The Vessel of Ra

by Catherine Schaff-Stump

  “What’s this?” said Paolo.

  “This falcon is hers,” said Carlo. “It told me to save her.” That sounded crazy, but it was the truth. “It made me bring her here.”

  “Now I understand,” said Paolo. His face lightened with the smile of a man who has just found a pipe that had been missing for a month.

  “Understand what?”

  “Why she lived. You’re a smart boy, using mandrake. Giving her heart a start. You know, though, you can only be that lucky once in a million times. This one won’t let her die by accident.” Paolo gestured toward the falcon with his pipe. “She’s a Binder.”

  “A what?”

  Paolo spoke around his pipe. “There are some things your mother does not want me to tell you about because of your father.”

  This was a blockade Carlo was well acquainted with and wearied by. “How can this girl have anything to do with Papa?”

  Paolo dodged the topic. “Until you are a man and you can make your own decisions, I wait to tell you that information.”

  “I’m seventeen,” said Carlo.

  “And yet we wait. This fellow”—Paolo indicated the falcon—“he’s anxious. Let me talk to him.” Paolo removed the pipe from his mouth and fiddled with the bowl. “Your mistress,” he said. “She will live. I’ll make sure you get first crack at her.”

  The bird glided to the ground.

  “This is our shop,” said Paolo. “Your mistress is inside. Would you like to come in?”

  Carlo studied the bird and his grandfather, one silver-haired, one golden-winged. “You think it understands you?”

  “It understands me.” Paolo addressed the bird again. “You have my word, no harm will come to your mistress here. You may stand guard in the manner you see fit.”

  It preened its feathers.

  Donna Anna, their neighbor, climbed down the stairs one at a time, resting, lugging a full water bucket. Carlo started forward to help the old lady, but Paolo handed him the pipe. “Go see if Mama says we’re allowed to move the girl to a bed.”

  Carlo knocked on the front door. “Mama?”

  “Fine,” Sofia said.

  The girl was still breathing, dressed in his mother’s spare nightgown.

  “We’ll put her in my bedroom,” said Sofia. “I will sleep here after we drag the sofa from my room.”

  Carlo nodded. “Grandfather says she may be a Binder. Do you have any idea what he means?”

  Sofia sat back in her chair. “There is an animal with her?”

  “Yes.” What did her falcon have to do with anything? “What is a Binder?”

  “Put her to bed.” Sofia rolled toward the front door.

  Paolo came in, hair mussed and water splashed across his midsection.

  Sofia clasped her hands in her lap. “You promised me.”

  Paolo glanced at Carlo. “I haven’t broken any promises.”

  “Binders?” she said.

  “It’s not my fault.” Paolo shoved his hands into his pockets. “It’s not my fault if the bird involved Carlo.”

  “You told the falcon it could kill the girl first,” Carlo said. “That’s what you said.”

  “That is not what I said.”

  “Carlo, please put her in my bed.”

  “Nonno—Grandpa—what’s going on?”

  Paolo waved his hands and Sofia wheeled herself to the fireplace, jabbing at it with the poker. Her speech was stiff. “I have some bread and cheese for breakfast. Papa, if you get me the kettle, I will make some tea.”

  “I need to know about these Binders,” said Carlo. “I saved her. I should know. Grandpa’s taught me about the poisons. What can be worse than poison?”

  Sofia held the poker in mid-air. “You taught him about the poisons?”

  “Of course.” Paolo brought the kettle forward. “What if something happens to me? Someone has to know. How would you live?”

  Carlo picked up the girl. “He taught me about the apothecary. All the apothecary. What do you think I’ve been doing out at night?”

  “Well.” Sofia wheeled herself back from the kitchen fire. “My wishes count for nothing, I see. It is because I married into the family, isn’t it?”

  “Don’t be like that,” said Carlo.

  “Of course it is,” said Paolo at the same time.

  Sofia jabbed the poker into the crumbling wood. “Carlo, go. Then come back, take the tablecloth outside, and hang it to dry.”

