Prospero Regained (21 page)

“I don’t know,” Theo growled. “Is this elf good enough for our sister? We’ll have to check him out.”

“Take it from me,” Mephisto cried cheerfully. “He’s the best!”

A lump the size of one of those boulders we had seen souls of the dead carrying formed in my throat. Twice, I opened my mouth to explain that Astreus was dead, subsumed by Seir, but somehow I could not, not here under these awful conditions. Should we make it home in one piece, there would be time enough for Mab to mourn his dead lord.

“Freed from the tithe!” Mab murmured, awed. “Lost a lot of my people to the tithe over the years. I had a—well, you’d call it a cousin—who got tithed many millennia ago. Never heard from him again. The elven monarchs picked on us for a time, used to tithe us Aerie Ones exclusively.” He lowered his head. “Lord Astreus saved us. He gave up all chance of returning to Heaven in order to protect us.”

A warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with our proximity to the lava fields. So, Astreus had been telling the truth! He had told me that he endured a thousand years being tortured in the Tower of Thorns—a place where I could not have lasted for ten minutes—rather than forswear Heaven, only to yield to his captors’ demands when they threatened to tithe his people, the spirits of the air, to Hell.

Mab himself was one of those saved by his selfless act.

Theo turned to Gregor. “If their oath to Hell were absolved, could the elves return to Heaven?”

“Theoretically.” My brother the former pope stroked his neatly trimmed beard. “The doctrine on the redemption of elves is sketchy at best.”

“There’s doctrine on the redemption of the elves?” Erasmus laughed.

“Of course,” Gregor replied. The rest of us exchanged glances and laughed.

No wonder Astreus took the time to copy the Sibyl’s book by hand! I recalled the way he had spoken of Heaven and how his eyes had burned with golden fire when he described how he had once been an angel. So great was his desire to return that even the slight hope that I might someday become a Sibyl who could absolve his oath had been enough to stave off the darkness that otherwise would have devoured him.

Suddenly, I wished fervently that Astreus were not dead! Or that I had not squandered our last minutes together quarreling with him.

“I’m no use to him anymore.” I hung my head in shame. “Nor would he have married me, for he cared nothing for me. He was only interested in finding a Sibyl.”

“He did so care!” insisted Mephisto. “He promised me he’d marry you. I wasn’t going to have my sister seduced and abandoned by an elf!”

“Promised you?” My jaw dropped. “When was this?”

“I must say I’m impressed.” Erasmus cupped his newly injured nose; his voice sounded odd. “I had no idea you had an elf suitor, Miranda. And a member of the High Council, too! Good work!”

“Might have been a marriage worthy of you,” Gregor acknowledged with a curt nod.

In all my years, my brothers had never approved of any suitor for my hand. I did not know what to make of it.

“Can elves marry?” Caliban asked, as he shoved an entire protein bar into his mouth. “The fairy tales and literature all emphasize their capriciousness. Are they capable of being faithful?”

Erasmus tipped his head back, still trying to stem the flow of blood. “There’s been at least one tremendously successful marriage between elves and men, you know. Back in the twelfth century, Fincunir the Clever married a mortal maid named Oonagh, said to be among the most beautiful women ever to grace the earth. Last I heard from Fiachra, they were still together.”

“When did Astreus promise this?” I asked again.

“When we first met,” Mephisto responded.

“Back in 1627?” My mind reeled at Mephisto’s news. “How strange! But he told me elves no more woo mortals than hawks court doves.”

Mephisto frowned, and Mab cleared his throat.

“Begging your pardon, Ma’am, but that doesn’t quite make sense. Lord Astreus has … well, a bit of a reputation for romancing mortal maids. A number of the great artists and poets of the world are descended from him.”

“Really?” That stung a bit.

No wonder he had come forward so quickly to dance with me that first summer’s night. I recalled how he had laughed, mocking his fellows for not seizing the opportunity.

What would it have been like, I wondered, being Lady Astreus Stormwind? I pictured us flying among the stars, or sipping elfwine on a balcony of his palace in Hyperborea, or diving over the edge of the world, hand in hand, to see what brave new worlds might lie beyond the brink.

