Prospero Regained (64 page)

Mab?

What an unpleasant person I had been!

I realized with a start that I felt more sympathy for the wretched demoness who had nearly destroyed my family than I did for my former self. I had forgiven Erasmus. I had forgiven Caliban. Whether or not I had forgiven the Queen of Air and Darkness, I at least understood her better now. Only one person remained whom I had yet to forgive.

Myself.

It was surprisingly hard. Pride held me back—the pride of angels. I cast it aside. The result was painful. I staggered, shocked at the torrent of fault-finding, as more and more of my defects became obvious to me. Looking over my past behavior, I found myself sympathizing with Erasmus. No wonder he thought so badly of me. It was amazing that anyone could have seen me as anything other than glacial and loveless.

But pursuing such thinking would do me no good. Admitting my flaws to overcome them was a virtue, wallowing in them was a vice.

If my Lady had felt that I was worthy of her service, there must have been something good about me. If nothing else, I had been utterly loyal. Resolving that I would never return to my old ways, I forgave my old self.

A horrible screech came from overhead. Above, Lilith’s chariot had burst into bloom: red lilies, white datura, and purple nightshade grew from its black body. Lilith herself screamed and held her head, while hundreds of small imps swooped around her, biting her and pulling her hair. The chariot careened out of control and spun off into the gloom.

I laughed aloud again. My moment of sympathy had formed a bridge between her and my forehead. My Lady’s touch, so uplifting to me, affected Lilith as it had her servant—the one who had trapped me with his mind before he was devoured by his fellows. She could not bear its sacred touch.

Using love as a weapon seemed mildly distasteful, but the results were delightful.

*   *   *

“ATTACK!”
Prince Sitri waved his forces forward.

Across the vast empty cavern of Limbo, demons lifted great horns taken from the brows of Leviathans and blew upon them. As their deep calls sounded, the hosts of Hell charged.

“Fall back! Regroup!” cried Mephistopheles. With a violent gesture, he threw the crystal ball that had led us so faithfully through Hell into the front ranks of Lilith’s army. It smashed against the ground and an enormous ball of fire and multi-colored sparks threw demon-parts far and wide.

“I recognize those sparks,” Father said, startled. He raised his staff before him. “I saw them the day we raided the Vatican. All these years, I have wondered where they came from.”

“That was Mephisto throwing the Seeing Sphere of John Dee,” I replied. “He just neglected to mention that the thing reformed afterward.”

“Ah.” A glint of understanding lit Father’s keen eyes. “Much that has puzzled me through the years is now explained.”

We drew together, the nine of us who were still in Limbo, taking advantage of the momentary lull caused by the explosion. With Theo as our general and Titus as his lieutenant, we readied our weapons and took our positions before the gate. Theo unlimbered his staff and took the front, placing Titus to the right of him and Erasmus to the left. Behind them came Mephistopheles the demon and Logistilla, the sphere atop her staff already glowing its eerie green. Then came Father and I, with Mab standing guard on one side, trusty pipe in hand. Gregor stood guarding our back, facing the other way. He had the
Staff of Silence
in one hand and Solomon’s Ring on the other. If worse came to worst, we could retreat into Hell—not an option we were eager to advantage ourselves of, true, but better than being cornered.

Theophrastus lowered his goggles, set his stance, and fired the
Staff of Devastation,
creating an enormously brilliant blast, then another, and then another. The rest of us ducked, turning away as the wind from the explosions blew back over us. Within moments, Theo had reduced the enemy ranks by roughly a fifth. The imps and demons, eager to escape his blasts, rose into the air, where Theo’s staff was less effective. We all watched, horrified, as the enemy hordes dived at us from above.

“Sorry, Ma’am, I don’t like doing this, but…” Mab muttered apologetically. I handed him his hat back. He put it on his head. Then, he opened his mouth and blew.

Freezing gale-force winds came out of his mouth and lifted the incoming attackers, throwing them through the air and coating them with ice as they went. Mab’s body fell backward and lay on the ground, eyes vacant, mouth opened wide. A few shades tried to enter the body, but Gregor swiped at them with the Seal of Solomon, and they backed off. They whispered the word
priest
and fled, wailing.

