Prospero Regained (53 page)

The god was brighter and more colorful than the landscape, as if a Technicolor character had stepped into a sepia film. Some invisible essence cast its influence all around him, so that we Prosperos appeared more graceful and quick in his presence. Our staffs and clothes gleamed, and the ice of the glacier beneath our feet seemed more valuable, as if you could mine it and sell it as gemstones. Erasmus, who was closest to the effect, took on a dashing, handsome aspect that reminded me of a movie star. His teeth sparkled when he smiled.

The god of merchants breathed the fragrant air and smiled lazily. His lazy smile died, however, as he took in his surroundings, noting the Mountains of Misery, the glacier, and the Tower of Thorns. He averted his eyes quickly, raising his arm, as if to shield his gaze. Apparently, even the gods feared the pain thorns.

“Lower Tartarus!” The god raised a dubious eyebrow, “It has been some time since I came this way.”

Leaning upon the Caduceus, he examined us, pausing to wink at Logistilla and me, his eyes lingering upon my wings. When his gaze fell upon Gregor, they flickered respectfully over the Seal of Solomon.

“Fell Fiend,” my brother Gregor called, “answer a question for me.”

The rest of us started, horrified that Gregor had spoken during a spell. A sly amused smile played about the god’s lips, and he began to take a step forward. My heart leapt into my mouth. Gregor had violated his ward. Why had he done such a thing? He knew the rules of magic.

Then, the Swift God paused. He took in the Seal of Solomon, my brother’s crimson cardinal robes, and the halo of holiness that currently shone like a golden light above Gregor.

Hermes inclined his head. “Your Grace.”

My brother spoke in his gravelly voice. “Tell me, what is your place in the war between Heaven and Hell?”

“I serve the same King as you,” Hermes gestured upward, pausing to frown at the steely gray sky. “Why not throw in with the winning side, I always say.”

“Then, you know His will?” Gregor leaned forward as if extremely curious to hear the god’s response.

“I should smite you for speaking to me,” the god spoke casually, raising his Caduceus. The snake wrapped around it lifted its head and hissed at us. We recoiled, drawing back within our protective circles. Hermes flipped the staff around like a baton, placed it on the ground, and leaned on it. “But I am the god of communication, and I do love to talk. I know as much and as little of the Divine Will as you do, Oh Twice-Pope. I follow Him as I think is best, as do you.”

“So you serve our Lord Jesus Christ?” my brother pressed.

The look the god gave my brother was akin to pity. “You have a narrow view of the world, Twice-Holy Father. Do you think that the Alcreate loves only his human children? Yeshua Ben Josef was his messenger to mortal men. We gods have been sent our own divine messenger, who is different in specifics but not in purpose.”

“What is the name of this savior of deities?” Gregor asked, intrigued.

The Swift God laughed. “You would not have heard of him. He does not concern himself with the mortal realms. There are other saviors as well, for other peoples, though the prophesied Savior of the elves has not yet been born. There are events that must happen before that can come to pass. It is said that he will be the distant offspring of a marriage between an elf and a mortal maid. Many take this to mean that he will be the descendant of Fincunir and Oonagh, but there are those who believe otherwise.” He gazed directly at me.

My heart began to hammer as if it was a caged bird desperate to escape. But it was all foolishness, of course. The future implied by the god’s glance was impossible.

I looked around at the others. No one else seemed to have caught the god’s implication, for which I was supremely grateful. Gregor and Theo frowned suspiciously at the deity. Logistilla looked bored. Ulysses was filing his nails. Mephisto, Erasmus, Titus, Cornelius, and Caliban all attended with great interest, but it was Mab who was most fascinated. His jaw gaped open in astonishment. Twice, he moved his mouth as if to speak—presumably to ask if the Swift One knew whether there was a savior for his race—but his prohibition against speaking during magic rituals was too strong. He held his tongue.

Gregor was not so forbearing. He frowned severely. “But how can Our Divine Father approve of you? You are a pagan god, a devil! Does not your very existence violate the First Commandment?”

