Caliban

A Story by Deseret

I wrote this while I was suppose to be reading the rest of "Tempest" for class. four pages single spaced.

Caliban stared at the storm approaching from the horizon, a deep angry feeling fermenting in his stomach. The sky was and dark and clouds broiled on the foreground. That man had made a storm yester, he didn’t know why but sensed that Prosperos’ plans were coming to a climax, and this was all his fault. If only he had been smarter all those years ago. If only he had kill the monsters in their sleep like the rock had told him to do. If only he hadn’t fallen for their kindnesses.

He picked up a stick and threw it across the beach then picked up another one and did the same, prolonging his time outside of his little pound. He had to get enough driftwood to get the terrible pair through the night, and hopefully the next day as well but Prospero had never actually told him to hurry, and that might mean a little leeway latter. He picked up another stick and crushed it in one hand.

He stood still for a moment and closed his eyes, reaching mentally to the spirits that had been caught by Prosper’s spell. He knew them, not intimately, but they were still his friends, part of this isle. He touched their mental forms gently and they flinched away, already mostly gone in the pursuit of wind and rain; Civil, a rock, Higgens a tree, and Graphy a stream on the other side of the island. He felt the pink man sucking away their life from their fatefully chosen bodies, felt the way their minds curled up in themselves in a futile effort to fight back.

I’m sorry, he told them, I’ve failed you, I’m so sorry. They were beyond hearing all their concentration was on trying to keep themselves. The pain twisted up inside of Caliban’s chest but he did not let go. He stayed with them as they shrank and the storm grew above his head. Only at the very end did he let go, or else Prospero might accidentally suck him in too, kill him unintentionally.

Once in a while Caliban thought about not letting go, even about figuring out how to feed his own life force into whatever spell Prospero was trying. Killing himself just so that it could all be over, he wouldn’t have to endure this torment anymore. But he was afraid of what Prospero might do to him if he failed, or if he didn’t fail what evils might Caliban’s life force create or contribute to?

Caliban realized he had stopped walking and that his cheeks were wet. He rubbed the damp away and glanced up at the sky. Although it had gotten much darker and the wind was blowing something fierce he did not think that it had actually started to rain.

He mumbled out loud “I’m so sorry” as if saying it made it more real. The anger was welling up inside of him and his hand traveled mindlessly to his chest rubbing the scar that he had been given all those many years ago. His breathing was heavy and the emotions were a torrent inside of him with no release. There was no song, every spirit that was left stayed silent and small in an effort to remain unseen by this newcomer.

It didn’t work, and it left him alone and lonely.

Caliban tore the bundle of sticks off his back and threw it forcefully into the wind. Watching the twigs break free from the bundle and scatter across the sands with numb eyes.

He plopped onto the beach and curled his tail around until it twitched restlessly in his lap. He watched the waves beat the shore and spread handfuls of sand in the wind across his thighs. Prospero would be mad, he would punish his scaled slave for his lateness.

Caliban could almost already feel the cramps tying up his limbs and the nausea that turned his stomach until his last meal came out of his mouth. Or maybe he would rip some of the spikes out of his back, just a couple to reassure Caliban that Prospero was the one in charge. Even the thought of such pain made him tremble. But right now Caliban tried to make himself believe that he didn’t care, forced himself to stay exactly where he was.

Prospero had killed too many today. He didn’t have to kill them, he knew control but he had done it anyways he had just gone and used them all up until there was nothing left. Caliban would not be obedient today, even if it meant more pain for himself. He wouldn’t stay out long enough for the wizened wraith to hurt anyone else on his behalf, Caliban just desperately needed time to mourn.

He tightly closed his eyes his sorrow pulling heavy at his chest. He tried to think a while about what he could possibly do to stop the humans, but came up blank once. Caliban sighed and rubbed his forehead with the heel of his right hand, he wished there was something he could do.

