Prospero Lost: Prospero's Daughter, Book I (50 page)

I shook my head. “Not only is it difficult to get a good lightning bolt during a snowstorm, but also we could electrocute ourselves. We don’t know what condition our . . .”

The plane lurched to the right, accompanied by a terrible grinding tearing noise. I managed to keep my seat, but Mab, who had been half standing, in an attempt to watch the dragon, was thrown to the floor. He slid against my legs, pinning them against the instrument panel. A sharp pain shot through my ankle, causing me to cry out. Meanwhile, Mab’s head made an unpleasant crunching noise where it struck the base of my seat.

Ahead of us, through the front window, a long slender titanium wedge could be seen sailing off into the snowy nothingness below.

“Ah, Mab . . . was that our left wing?”

“ ’Fraid so,” Mab muttered, his voice edged with pain. “Ma’am . . . things aren’t looking too good.”

“At least the body of the plane hasn’t been breached. Though, I’m not sure it could survive another one of those . . . oh no!”

Smoke began curling about several spots on the ceiling where the vinyl covering was melting. In two places, tiny flickers of flame were visible.

“He’s doing that from the outside? With just the fire from his mouth?” whispered Mab. “That’s impossible!”

“Tell that to the flames.”

I made a dash for the fire extinguisher, nearly falling when my injured ankle did not support me. Grabbing the extinguisher, I aimed it at the hot spots and fired. Liquid splashed across the ceiling, covering it with a white puffy cream. Foolishly, I remained standing, stooping to examine my ankle. The plane lurched again. The fire extinguisher and I went flying.

WHEN
I came to, I was lying in the back, under a suitcase, with something sticky running into my eyes. Mab appeared over me and moved the luggage. As he did so, a jarring pain shot through my temples.

Mab did not look so good. Rivulets of blood ran over his face and down his neck.

“Are you all right, Ma’am?” he asked hoarsely.

“Guess so,” I whispered. “How about you?”

“As well as can be expected.”

“Who’s flying the plane?”

“The dragon . . . so to speak.”

“Great.” My throbbing head fell back to rest against the carpet. “Do we have any kind of plan?”

“ ’Fraid not, Ma’am. We’re pretty well cooked.”

“Any suggestions?”

Mab sat back on his haunches, bracing himself against a seat in case the plane should lurch again. “That depends on whether or not you feel well enough to play your piccolo. Otherwise, the only thing I can think of is that I might be able to abandon this body and go for help.”

The situation seemed surreal. I had become so accustomed to having a solution to every predicament.

“Sometimes I forget that I, too, am mortal.” My voice rang oddly in my ears.

“Ma’am, you’re scaring me!”

“We must protect the flute,” I continued, ignoring him. “We can’t let it fall into the hands of the servants of Hell.” Darkness danced at the edge of my vision. My eyes slipped closed. “Holy Lady, please protect my people.”

Abruptly, the plane rose up, shook, then began to drop. The gentle weightlessness of free-fall caressed us. Mab slapped my face to wake me and shoved the flute into my hands. He was floating above me, scowling horribly.

“By Setebos and Boreas, Ma’am . . . play! The dragon just dropped us.”

SOMEHOW
I found the breath, though I cannot recall what I played. Mab hurriedly stuck in his earplugs. The plane continued to fall, the air whistling around us. Then, the whistle became a roar as gale-strength winds lifted us up, missing wing and all.

Mab, his face pressed against a window, whistled softly himself. “Well, would ya look at that!”

Outside, flying away from us, was a giant brown-speckled bird, bigger than an eighteen-wheeler, with a head like a hawk’s, each wing the span of a football field. In its immense claws, it carried Osae the Dragon. The crimson serpent squirmed and writhed, trying to free himself, but the roc had pierced the dragon’s body with a talon, so the shapechanger could not alter himself without tearing his body in two. As the two supernatural creatures sped away, I gave a feeble cheer.

“Sake’s alive! The magnificent roc! Did your Lady send it?”

I laughed weakly and pointed to the left. “No. That roc works for a much less spiritual master.”

Through the swirling snow came a white stallion flying on feathered wings. He sped across the sky as easily as an ordinary horse might gallop across a meadow. The winds carrying our plane troubled him not at all. Atop his back, laughing and waving his staff, rode my brother Mephisto.

“I can’t believe it,” Mab muttered, chagrined. “We’ve been saved by the Harebrain! I wonder if he’s been following us all this time?”

“Maybe he’s been following the Three Shadowed Ones,” I murmured.

Mephisto turned Pegasus about, and the stallion dipped his wings, giving the universal air signal for “follow me.” Via the flute, I directed the winds to carry the plane, and we set off after the flying horse. Pegasus dived through the swirling whiteness to land lightly on a wide snowy bank. With the help of the flute and the winds, we came to a safe, if bumpy, stop beside him.

*    *    *

MEPHISTO
leapt from the winged horse and ran pell-mell to greet us. He was clad in a fur-trimmed parka and fur boots, such as reindeer herders wear, which allowed him to move easily and quickly across the icy environment. In one hand, he held the
Staff of Summoning
. Wonder of wonders! He had actually recovered it from the demons!

Mephisto burst into the cabin of the plane, then stopped cold, gaping at our blood-covered faces. All three of us gazed at each other in silence.

Finally, Mab muttered morosely, “Head wounds. Look worse than they are.”

