Prospero Regained (66 page)

Nor was it merely the eye that saw the glory of his coming. Rays of spiritual warmth the eye could not behold radiated from this Servant of High Heaven. Like the first crocus bud of spring raising its head out of the snow to unfold its pale lavender petals toward the warmth of the life-giving sun, my heart, my very being, was lifted out of the dreary darkness.

One could not look upon the Seraph and not rejoice.

Uriel drew his flaming sword and stepped up beside Astreus. The two of them strode across the battlefield. All Limbo trembled in the angels’ wake, and the dark mists of which it consisted began to disperse. Some shades rushed away pell-mell. Others paused their endless chase for the first time in what might have been a century, or a millennia. Their wispy bodies took upon themselves form and substance where the light that shone from the Regent fell upon them. Raising their heads like men, they fell in step behind Uriel, marching and singing hymns in unison.

An undulating wail rose from the combatants. The demons and their cohorts, both high ranking and low, dropped their weapons and fled. They stampeded toward the Gate of False Dreams, knocking each other down and running over their cohorts. We gave way quickly, letting them go.

And that was that. The battle had ended. We had won.

We stood there stunned, watching the angels in awe. Mephisto was the first to recover. He tapped his staff numerous times, sending away the healthier of his creatures, one after another. Then, he grabbed my arm and dragged me from one to another of the wounded ones. I smiled at his brave furred and feathered friends, and felt warmth flow from my forehead toward them. We were able to save all but the magnificent roc, whose vast body lay stiff and lifeless. Mephisto sat down on its wing and cried.

My family was now scattered across the vast emptiness of Limbo. Those who had been on the outside of Gregor’s barrier of silence stood at some distance. Eventually, we regrouped near the two empty thrones—I gave the one on the left wide berth.

I made my way back to my brothers. Titus, Theo, Gregor, and Caliban were bleeding profusely: Titus from his thigh wound where he had been gored by a horned demon; Theo from the gash across his forehead; Gregor from deep cuts in his shoulder, arm, and hip; and Caliban from a slash across his chest as well as slashes on his legs. Blood still oozed from Logistilla’s many cuts on her face and neck, though they were healing quickly, thanks to the Water of Life I had given her. Ulysses moved stiffly, massaging his hurt arm.

Erasmus was sunburned on one side of his face. Apparently he had gotten too close to Theo’s blast. Mab had that ugly wound in his shoulder where the demi-goblin had bitten him, and Father had taken a bad blow to the back of the head. I had a scratch or two, though I was basically unharmed.

Only Mephisto was entirely unscathed.

As my family drew back together, I imagined the world from the point of view of each one and felt the living love stream from my forehead into their weakened bodies. Smiles replaced scowls, and they all stood straighter and began to walk with more ease, except for Caliban, who continued to limp.

Of the enemy, the only ones left were several dozen fish, who flopped helplessly in the drifting mist, unable to flee. In the distance, the two angels had stopped to converse. The taller one was arrayed in nine glorious halos. The second angel, only slightly shorter, bore no halo at all. I watched them with heavy heart, realizing that I had freed Astreus, or maybe I should say Astriel, only to lose him to Heaven.

At least, I could take joy in his triumphant return to Heaven. I truly had granted his heart’s desire.

Erasmus halted suddenly and began glancing about.

“Where is Cornelius?” he asked.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-ONE

Tears for the Living

We found Cornelius upon the battlefield standing over a prone body. He gazed down at it, puzzled. As I grew closer, my stomach did an odd kind of flip. The body at Cornelius’s feet had a bandana wrapped about its head, but the Cornelius standing above it wore no bandana. Instead, he looked around in astonishment, gazing at his hands, glorying in his new-found sight.

“So, here you are!” Erasmus came up and slapped Cornelius’s shoulder. His hand went right through Cornelius. Erasmus’s face crumpled in horror. “High Holy God! You are dead!”

Cornelius smiled. “Yes, but my sight has been restored. Oh, the beauty, the wonder of color and shape! I had forgotten how much I had been missing!”

“If you think Limbo is spectacular, you should see the world above.”

“Or the one above that,” said Cornelius, “for I believe that is where I am headed.”

