Prospero Regained (67 page)

Uncle Antonio fell to his knees before Father. “Save me, Brother, as you saved your son! Let me see the sunlit world once more. I swear I shall do no harm from this day forth!”

Father stared into the face of his brother, the man who had once been his best friend, his closest companion, whom he had betrayed—albeit for a good cause—and by whom he had been betrayed in return.

“Brother,” Father replied gently. “I forgive you. And I will continue to forgive you, even if you offend me seventy times seven times; for it is our job upon the earth to forgive, even as it is Christ’s duty to dole out justice.” My uncle looked vastly relieved, then faltered as Father’s tone became stern. “However, in this case, Antonio, forgiveness is not mine to grant or withhold. It is Miranda and Erasmus whom you have offended, and Miranda and Erasmus who shall decide your fate.”

Turning to Erasmus and me, Father asked, “What shall we do with him, Children? Shall I travel to Milan and search for some remnant of his body, so that I might resurrect him and give him another chance? Or shall we have Theo here blast him back to the depths of Hell?” Father patted Theo on the back.

Erasmus turned to me. “This whole situation is quite awkward, my owing you my life, and likely to make us both uncomfortable over time. How about I give you a life to do with as you please—Uncle Antonio’s—and we settle for me just being grateful to you in my normal, mildly irritating kind of way, hmm?”

Erasmus’s words made me smile, and yet his offer gave me pause. Was I ready to decide the fate of a man’s soul?

Yesterday, I might have refused, doubting my judgment. Today, I was a Sibyl. Harder tasks than this would be presented to me.

I nodded and turned to face Uncle Antonio. “Uncle, you have done me great harm in my life, for no cause. You killed Ferdinand, you betrayed Milan to the French, and you bent your magic to turn Erasmus against me, which almost led to the destruction of our family. Why should I forgive you?”

Uncle Antonio rose slowly to his feet, the rotted portion of his face in shocking contrast with his handsome features. He tried to meet my gaze coolly but could not entirely hide his fear. He had never liked me. He had never gone out of his way to hide the fact, and he had done me great wrong.

“It is the station of a Sibyl to be merciful?” he offered hopefully.

“It is the station of a Sibyl to love virtue and hate iniquity,” I responded severely.

“Please!” The shade of my uncle fell to his knees again and embraced my legs, kissing the hem of my gown. “Don’t send me back there. I’ll do anything! Anything!”

“Will you?” I considered the matter. The answer, when it occurred to me, was obvious.

“Uncle Antonio had his day upon the earth,” I declared. “Nor has anything he has done since convinced me that he has reformed to the degree that his services would be of use to our cause above.”

Theo turned the collar of his staff; it began to hum. I held up my hand.

“But neither can I countenance deliberately sending our uncle to Hell. He may be a scoundrel, but he is still part of
our
family.” I nearly said “our flesh and blood,” but that hardly seemed appropriate under the circumstance.

“Thank God!” cried Uncle Antonio.

“Exactly,” murmured Gregor. “Amen.”

“Then what are we going to do?” asked Logistilla. “Just leave him wandering around here in Limbo?”

“No, we will let Uncle Antonio rise or fall on his own behalf. All we can do is help him get started.” I bowed my head and prayed as we had been instructed to do. “Now, we wait.”

In the distance, a tiny silver star cut through the mist. As it grew closer, we saw that it was carried upon the palm of Malagigi. He pushed back the hood of his blue robe and winked at Logistilla, who smiled and blushed.

“Greetings, Old Friends,” he said. “I hear you are victorious this day and congratulations are due. And I also express gratitude, upon my own behalf, for my brother has been found and, even now, is conversing with one of our higher members. For this, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

I gestured. “This is my uncle Antonio. He would like to enter your Brotherhood and learn how he might turn away from Hell and begin the long slow process of purifying himself.”

“Antonio! My old friend!” Malagigi laughed and embraced my uncle, who looked stunned. “Do you not recall? I am the French sorcerer you hired to sack your hometown.”

“The solitary sorcerer of Charlemagne’s Brood!” Uncle Antonio gasped, astonished. “And now you are … what?”