He started a dirge from in his throat allowing the tone to come from deep within. For a long while his voice was solitary but then one by one more voices joined his with their own mournful notes. Caliban’s cheeks were wet again but this time he didn’t wipe the tears away.

The first eight years of his life he had been happy and he had not even know it, not really anyways. And now he and the island were thrown into the depths of despair and there was no relief in sight.

Caliban back on the sand and opened his eyes staring into the endless clouds without seeing them. He voice choked and dropped out of the dirge but others continued it, expressing the sorrow they each felt. There was no way out. How could he stop this madness?

Caliban felt his eyes close and tried to enjoy the small amount of relief that the expression of pain brought. The wind was bothering his nose so he put an arm over his face and lost himself in the song of the spirits, just for a while.

The rain was what had woke him up, he was cold and wet and his blood felt slothful with in his veins. He needed to bask in the sun or rest by a fire or else he might slow down, he might even fall into a deep unintentional sleep until the sun came out again.

It had only happened twice before. Once before those two had come to the island he had wandered into a deep cave where an ice spirit lived, she had blasted him with freezing water and air until his muscles just wouldn’t move and he had fallen asleep, only to wake up to her snickers four weeks later.

The second time Prospero had forced him into it, into this slothfulness that he had called hibernation, paralyzing him so that wizard could bind Caliban magically to the island in the center a small pond. Prospero had released him by lighting a fire underneath his tail. Caliban didn’t want that to happen again.

He stood up and looked around in the pelting rain. His heart beating a little bit faster, how long had he been asleep? Had those pink things missed him? Had their unnecessarily large fire gone out? It felt late, they probably would be missing him, which meant trouble for him, and for somebody else if Caliban wasn’t careful.

He hurried to gather the wood he had cast aside earlier in the night.

He didn’t want Prospero to send another spirit after him. That would only hurt another friend. Prospero might force a new victim to search after Caliban and bring him home, but that would only be the beginning, once Prospero had them he fed off of them until their physical forms couldn’t take it anymore. Until only their screams lingered in the air.

But maybe he would send Ariel, because it was more convenient then catching and taming a new soul. That wouldn’t be so bad Ariel had chosen to serve Prospero. He was the only spirit who knew how to make words, which seemed entertain the pick thing to no end.

His arms full Caliban saw another form in the darkness and froze. Curses upon them, curses upon himself he had fallen asleep for too long and now someone else had been taken by Prosper.

Standing still he reached out mentally towards the dark form but felt nothing. Quizzical he tried again but there was nothing there. He lowered the twigs in his hands to get a better look at the blurry form, it walked completely upright, and its silhouette was like unto Prospero but it definitely not him. And it couldn’t possible be that seductress Miranda. What was it?

Caliban took a few steps back and hid on top of a rock outcropping, pulling his cloak up over his head in hopes to at least hide the eye catching form of his profile. An outsider? The concept tickled at his mind making him uneasy. It couldn’t be anything else.

He felt the terror ripple through his body, was this one as wicked as the others? They must all be evil.

He half felt, half saw the human rest beneath the outcropping Caliban was laying on. Then heard something like a soft sob beneath the wind and rain.

The outsider was crying? Because of the storm? It was bad, but it wasn’t that bad. Those humans were ‘warm-blooded’ as Prospero put it, they weren’t in danger of falling into a deep sort of sleep as Caliban was.

The large humanoid retile peaked from beneath the cloak only to see another blurry form in the darkness. He hid again. A new tremble shaking his wiry limbs, had this one sent the other into hiding? What sort of man could make a fellow cry out in fear?

He heard slurred singing on the wind and perked up curiously. It wasn’t part of the song and it relayed no real emotion, it was just a wavering warble.

“I shall no more to sea, to sea, here I shall die ashore.” It spoke of death but there was no sorrow or fear carried with the tune. Before he could fully think about the song the singer changed it. “The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I, the gunner and his mate loved Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery, but none of us cared for Kate. For she had a tongue with a tang,” the footstep were getting closer now, so close that he could hear the footfalls on the rocky beach over the ruckus of the storm. Caliban tensed and felt a light kick to his side and the weight of the singer’s body on his back before it rolled off with a splutter.