At our direction, Mephisto located the first aid kit and bandaged our heads and my ankle. This was made more difficult because he had handcuffed his staff to his wrist and could not put it aside, so that when he let go of it to help us, it flew about as his arm moved and banged into things. Once I could sit up properly, I gave Mab and myself a drop each of the Water of Life, to stabilize our condition and speed our healing. Then we gathered together what equipment we could salvage, and all climbed onto the back of the flying horse.

“Are you sure he can carry us all?” Mab asked dubiously. Mephisto and I laughed.

“He’s a magic horse,” Mephisto explained.

When this did not seem to placate Mab, I added, “He’s not limited by earthly constraints such as size or weight. We used to fit our whole family on his back.”

“What about Seir?” demanded Mab. “He’s still around. He could turn up any moment.”

“He wouldn’t dare come near me, now that I have my staff! He knows what kind of horrors I could sic on him,” Mephisto replied gleefully.

That answer did not make Mab feel any better, but we set off nonetheless. It pained me to abandon the Lear, which had been my main mode of transportation for decades, but it was clearly damaged beyond repair. Prospero, Inc. had plenty of other private planes, of course, but only this one had been custom designed to be piloted by Aerie Ones. It could fly in nearly any weather. I sadly waved goodbye as it fell away behind us and was lost in an ocean of snow.

We headed for the North Pole, which Mephisto insisted was only a little ways away. When Mab complained we could never possibly find it flying blind, Mephisto just grinned and tapped his staff against his foot.

The snow flurries beside us looked remarkably like a flying reindeer.
Then, a real reindeer was flying beside us. Mephisto called to him, telling him to fly home, and then told Pegasus to follow Donner.

The Arctic sky moved swiftly past us. Even the pounding in my head could not dim the joy of flying by winged horseback again! I reveled in the cold winds as they caressed my face and tousled my hair. Much as I enjoyed the flight, however, my injuries proved too great for me. As I surrendered to the darkness, finally escaping the throbbing pain in my head and ankle, I could have sworn I saw, in the distance, a red-and-white barber pole.

I awakened to the smells of baking. For a time, I lay in unbelievable comfort amidst down pillows and flannel sheets. Everything was warm and cozy; even my dreams had been pleasant, with no incubus to haunt me. I felt I could stay here, exactly as I was, forever.

The sounds of someone munching near my ear stirred my curiosity. I opened my eyes.

I lay in a small chamber with cedar walls and a thick burgundy rug. Rose-colored towels sat on a pink-and-white dresser, piled neatly in front of its oval mirror. Next to my bed, Mab sat on a matching pink-and-white chair, munching a freshly baked sticky bun. The smell of the spices and warm dough made my mouth water.

“Morning, Mab,” I said experimentally. “I dreamed an elf brought me soup.”

“An elf did bring you soup, Ma’am. And a real, honest-to-goodness elf, too. Not one of those deformed pixies that were on display in that mall of yours.”

“Oh, really?” I slowly levered myself up. I felt whole. “How long have I been asleep?

“Three days. You slept like a babe . . . while the rest of us worked like dogs trying to get ready for Christmas Eve. Ol’ Santa even got Mephisto to do his fair share.”

“That’s a miracle in and of itself! So, it’s Christmas morning?” I asked.

“If anything could be called morning in the land of no sun.” Mab paused while he finished his next bite. “Clever of you to miss the work and wake in time for the feasting. I recommend we ask our host what we came here to ask him, and get out of here immediately, Ma’am. No point in dawdling.”

“Certainly! We’ve wasted precious time already. Three days! Who knows
what progress I could have made on rescuing my father, or averting the coming doom?” I was interrupted by my growling stomach. “Good lord, I’m starving! Apparently, I’ve only eaten soup for three days. Did you say something about a feast? A Christmas feast?”

Mab frowned stubbornly.

“What aren’t you telling me, Mab?”

“The elven High Council is expected for the feast, Ma’am. The further we are from here by the time they arrive, the better.”

“And miss the High Council?” The name alone kindled memories of fireflies and dancing.

“I was afraid you’d say that, Ma’am,” Mab sighed, adding morosely, “Oh, why couldn’t you just have stayed asleep one more day!”

Mab retreated while I rose and dressed. I unwrapped the bandages covering my head, but could find no sign of an injury. After brushing out my hair with a coral-handled brush I found on the dresser, I met up with Mab and began making my way through the winding corridors of Father Christmas’s house.

It was a magical place! Wondrous smells filled the halls: cedar, pine, peppermint, sizzling meats. Bells and garlands hung everywhere. I padded across the polished wooden floors in thick red socks someone had thoughtfully left beside my bed. To either side of me, doors opened into workrooms. I glimpsed stately blond elves, garbed like Swiss yodelers, in embroidered lederhosen, standing in rows before long workbenches, each cleaning his tools and scrubbing his spot of bench. Farther along, other doors led to cozy bedroom suites, and one opened on a cedar-lined sauna surrounding a hot tub the size of a swimming pool. Sweetly scented steam filled the chamber.

Around a corner, I came upon a great jet-black door held shut with massive steel chains. Next to that door, a hip-high pedestal held a silver circlet inset with some kind of polished horn.

Nowhere, however, could I find any sign of the kitchen. Finally, I caved and asked Mab.

“I don’t know, Ma’am,” he said warily. “Might not want to go there. That Mrs. Claus is a mean one. If she catches you, she’ll probably make you go feed that bear. Very dangerous business, the bear. Already ate two elves this week.”

“If the bear eats the help, why do they keep it?”