Delightful as these images were, however, the idea became less enticing when I considered our life at home. I imagined him pacing, bored, while I worked in my office, or, worse, sitting cross-legged atop the back of an armchair, his intent, ever-changing eyes intimidating the shareholders at a board meeting of Prospero, Inc.

On the other hand, I would have loved to see the expressions of our supernatural clients, the gnomes and nymphs, and even the troublesome djinn, when we showed up for contract negotiations with a Lord of the High Council!

As for home life, what would it be like to hear the halls of Prospero’s Mansion ringing with the laughing voices and pattering footsteps of little elflets—elflets from whom future world-renowned artists and poets might spring? So, subtle, clever Fincunir had been married to the same woman for nearly a thousand years! Could we have done as well?

No, I realized sadly, it would not have been like that for us, because Oonagh gave up the mortal world to dwell in fairyland, but I was constrained to stay on earth and run Prospero, Inc., in order to protect mankind. I might have been able to fit in a trip to wonderland once a century or so. The rest of my time would be spent in Oregon, running Prospero, Inc., while Astreus gallivanted about the universe, appearing on my doorstep only when it suited him—if it suited him at all.

After all, he was an elf. Once he departed, I would never know whether or not he would return. Would he remember me? Or get caught up in the moment and tarry elsewhere, perhaps with some fresh mortal maid—forgetting me as Erasmus feared his son Fiachra might forget, were he not constrained to visit every New Year’s Day.

I sighed and closed my eyes. It was all a dream, of course, a flight of fancy. There was no future for Astreus and me. Even if some miracle restored him to the sunlit realms, such a union—seeing him for a few days here and there, never knowing if he would return to me—would be unbearable, especially once the Water ran out and I rapidly grew older.

I might come to love him, and he might grow to love me, but happiness would be impossible.

“I wonder why Astreus said such a thing?” I mused aloud. “About hawks and doves, I mean.”

“To throw you off guard,” Mephisto chirped. “That’s trick seventeen from the
Book of Seduction.
You take some girl who would normally want to send you packing and convince her you couldn’t possibly be interested, so that she starts wondering ‘Why not?’ Next thing you know, she’s eating out of your hand like a trained deer. Works every time.”

That lying elven devil! My cheeks grew red as my brothers regarded me in amusement. How dare he toy with me! And how dare he be dead, and thus conveniently escape my wrath!

“It’s not very easy to train deer,” mused Titus.

“Book of Seduction?”
Caliban lowered his slice of sausage. “Where can I get a copy?”

“Just a joke.” Mephisto giggled as Caliban’s face fell. “Besides, Astreus wouldn’t have wanted to seduce you, Miranda! Then you would not have been a Handmaiden anymore. He was biding his time.”

Oh! As if that made it better! Why had I not taken the opportunity to slit his throat when he had offered it!

“Aren’t you going to make a speech about not cavorting with elves, Bodyguard?” Mephisto had gone over to Titus’s bag and was rummaging around, pulling out a squished candy bar, which he quickly consumed.

Mab cleaned his ear with his pinky. “Well, funny thing about that. Mortals marrying elves, bad business. No good can come of it. But frankly, we now know Miss Miranda isn’t a mortal. She’s half witch or something.” He turned to Caliban. “Your mother wasn’t merely a human witch, was she?”

“She was part human, but only part,” Caliban replied. “Her father was an ogre.”

“If you’re one of us, Ma’am … that changes a lot.”

Ah, the irony! How nice the idea of having Sycorax as my mother now seemed. No matter how repugnant that heritage, it was preferable to being the daughter of the Queen of Air and Darkness!

“Where are the others?” Titus interrupted, licking the last of the chocolate coating from his protein bar off his fingers. “Where are Logistilla, Ulysses, and Cornelius?”

“We don’t know yet,” I replied. “You four are as far as we’ve gotten.” I turned toward the others. “I recommend we do the same thing we did before, and go next to whomever most needs our help.”

“I think we should go after Cornelius next,” Erasmus said, wiping his mouth. “It must be terrifying to be in Hell and not be able to see your way around.” He paused and cocked his head. “On second thought, might be nice to not be able to see the sights. If he’s not in pain, he might have no idea how bad things are.”

“I hate to think of Logistilla all alone in this terrible place,” Titus said quietly. “She must be frightened.”

“But doesn’t that make you happy?” Mephisto asked, confused. “I thought you hated her!”