The cloak as stripped off a moment latter and he heard a gasp. Caliban tried to relax but his body spasmed uncontrollably. He heard a mumble of demon and ague and felt hands scrabbling at his shoulder until he rolled over, the cold rain pelting his face.

A bottle was pressed to his lips and cold liquid that burned was poured in. Caliban jerked up and away spitting out most of the rotten tasting fluid. He glanced at the slightly rotund man trying to distill the fear that was in his heart, and brought a hand to his mouth to wipe away the aweful taste that lingered on his lips.

The man smiled woozily at him and clapped a hand onto Caliban’s shoulder, saying something that sounded like shakes getting shaken, he took a swig of his own bottle, so it wasn’t poison. Or it least it wasn’t poisonous to warmbloods. The one above him began to say something else but was interrupted by a voice on the wind.

“Stephano!” It must have been the other human that spoke but the one called Stephano glanced around quizzically, exhaling a deep stinking breath upon the beast. Caliban clapped a hand over his sensitive nose as the rotund one pushed himself to his feet.

“two voices, a most delicate monster” He took another long drink of his burning bottle and then opened his mouth as if to say something else.

“If thou be’st Stehano touch me and speak to me for I am Trinculo! Thy good friend Trinculo!”

The rotund one looked around shakily once more “If thou be’st Trinculo come out!” He demanded, his voice less slurred this time.

The thin one came out of hiding and Stephano jumped down to greet his friend with much shouting and spinning around the other.

Caliban took the opportunity to slip away but stood where he could see the strange ones, his curiosity keeping him close. If Prospero demanded an explanation he would say that he was frightened because of the newcomers and stayed because he had ‘accidently’ left is bundle of sticks behind.

They were laughing and speaking much louder than necessary. So that Caliban could hear and understand almost every individual word that they said, even if their words in a string made little sense.

Their ship had crashed and they were the only survivors, lucky to have found each other. The thin one seemed concerned with how much of the liquid the other had.

They must have been very powerful to be the only ones to make it to shore. They didn’t look physically adept so what was it that made them more powerful than anyone else on his ship?

It must be the liquid power that they had with them, Caliban had spat most of it out and he still felt looser somehow, more prepared and brave

Were they Magi?

Everyone else who had ever come to island had been able to command the magics. Except for Miranda but she had been in the arms of her father so she didn’t count. And if these two were able to manipulate magic then they were a lot more giving then any Magi he had ever known, sharing their liquid power with Caliban without a second thought.

Perhaps even so giving that they would be willing to use some of the power they had saved to get rid of the tyrants?

And because they had brought their own power source with them then they would not need to use the life forces on the island to work their spells. It would mean an end to this torment.

Caliban stepped out from the rock, his weak heart pounding with in him, trying to figure out what would be the best way to get their attention. If he asked them to kill a stranger then they might say no, they would need some form of incentive. Maybe if he offered some of the services that Prospero and Miranda demanded then they would be more willing to usurp the vile things.

He could show them were the fresh water springs were, and where the fertile parts of the island remained, that was what father and daughter had first asked of him.

He took a breath and stepped forward, searching for some assurance or suggestion in the back of his head but the spirits of the island were silent this time. Caliban opened his mouth still mentally preparing what he might say to them.

Ariel called down from the winds from above Caliban’s head more laughter then actual words “you’re going to get in trouble” he cowled.

“Do not torment me!” Caliban half whimpered all the bravery that the liquid brought sucked out of him at the sound. He raised his arms above his head in an effort to protect himself from whatever Ariel might drop on him. “I’ll bring my wood home faster” He ran to get the bundle of wood.

Ariel laughed again and swooped low over the scaled monster’s head driving him back to Prosper’s ‘cell’.

The two laughing and drinking forms in the dark rain seemed completely oblivious.