you not allowed despair to rule you. You could still be great, if you listen only to me.” He leaned around Mephisto. “All other hope has been lost. Why not throw in with me? Join me, as my right-hand man. All I ask in return is one little thing, that you surrender your whole soul to hatred.”

Erasmus, his face in his hands, rocked back and forth, wailing. Cornelius moved forward and sought to comfort him, but Erasmus’s rocking shoulder kept escaping his hand.

Mephisto gazed at Erasmus. His face darkened. Putting his hand beneath his enchanted surcoat, he shoved Uncle Antonio through the enchanted cloth, sending him sprawling. Servants from the procession rushed forward and helped my uncle to his feet. As Uncle Antonio rose, Mephisto seemed to grow taller. His hair stood on end, and his eyes shone with a sapphire light.

In a great voice, he cried: “Leave my little brother alone!”

Uncle Antonio stepped back, alarmed. “What witchery is this?”

Gregor stepped forward and laid a hand on Mephisto’s arm. “Calm yourself, brother.”

“Worry not!” Uncle Antonio told Gregor. “I fear not this lunatic. What weaklings Prospero bred! Even from here, from the depths of Hell, my magic has proven the stronger! He always was a fool, my brother. He shall die a traitor’s death, and I shall be the victor!”