The Swift God snorted. “You are lucky, Twice-Pope, that you amuse me, or you would be but a cinder now. We divine beings who serve the All Highest are forbidden from inciting mortals to worship us. This is why, since our conversion—which came after the visit of your Savior—we no longer have priests and keep up temples on the earth. But that was ever a small part of our nature. We have our tasks to perform, our spheres of influence to oversee, such as my duties as a messenger.” He nodded at the person who had summoned him. My brother barely came to his waist. “Erasmus?”

“Trist.” Erasmus inclined his head.

I gawked. My brother was on a first-name basis with the Psychopomp?

“Compel?” The god arched an eyebrow. “By what authority?”

“Do not toy with me, Great Tristmegistes! I have spoken the spell as was required and intend no harm. And I have paid thee well!” Erasmus gestured at the shoe. “When is the last time anyone gave you a whole ounce of nectar?”

“A whole ounce!” Hermes asked, impressed. He picked up the black leather shoe, from which roses and lilies were now blooming. He held it up to his nose and sniffed, inhaling the perfumed aroma of Water and flowers. He smiled.

“Very well. Where is…” The god glanced about the central circle and then looked with some surprise at Erasmus. “You?”

Erasmus nodded.

“Are you certain?”

Erasmus clasped his hands behind his back and raised his chin. “I am.”

The god of magicians looked faintly sad. “I have known you a long time, for a mortal, Erasmus Giovanni Prospero Sforza. But if you insist.…”

Hermes stepped across the wards and, leaning down, laid his hand upon Erasmus’s chest, over his heart. Erasmus dissolved into light—first, his clothing, then his skin, then his organs, and finally his skeleton. Then, there was a flash, and he was gone. It all happened so quickly that an untrained eye would have seen only the brightness, but, over the years, I had had ample opportunity to watch the
Staff of Transportation
in action, and it used the same method.

There was a pause, like the eye of a storm, during which the god stood as motionless as a statue in the empty circle, shining and glorious, his hand still extended. Even the snakes on his Caduceus seemed frozen. My brothers and sister and I stood in silent shock as well. Then, another flash, and the effect happened in reverse: bones, organs, skin, ripped and tattered clothing.

Father—haggard and bedraggled with thorns tangled in his long beard—stood where Erasmus had been a moment before, the messenger god’s hand resting upon his breast. Hermes Tristmegistes straightened and tipped his winged
petasos
to Father. Then, he vanished in yet another flash of white light.

“Well, Children! This
is
a surprise!” Though tattered and weary, Father stood erect, smiling faintly. Then, he saw our expressions and instantly realized what must have happened. “Who?”

Leaving our wards, we raced to embrace Father, welcoming him. Our joy was tinged by the sorrow of Erasmus’s noble sacrifice. I felt particularly bad for having thought so poorly of my brother—until it occurred to me that, when my brother had suggested I volunteer, he had been intending to trade me for Father.

*   *   *

WE
gathered around Father and embraced him. He was cheerful and keen-witted but weak from hunger and exposure. We brought him over to our camp and helped him to sit down on a sleeping bag.

Some of the others were in tears over the loss of Erasmus. I had trouble feeling particularly sorry for the brother who had come so close to sacrificing me. If someone had to go for Father, I would much rather it was him than any of my other siblings. Erasmus was an angry hateful man, consumed by malice, who had lived to make my life miserable. Uncle Antonio’s magic had ruined him, and our uncle’s revelations had destroyed him. Even after he learned the truth—even when Uncle Antonio’s revelation gave him an opportunity to forgive me—he had refused to give up his malice. Apparently, the last straw for Erasmus had been learning that, since my mother was not a monster, his persecution of me had been entirely unjustified.

All my brothers, even Gregor—who I had rather come to like during this desperate journey—were dearer to me than Erasmus. Especially since I realized that, had it not been for a sudden attack of self-pity, he would have sent me to my death. Hermes would have asked me to confirm that I was willing, of course, but I would have agreed. I could not have left Father stranded if there were a chance of my saving him—and Erasmus knew this.

For an instant, I was almost glad he was gone.

Then I turned and saw Cornelius standing alone. He was a living portrait of sorrow. He had taken off his bandana and was using it to pat at the torrent of tears that drenched his cheeks. As I looked across the rocks into his pale sightless eyes, I suddenly felt as if I was the one who had lost the person most important to me—the brother who looked out for and showed concern for me, who was both family and friend, without whom I felt I probably would have been left languishing in Dis forever. What little light there remained in my dark lonely life seemed suddenly diminished, and I wished bitterly that it could have been me who went instead of him.