Two angels with wings of purest white descended a single golden ray that split the darkness of Limbo. They were not as brilliant as the Regent of the Sun, who still strode across the battlefield in the distance, with Astreus at his side, but they radiated a holy glow that made me feel as if I had just awakened, refreshed, upon a warm summer morning. Most of the wraiths fled from the brightness, but a few began circling the ray, as if attempting to climb it.

The angels alighted on either side of Cornelius. If a tongue were granted to a harp, it would have sounded much like their voices. Upon hearing them, my spirits lifted and I felt as if I could dance with weightless grace or even fly.

“Come, Child of the Earth, we are here to bring you to Heaven.”

“Stop! Leave him!” Father brandished the
Staff of Eternity.
“You may not take him!”

Some of the leaves and flowers had been damaged in the fight, and bits of demon ichor still clung to it, but it was already repairing itself. The broken blossoms and branches straightened more quickly when the angels’ radiance shone upon them.

Reaching Cornelius, Father touched his staff to Cornelius’s body. A bridge of rosy and azure light sprang up arching from the body to Cornelius’s spirit.

“Father, please…” Cornelius bowed his head. “Let me go.”

“What do you mean?” Father asked sharply. “Is all our work to be for nothing, again?”

“Cornelius, don’t be a fool!” Erasmus insisted. “Get back in your body!”

“Please,” Cornelius begged again. “Don’t ask me to go back into the darkness.”

Father drew back and put his hand on his chest, across his heart. Erasmus let out a long wordless moan. Titus limped over, tears in his eyes. The rest of us stood helplessly, torn with sorrow. Logistilla turned away, crying.

“Come with us, Cornelius.”
The angelic voices swelled like a choir, though there were only two.
“We shall bring you to your long awaited reward in Paradise.”

Cornelius’s face lit up. He straightened, as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. He resembled a different person, the man he might have been had secrecy and lust for power not corrupted his generous nature—a man I might have loved as dearly as I loved Theo.

Nor was Cornelius the only one affected. Around me, the faces of my other siblings were bathed in the light of Heavenly joy. While in the presence of the Messenger of the Gods they had sparkled with cleverness and wit; now, in the presence of angels, they seemed young and fresh, as if the centuries of distrust and toil had never happened, and they were still unfallen and whole.

I, too, felt uplifted, as if I had been wallowing in the mud, crying, my face buried in my hands, and some vast and glorious presence had come and helped me up, lifting me out of both my squalor and my sorrow.

“Cor-Cornelius is going to Heaven!” Theo cried. His face was slack with shock and relief.

“Of course.” Cornelius’s shade patted Theo’s hand kindly. “I did my duty.”

“And
I
was worried? I have been a greater fool than I thought!” Theo gave a burst of joyful laughter, and Cornelius laughed with him.

We all laughed with them. I stepped forward and, leaning toward Cornelius, whispered, “Finally, you get your wish.”

“My wish?” Cornelius inclined his head, just as he had done when he could not see.

“The one you made on New Year’s,” I reminded him. “You finally get to retire.”

Cornelius closed his eyes and his spirit body sagged, as if shouldering a great burden. Opening his eyes again, he turned to the divine emissaries.

“Thank you, kind Messengers of Heaven, but I must decline. My sister is right. To go now to my final reward—when Father’s staff would allow me to remain—is no different than choosing retirement. I must stay, for the battle is not yet won and much remains for me to do.”

“No!” I cried, immediately regretting my words. “Cornelius! Don’t stay. You have a chance to go to Heaven! Isn’t that what this is all about?”

Erasmus opened his mouth, stopped, opened it again, and stopped again. Finally, he said, “I cannot advise you. I cannot urge you either to eschew Heaven or to give up on life if you can continue to lie.”

“Come with us.”
One of the angels extended a shining hand toward Cornelius. Just hearing the angel’s voice brought a feeling of serenity. Its voice rippled like a sacred harp.
“Years, centuries, you have labored in darkness, bearing far more than most are ever asked to bear; even the hardest mortal life ordinarily lasts but the blink of an eye. There is no need for you to return to the darkness. Come with us into the Light.”