As soon as the majority of the airborne troops had been cleared away, the wind returned, formed a tight vortex, and funneled itself back into Mab’s mouth.

“Merciful God!” Erasmus gaped at Mab. “You’re Caekias!” He turned to me. “Are you telling me that we’ve been traveling with the god of the Northeast wind all this time?”

Mab dusted himself off and chuckled. “Thought I was a hapless gust, did ya? Just goes to show that you cannot judge from appearances.”

“Especially when our sister Logistilla created the appearance.” Mephistopheles stiffened, sniffing. “Beware! The enemy returns! Behind us!”

“About face!” yelled Theo.

Thanks to Mephistopheles’s warning, we were prepared when a squadron of imps, goblins, and skeletal warriors poured through the Gate of False Dreams. They came shouting and gibbering, and stinking of brimstone and rotting flesh.

Logistilla let out an ear-piercing scream. She raised the
Staff of Transmogrification
and began turning demons into toads, rats, fish, and ravens left and right. When some of the ravens swooped at our eyes, she turned them to pigs in midair. They fell and struck the ground with a satisfying
splat.

As Theo could not shoot at such close range, he concentrated on the larger body of troops, while Mephistopheles, who was guarding his back, tapped his staff to call his many friends to help him. Titus came to the front to lead the rest of us, moving Father and me to one side. He charged into the midst of the force that poured through the Gate, cracking heads and smashing wings with his staff.

Behind him, Gregor followed suit with the
Staff of Silence
. Those he hit could no longer hear their own thoughts. They wandered aimlessly until he touched them with his ring, popping the resulting withered things into a quickly filling glass vial he pulled from under his robe.

Erasmus came forward, smiling his languid half-smile, his dark hair free of the ribbon and hanging in his eyes again. Many of the demons were immune to the ravages of time, but the skeletal warriors collapsed into piles of pale ash as soon as the
Staff of Decay
grew near. Over the din of the battle, I caught snatches of my brother’s words.

Art-magicians and astrologes,

Rhetors, logicians, and theologes,

Them helpes no conclusions sly;

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

In medicine the most practicions,

Leeches, surgeons, and physicians

Themselves from death may not supply;

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

A group of ugly, fanged demi-goblins ran at Father and me. Father spoke a word, and none of their weapons struck us. Mab leapt forward and cracked one and then another over the head, flattening them. A third one grabbed his arm and sank his jagged fangs into Mab’s shoulder. Mab screamed. Titus struck the creature, and its head flew from its body and went bouncing across the misty ground.

More demons came toward us, as if they were pouring out of some endless dark cornucopia of demonkind. I reached for my flute—but, of course, I had no flute, only two broken pieces of pine. Instead I drew my razor-sharp fan.

Strike!
came my Lady’s voice in my mind.

My Lady’s voice! I could hear it in my mind so clearly.

Even better, She was back.

I swung my fan and sliced through the neck of an ouphe who had sneaked up behind me. Two more followed, menacing me with their long claws. With a roar and a puff of flame, Mephistopheles’s chimera pounced on my attackers. The lion head mauled one, while the dragon head roasted the other. The goat head swept back and forth, looking for something to butt.

More of Mephisto’s friends leapt into the fray. The winged lion scattered goblins. The great roc carried off a high-ranking demon. The mammoth and a boar trampled and gored the enemy. The cockatrice struck imps with its terrible poison, and Donner, the reindeer that had led us through the snow to Father Christmas’s house, ran through the air, impaling flying monstrosities upon his antlers. The poisonous butterfly fluttered over and landed on the head of a cacodemon that fell silently to the ground. The butterfly then fluttered on to the next demon, who collapsed just as silently.

Farther off, the Loch Ness monster floundered on its flippers before vanishing again, as Mephistopheles tapped the
Staff of Summoning
to send the gentle beast back to its lake. The Horror from the Deep Abyss shambled across the battlefield, ripping arms from evil peri with the tentacles that protruded from under its hooded robe. Even at a distance, in spite of everything else, I could smell the horrible stench it exuded. The fabric of Limbo warped as it passed through, bubbling and collapsing upon itself.