It had happened again!

I blinked and drew back. What did this mean? As I thought this over, I remembered what Astreus had said about those who belonged neither to the choir of angels nor the company of men, who were outside the sympathy that each race shared with its fellow members.

And, finally, I realized what was happening to me.

It was not an attack. It was not a spell. It was not even a sign of impending Sibylhood—though it might have, in fact, been a necessary prerequisite.

It was merely sympathy.

After so many centuries of living in solitude, with no concern for the emotions of others, I was joining the Company of Men.

I was becoming human.

As I contemplated the nature of humanity and human compassion, it occurred to me that it was not at all nice to gloat over the death of my brother, even if he was my least-favorite one. I remembered Caliban’s comment to me back on the Island about how Erasmus blamed himself for the attack on me.
You may not be his favorite sister,
he had said,
but you are
his
sister.
And now that same brother, who had dived into the Swamp so quickly to save me, was trapped amidst those terrible thorns, and about to be slain by the Queen of Demons.

Suddenly, I felt very sorry indeed.

“I was just thinking about Erasmus,” Titus said slowly. He sat guarding the pile of staffs. “What a decent fellow he was. Always showed up on time. Never let a fellow down. Always knew where to find the answer to a question. I remember when I was young, back in my student days, he would take time away from whatever project he was working on to teach me about the library, how to find books, how to look things up. He taught me to read, you know.”

“He did?” Logistilla looked up in surprise from where she sat by Father. “You know, I know so little about your childhood. I always pictured you all as adults, the way I first met you.”

Titus shook his head. “I was a stubborn lad. My tutor despaired of me. Said I could not be taught to read. Erasmus just laughed and took me under his wing. Within a few months, I was reading Aristotle and Chaucer.”

“I did not know that about him,” I said.

“His eldest son Sebastian and I were the best of friends.” Gregor paced back and forth to fight the cold. “What a cheerful house they had, Erasmus and Maria. I adored her. They always welcomed me, made me feel at home. I am not surprised he still misses her.” Gregor looked down at his hands, frowning. “He was a fine man when he wanted to be. Unfortunately, he seldom wanted to try. I see now, though, that it was because he had lost heart.”

“I wish I had realized how hard things were for him.” Theo sat with his head in his hands. “He did such a good job being clever and snide, it never occurred to me that he might be suffering. He did so much: taught, cast spells, investigated medicine.”

“He drove himself very hard,” Mephisto whispered. He sat on the bare ice, his face wan and dejected. “I used to watch him do things, one after another after another.”

“It was probably his only way of keeping himself going,” Ulysses said. “Some blokes are like that.” He chafed his cold arms, especially his elbow, where he had bitten a hole in his shirt. “Wish I’d taken the time to get to know him better.”

I sat still, thinking. Did I have any good memories about Erasmus? Of course I did. He was one of the three who had saved me from the Unicorn Hunters, the day they staked me down during a thunderstorm in an effort to trap my Lady. Three brothers had come to my rescue: Theo, Mephisto, and Erasmus.

*   *   *

FROM
across our camp, I saw Mab watching me. A strange tremor traveled up my spine, and I remembered Mab’s suggestion for outwitting Lilith’s trap. For Father, I might have done such a thing. To ask me to make a sacrifice of such proportion to save Erasmus, of all people, was insane. And besides, we could never approach him now. The demons would be gathering to see his death. They would stop us from reaching him.

A motion in the distance caught my eye. I leaned forward, peering. Suddenly, I knew how to reach Erasmus.

No. I could not do it.

Sitting, I pressed my cool hands against my face. My whole body was shaking. It would be a noble gesture, true. One worthy of the “grand compassion” of a Sibyl. “Yet, I could not find within myself the wherewithal to perform such an act of charity. I just did not love Erasmus enough.

If it were anyone else, even quiet Cornelius or silly wayward Ulysses, I would have done it. But I could not give up the only thing of worth that was left to me to save, of all people, Erasmus.