“I, too, made many mistakes, but now I am finding my way upward again, toward the light, with the help of an organization called the Brotherhood of Hope. You, too, can join and, in time, earn a full redemption.” Malagigi put his arm around my uncle’s shoulder. “Worry not. I shall take him and introduce him to our ways. We are fellow magicians, he and I. We will understand each other.”

Wagging his finger, Malagigi added, “But only upon his own merit will he rise or fail.”

The shade of my uncle trembled. “Then you think there might be hope for me?”

Malagigi glanced at Uncle Antonio and seemed to see something that the rest of us could not. He shook his head disparagingly. “There is always hope. But with that black load of sins, it will be hard going indeed. A shame you could not be shriven and start again clean.”

Uncle Antonio hung his head, then suddenly a hope lit his eyes. He shuffled forward upon his knees until he clung to the enchanted cloth of Gregor’s ripped scarlet robes. “Nephew, you were pope. Can you not take my confession?”

Gregor stroked his beard. “I have read three treatises from the Vatican vaults on the absolution of sins of the incorporeal dead, and their conclusions were inconclusive.”

“Someone wrote treaties on that?” Erasmus laughed. “Three of them?”

“Churchmen must be prepared for every eventuality,” Gregor intoned. To Uncle Antonio, he said, “I shall take it upon myself to decide the issue. Come, Uncle, let us withdraw that you may have privacy for your confession.”

Gregor strode away with Uncle Antonio rising and hurrying after him. We could not hear what was said, but we saw Gregor’s red cardinal robes billow about him and a halo of golden light hovering above his head. Uncle Antonio’s expression entirely changed, as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders as well.

Malagigi came over to me. He was smiling. “Stretch out your hand.”

I did so. He dropped the little silver star onto my palm. I flinched, preparing to concentrate. But it was not necessary. The star stayed upon my palm with no effort upon my part.

“Voila! Your soul has been repaired!” Malagigi exclaimed softly. Retrieving the star, he led my uncle away, whistling.

*   *   *

“UM,
Daddy?” Mephisto poked Father’s arm hopefully. “While we are waiting, can you use your new staff on my roc?”

Father smiled wearily but nodded. He followed Mephisto to the great bird’s corpse and put his staff against its feathers. A bridge of light left the body and arched off into the distance. A gigantic roc-shaped shade descended along the beam and settled upon the corporeal bird. The great creature stirred. Mephisto yelped with joy and gave it a fierce hug. Mab and I cheered.

As Mephisto sent the roc away, Logistilla, who had been watching, blew her nose, an act that made her yelp in pain. When Erasmus raised an eyebrow, she sniffed.

Erasmus chuckled. “You old softy.”

Logistilla raised her head with regal dignity. “Women are allowed a touch of sentimentality now and then.” She stepped over and took Father’s arm. “About your staff, Papa … I happen to recall the location of several graves…”

Father patted her shoulder gently. “All in good time, Logistilla. We’ll discuss this all in good time … but be warned. If the spirit is long departed, the chance of my staff being of use is very small.”

*   *   *

FROM
above, Lilith approached us in her flying chariot, from which she had removed most of the wildflowers. A single blood red lily still bloomed from one of the wheel spokes.

Pulling her black-maned lions to a stop, she laughed triumphantly. “Clever trick, freeing them all, but it won’t work. Only a few will benefit. No elf can be free unless he acknowledges and accepts the offer of freedom, and, by ancient law, you only have a year and a day to reach them!”

Father fixed her with his keen eyes. He stood leaning on the
Staff of Eternity.
Leaves and dogwood flowers sprouted from its length. His hair and beard were unkempt and tangled with thorns. His face was scratched, and his once-handsome robes were torn and dilapidated. Yet, he bore about him a regal air that harkened back to his days as Duke of Milan.

“A year and a day,” he said. “And then what?”

“And then the Sibyl’s authority will end, and any who have not accepted their release will remain bound. As long as any remain with us, we can always recapture the ones you have freed. Only if you free all the elves will any of them truly be free.” Lilith stepped down from her seat and began stroking one of the lions who pulled her chariot. It made a deep, rumbling, growling sound that might have been a growl or an un-lionlike purr.

“Yes, yes, I understand all that.” Father gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “But what next?”

“What do you mean?”

“In a year and two days, what is to keep my daughter from releasing them all again?” asked Father.