The enemies were impressive, too. Balam, a great and powerful King of Hell, with flame in the eyes of all three of his heads—bull, man, and ram—and the tail of a serpent, came riding across the field of battle on a cave bear the size of an elephant. Around him, his minions began to turn invisible and vanish from our sight. Titus held up his staff and thick clouds of shadow drifted from it, enough that we could see ripples in the low swirling darkness as the invisible enemies moved. Titus, Erasmus, and Mephistopheles then leapt forward to rend them with staff and glowing ruby claw.

A white flash heralded Ulysses’s return. My wayward brother arrived, pistol in hand, and immediately started shooting. Cornelius and Caliban were with him; both were eating doughnuts. Cornelius looked impatient and annoyed. Caliban held a white bag, which presumably held more doughnuts. He raised his hand cheerfully to offer a doughnut to the rest of us. Upon seeing the situation, however, he stuffed the bag into Cornelius’s hands and waded into the fray, whacking demonic minions with his club.

A hart with a fiery tail bounded across the battlefield. This one I recognized: Furfur, a storm demon I had fought several times in the past. Desperately, I wished I had my staff, so I could keep its power at bay. Before it had an opportunity to call upon any of its magic, however, Ulysses took it out with three bullets: one hit the eye, one penetrated the forehead, and one pierced the heart.

Prince Sitri flew above the infernal troops. He flapped his wings, and all around demons on his own side unwittingly fell under his spell. They threw off what garments they wore and danced naked, declaring their love for Lilith. Ulysses, too, began stripping out of Gregor’s turtleneck, crooning a love song. Cornelius waved his staff in the general direction of Ulysses, who, glassy-eyed, now turned and began shooting into the enemy ranks again.

Cornelius then waved the
Staff of Persuasion
toward the enemy. The amber stone set into the top twinkled like a star. Within the sound of his voice, imps, peris, and lesser hellions stopped in their tracks and turned, rending their masters.

A giant red demon, twice as tall as any of his fellows, strode through the sea of enchanted imps and peri, kicking them aside when needed. He strolled up behind Cornelius, who could not hear my shouts for I was still in the zone of silence, and conked him on the head with his huge scarlet fist. Cornelius fell, and his body disappeared beneath the enemy hordes.

The siren’s song came lilting over the fields. Logistilla threw her staff down and ran toward the music, screaming, “My children! I can hear my children! Edwardo! Ricardo! Marisa! Marisa, I’m coming!”

Gregor tapped the
Staff of Silence,
and the battlefield fell quiet. Logistilla blinked and, straightening, leapt for her staff. A cacodemon, grinning an impossibly wide grin, pounced upon it, growing fangs and claws as she approached. Logistilla grabbed the demon, attempting to throttle him, while it scratched her face and chest, sending a spray of blood up like a fountain. Logistilla’s scream made no noise.

Titus, swinging his staff like a golf club, silently knocked the cacodemon into the air. Putting an arm around the wounded Logistilla, he kicked her staff up into his hand and, charging through the enemy ranks, brought her to where Father and I stood back to back, within a protective circle Mab had drawn with chalk. He laid her at my feet and gestured for me to help her.

I smiled at her and pictured the world from my Lady’s perspective. Sure, enough, in my mind’s eye I could see a soft white beam of living love flowed from my forehead into her. Her bleeding slowed.

I shouted to Titus to save Cornelius but, of course, he could not hear me. To my relief, I saw that my blind brother had risen again, though he looked woozy.

Father gestured abruptly to Gregor, who approached and temporarily lowered his Silence effect.

“Please keep your effect to a minimum. I cannot use my charm to deflect weapons without speaking,” Father said tersely.

The voice of King Vinae spoke from nearby where Caliban was bashing a demi-goblin with the
Staff of Wisdom.

“
Gregor, order your staff to make a hollow sphere. It will keep out much evil, but allow you to hear one another within
.”