Fools, these Mortals

Third Day Sebastien Chapter Twenty-Five

Caliban pointed a stumbly finger towards the two pieces of furniture in the visible chamber. Shrouded by shadow from the surface edge far above, that seat of power would give any ambassador pause for thought. I didn't need anyone's blessing to know that was where I was to sit. Either carved or grown to Her will, the thrones glittered. The crystal in my hand vibrated excitedly. In the driest corner, a small makeshift shelter of unruly blankets and rotten dishes scattered that area. The mould stench that Caliban slept in when not servicing Prospero, I guessed.

I peered back to the much taller Caliban. "This will do." Rewarding my ally with a smile. "Why two thrones?"

"Setebos, son of Void and Illyrian. He's a god," Caliban answered. "Mother vowed to give him a physical form when she became ruler. They would govern Illyria together for all eternity."

"Physical form?" I was beyond lost to such a fantasy. "What is Setebos?"

Caliban came forward, catching the edge of the falling rain. "Setebos cannot survive without a host body, stripped of his form. When mother released him, he used to reside in Sycorax's mind, until Prospero took him away. He was the voice of her council."

Was the voice in dungeon Setebos, warning me of the Goodfellow's plans? "He was the voice in her head?" I struggled to word my question. Caliban was by all accounts much more knowledgeable than Antonio had been. "How does that work?" I frowned, head pounding as I stretched the imagination.

"Setebos can only link to a mind that had magic. He could never reach mine, or else, all such strife could've been avoided."

Then how did Setebos enter my mind? I wasn't too far gone in my logic to think I had magic. How preposterous. "You don't have magic?" I approached Caliban, watching anew at his dishevelled form.

Caliban's smile was sad. "I'm the epitome of a mother's disappointment. The son of the power enchantress Sycorax, born without magic."

I wanted to offer some comfort to the strange, grotesque fae. For all his minor role to protect me from Prospero, it was the least I could do. "We cannot help who are parents are, only how we can be separate from them to become our own person. We make ourselves who we need to be."

Nodding to Caliban to some closure of our lacking parentage, gluttonously I stretched my arms wide. Holding onto my small crystal memento, I spun in a hysterical circle as finally my life was on the winning path. I was now alive at last that my laugh echoed rich in the chasm.

My sense of direction was for the throne waiting to be filled. I sat slowly, relishing how the odd jagged edge of the black diamonds nudged sinfully against my body. The crystal in my hand vibrated, in calling to the rest. A moment later, the throne vibrated with such power attuned to my heartbeat. Tingles of energy zapped at the bare contact of my skin. I was born for such a chair as this. Rubbing the extended sides and scoring my hands across each crystal edge, purpose narrowed my mind. Rotten, stone flesh made contact with mine holding the crystal; I fought back at an instinctual cringe at the contact. I needed Caliban to help defeat Prospero. I needed him for a friend.

"We need to plan our fight, my friend." Every nerve was reluctant to leave the chair, but I had work to do. For the sake of my sister's memory, I would endure.

Loving my own optimism, I couldn't help but chuckle at the odds stacked against us. But looking over the face of my new friend, my fortune had turned in so little time, but my desires and actions remained the same. "Caliban, how do we kill the old man?"

"He's chained Setebos to his essence and he can't allow Prospero to die without a close host," Caliban grumbled. "If we can separate Setebos from Prospero and awaken Sycorax, Prospero will be as vulnerable as any mortal. But we need to wait."