“Not at all,” Titus objected, surprised. “One doesn’t start hating one’s wife just because she turns one into a bear for a few years. I was just angry about the children.”

The rest of us stared at him.

“If you say so,” murmured Erasmus. “Though I could hate someone for far more frivolous reasons.”

“Wife?” Gregor glanced from one face to another. “I thought we were talking about our sister—my twin!”

Erasmus held up a staying hand. “Don’t ask!”

Gregor’s brow darkened. He and Titus regarded one another suspiciously. Again, his protectiveness toward Logistilla warred with his hard-won serenity. Erasmus shook his head, dark hair falling into his eyes. He brushed it aside, muttering. “Oh, this isn’t good!”

“Ball, show me the member of our family who is in the most trouble.” Mephisto quickly shoved the ball between Gregor and Titus. Immediately, the light illuminating the tunnel winked out. Instead, the crystal globe showed an image of a naked Ulysses running over a steep rocky landscape. Behind him, the ground seemed to be writhing.

“Ulysses next, then,” Theo said decisively, as Mephisto instructed the ball to show us daylight; a pleasant glow again illuminated the lava tube.

“Theo and Caliban,” Titus asked as he rose, stretching, “what happened to you when the Hellwinds hit?”

Caliban said, “We held on to each other as the winds drew us together and dropped us in the lava. I climbed out almost immediately but had to go back in to help Theophrastus. After that, there was nothing to do but wait and pray.”

An wave of affection for the big man swept over me when he described voluntarily jumping in to the bubbling lava to rescue Theo. I was glad I had given him the extra Water.

“How could you survive in that heat, even for an instant?” asked Gregor, aghast.

“Far as I can tell,” Caliban answered slowly, “there was no real lava, only burning wrath. The calmer I became, the cooler it got around me.” He lowered his head, chagrined. “Unfortunately, I am prone to wrath, so I did not escape unscathed.”

“What amazes me,” commented Erasmus between bites, his eyes resting speculatively on the bog-dipped chocolate, “is that your club survived. Isn’t it just made of wood? I would have expected it to go up like a match.”

“I held it up over my head, so it would not fall in,” Caliban explained, still chewing. “What of the rest of you?”

The four of us who had sought out Mephisto together met each other’s eyes.

Gregor spoke up hoarsely, “Best not to talk of it.”

CHAPTER

ELEVEN

The Battlefield of Wasted Lives

Titus’s generosity in sharing his supplies allowed us to pass through the place of punishment for the Gluttons without undue temptation. This was a good thing, for while I saw fat men and obese women gorging themselves on badly rotten fare, or worse, upon other Gluttons, my brothers reported scrumptious mouthwatering feasts as far as the eye could see. They walked blithely, restraining the desire to sample some tasty morsel, while I was forced to watch ungainly damned souls shovel filth into their mouths and guzzle the wine, which, far from whetting their palate, left them writhing upon the ground, clutching their throats, as if they had drunk a vial of acid.

Eventually, the appetizing dishes began to tempt my siblings. One and then another reached over to touch my shoulder, so that they might see my version and know the truth. After a time, we were all walking together, arm in arm.

Several times during this walk, Mephisto called up Pegasus or the roc and tried to rouse them, but the creatures remained asleep. Gregor suggested opening the vial of Water of Life and holding it beneath their nostrils, as I had done earlier; however, we decided not to risk it while surrounded by hungry souls. They might not be able to hurt us—assuming we remained calm—but they could touch our garments. None of us wished to find ourselves bodysurfing over an angry crowd of the gluttonous dead. Who knows what delicacies we might resemble in their eyes.

Once he called the black swan, but when she arrived she pecked him angrily. He promised not to call her again while Below.

As we walked, my brothers chatted cheerfully with Caliban and Mab, but my thoughts kept returning to the conversation in the lava tube.

That cur! That cad! That rakehell! That bounder! That
fringuellone
!
Che donnaiolo
!
Che farfallone
!

So, Astreus had a reputation for dallying with mortal maids, did he? And I had fallen for his cool elvin charm. As if my recent humiliation by the false Ferdinand in front of my family was not enough! Ooh! I was glad he was dead, the exasperating elf! If he knelt before me now, I would slit his throat in an instant!