Cornelius’s gaze rested on the heavenly messenger, his face full of longing. He looked like a shipwrecked man who had been dragged out of the ocean into paradise and was now contemplating diving back in.

“Go, My Son,” my father said finally, his voice breaking. “You have earned your rest. Though … though, nothing. Go with my blessing.”

“Come. All the Choirs of Heaven wait to sing your praises.”
The angel extended his proffered hand.

Cornelius’s eyes locked on that hand as if it were the last hope of a drowning man, almost totally submerged, before he went under.

“No.” He shook his head firmly. “The Heavenly Choir will just have to wait a bit longer. There is still work to be done here.” He looked down at his body. “Really, the darkness isn’t so bad.…” His voice trailed off.

“We shall await the glorious day when you return for your final reward,”
the angels sang in unison. They flew once over the battlefield before rising back up the white beam. As they went, their wings swept up the wraiths who had been circling about their golden light and those more substantial shades who had fallen into step behind Uriel, who ascended singing hymns.

The bright ray slowly faded.

Cornelius stared at his body, lost and dejected. The lightness of spirit the angels had brought seeped away. My heart felt as if it were rising into my throat and swelling, as if it would soon block my windpipe so that I would be unable to breathe due to sorrow and regret. I felt such remorse for having spoken.

“Please, Father”—my brother held up a hand—“give me just one minute to see before returning me to my dark cell.”

A hush fell over the family. We drew around Cornelius, and he gazed from one face to another, staring at each of us in wonder. He took a step closer to our youngest brother.

“You must be Ulysses.” Cornelius reached up and ran his immaterial fingers over Ulysses’s face. “I have never seen you before.”

“It’s a shame you couldn’t see me in my fancy duds,” Ulysses replied sheepishly. “I look a great deal spiffier that way.”

“It isn’t your finery I’m interested in,” Cornelius replied gently, stretching out his immaterial hand as if to touch Ulysses’s face. “I know what fine clothing looks like.”

Cornelius turned to the tallest of us and bowed solemnly. “And you must be Caliban.”

Caliban stepped back, stammering, “P-please, I-I am—”

“Our eldest brother,” Cornelius intoned.

Caliban stared at him, gawking. Then, suddenly, a huge grin split his face. “I am, aren’t I! Thank you, younger brother! I’m glad you are staying!”

“Well, then…” Cornelius glanced from the bleary Limbo landscape to the body laying at his feet. “I guess I must…” His voice trailed off.

“Here!” Mephisto tapped his staff. I began to imagine that a kangaroo hopped beside him. Then it did, and Mephisto pulled the crystal ball from its pouch, as whole and solid as before he had thrown it in amid Lilith’s troops. “Look at everything you like!”

Cornelius gazed into the ball for some time, different intensities of light illuminating his ethereal face as he asked it to show various places: his house, the face of his young guide back in Boston, parks he loved, cities he had visited, museums that held some of the finest works of mankind, his favorite fishing hole.

Finally, turning away from us, he walked over to where flowers were growing. He knelt in the wildflowers without picking them and gathered some in his arms. Burying his nose in the blooms, he sniffed their perfume. He sat for a while, just admiring the beautiful shades of color. Then, he rose and came back to stand by his body.

“I am ready.”

Father touched the
Staff of Eternity
to Cornelius’s prone form. The glowing rosy and blue arch sprang up again from either side of the staff. Cornelius stepped onto the shining bridge, slid down the staff, and lay down atop his body. For an instant, there were two of him laying supine, then his spirit sank into his body, and he sat up, blind behind his bandana again.

Erasmus bent down beside him to help him rise, and Cornelius smiled as he accepted the aid, saying, “The darkness is not so bad, if one has loved ones about.” Yet his voice sounded so weary, so sad.

Tears stung my eyes, yet again before pouring forth and running down my cheeks. Who would have imagined I would weep because one of my brothers had
not
died?

*   *   *

“WHAT
about him, Father?” Logistilla pointed at where a lone shade stood. He seemed more substantial than the waiflike wraiths that flew through the mists. Logistilla gestured, and he came slowly forward. It was Uncle Antonio.

Of course, he had been with my siblings when Ulysses rescued them. He must have followed us here.