Lilith pushed the lion away, frowning. “That is not how the laws of magic work.”

“But my daughter is not bound by the laws of magic,” Father replied mildly.

“Perhaps not when she was a mortal, but now she is a Sibyl.”

“Even still, she is bound by higher laws.”

Lilith regarded me, again taking in the green wings of light that sprang from my shoulders and the mark on my forehead.

“A Nephilim Sibyl! The prophecy has come true!” She gnashed her teeth and wailed. “No! It cannot be!”

My brothers and I grinned at one another. How clever Father was. How much we enjoyed watching Lilith meet her comeuppance. Doubly so, on my part, for I realized that this must have been what Father and my mother’s plan had been since the very beginning, the reason for my being.

A cold voice, which sent shivers through the depths of my bones, spoke from the darkness. “Who troubles the sleep of the dead?”

The voice was not loud, yet we all heard it clearly. The Archangel Uriel stopped just before the Gate and turned toward the thrones, his flaming sword burning in his hand. Around and behind him, the dark mists of Limbo were melting away, and I caught a glimpse of some bright and glorious place, with trees and flowers formed from living flame. They burned in brilliant colors I had never beheld, colors beyond those in our mundane rainbow.

Mephisto hastily tapped his staff, and the Seraph vanished like a dream. Before it left, it nodded graciously at my brother, as if it were leaving as a courtesy to him, rather than because of the necessity of the magic. With the departure of the Regent of the Sun, the hole into some far more glorious realm faded until only swirling mists remained.

Astreus crossed his arms and lowered his head, much as Mephistopheles the demon had done when he wished to revert to his smaller size. The light pouring from Astreus’s angelic form dimmed, and he returned to his normal height and appearance. Eight pairs of enormous wings, shaped like those of the swallow, the swiftest of birds, still spread out behind him. He folded them away into a cloak of feathers and came across the misty battlefield to join the rest of us.

I looked toward the source of the voice. In the empty darkness, near the dais with the two black thrones, I began to make out the figure of a man pulling a Greek horse-plumed helmet from his head. He was tall and imposing, some ten feet in height, with shoulders as broad as a bull’s. His features were Arabic or perhaps Levantine, but his skin was black as pitch and looked as if it were made of obsidian. He stared at Lilith, a hint of sarcastic masculine humor glinting in his eyes.

“Ah … Lady Lilith.”

“Lord Hades!” The Queen of Air and Darkness cried, delighted. The lovely demoness stroked her long auburn hair and lowered her lashes, casting him a pretty sidelong glance. I recalled the carvings in her throne room that depicted the history between these two—now that my mother had made it clear to me who he really was—when they had reigned together with their monstrous children. That she was still so pleased to see him was not a good sign for us. “These interlopers have invaded our kingdom and are attacking my people. Thousands, they have slaughtered, sending them down to the fires of Tartarus.”

He shrugged his solid black shoulders. “And this is of interest to me … why?”

Lilith pouted. “But they are mortals, Milord. Mortals using trapped demons against their fellows!”

He frowned down at her, a fearsome sight, and said softly, “You forget who I am.”

Lilith’s pretty girlish face grew pale, yet she refused to back down. “But they are oath breakers, Milord. We all know how strongly you feel about oath breakers. Should not their sins be punished?”

“Oath breakers, I abhor,” the god of the dead replied, “but these are not oath breakers, for their oaths have been forgiven by the White Lady, whose glance brings joy and whose breath brings salvation, even here in the dark of Limbo. I have no quarrel with them.”

“You can’t just let them go!” objected Lilith.

“Are they dead?” asked Hades.

“No…” she began.

“Then what business of mine are they?” He turned his back on her and regarded Father, who still leaned upon the
Staff of Eternity.
Hades snorted. “Besides, they are family.”

“I beg your pardon?” the Demon Queen asked, taken aback.

The Unseen One, his horse-plumed helmet still tucked under one arm, gestured toward Father, who had his hand upon his beard, partially covering his smile. “The magician Prospero is my brother-in-law and his whelps, my nephews. My wife would not take kindly to any harm done to them.”

“What are we women, chopped liver?” muttered Logistilla. Hades turned his intimidating gaze upon her, and she shrank back behind Titus, clearly regretting having spoken.