  “I can’t believe you said that to her,” Carlo hissed to Paolo. He carried the girl to his mother’s bed and tucked her under the covers. “It wants to kill you,” he said. “That’s what Nonno thinks. Maybe that’s why you jumped?”

  She slept on. Carlo stayed and listened, one eye on the girl.

  In the living room, Sofia slammed mugs on the table. “You promised me after Arturo…you promised you would not involve Carlo in any magic.”

  Paolo shrugged. “I didn’t promise you anything about the family profession. I did promise you about the magic. I kept my promise. What can I do if a demon shows up on our doorstep?”

  Carlo’s heart skipped.

  “You promise me you didn’t call it?”

  “I promise you.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Well then. Next time I will call a demon up and you’ll be proved right. You’d like that?”

  “Of course not!”

  “You’ve mangled this bread.”

  “The Binder can’t stay,” said Sofia.

  “I don’t intend for her to stay,” said Paolo. “But it is wisest to know we usually have little say in matters where demons are concerned.”

  “You promised me.”

  “All right. You have my word. I can’t be responsible, however, for the ideas of others. What Carlo might find out.”

  Carlo studied the girl. She was small and pale, almost a doll, her skin porcelain tinted. She didn’t look real, like she might be made of wax. She was unusual and she was tied to demons.

  What might he find out?

  CHAPTER TWO

  In October the water overflows Venice’s canals. It rims Saint Mark’s Square and puddles in its depressions, the ocean invading the most sacred pockets of the city. The Venetians built their city on poles, layering sand and stone upon each other until the city stopped sinking and fell down only on rare occasions. From October through early spring, the water taunted the occupying Austrians and other foreigners. What were they doing trying to stay dry on top of a lagoon? The Venetians, on the other hand, knew the secret was not staying dry. Water and land danced around each other, neither the master nor the mistress of the city.

  Octavia bathed in the moonlight over the floating waters, standing on the balcony outside her suite in deshabille. No one would see her impropriety at night. Black hair corkscrewed over her shoulders in loose ringlets. She was a white ghost, luminous in moon rays and street lamp reflections, blue veins swirling underneath her translucent skin, marking her as a Binder. For sixteen years, her life was preparing for the Trial with her demon, Khun. She had survived. This very moment was about her recent marriage to a stranger.

  Octavia hugged herself. Her father had orchestrated her marriage to Drusus Claudian perfectly. Drusus was much more than she expected as the third son of a prominent branch of the Claudian family. He was a magician in his own right, a powerful weather mage specializing in lightning. With him, Drusus brought prestige and wealth. If he found it socially awkward being married to a Binder, Octavia couldn’t tell. If anything, it seemed he defended his new wife too zealously. He allowed nothing to be said against her from those who were not magicians, even though Octavia reminded him they couldn’t help themselves. Even magicians picked up the Klaereon tie to the infernal and were uncomfortable.

  She laughed. Drusus was a good lover. He treated her like a china vase, so respectful, so considerate. Octavia was no vase, but all the books she’d read about being a good wife convinced her she should keep her darker desires to h
erself. There were other ways to see to those, which need not concern Drusus.

  Octavia hadn’t told him about Lucy’s Trial yet. Drusus seemed fond of Lucy, and Octavia was nervous about the upcoming conversation.

  “Mrs. Claudian.” Drusus enveloped her, his velvet-covered arms draping over her shoulders, embracing her in the secure cloak of love. He smelled musky and sweaty, and she nuzzled into him completely. “You are beautiful.”

  Octavia smiled. She had been complimented by men before. Beauty like spun sugar, like Venetian glass, she had heard the other day. Ethereal; best seen from a distance.

  Drusus was beautiful, too. Handsome, with olive skin, a strong nose, dark hair and eyes, and a frame which bespoke a Byronic hero. They would make beautiful children. Her father would be so proud. She was perfect, Caius Klaereon reminded her. The perfectly formed daughter to inherit Solomon’s Scroll from him when the time was right.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “Come back to bed.” His lips brushed her neck.

  “Not yet. It’s a beautiful city, isn’t it?”

  “Better than Firenze?”

  “No,” she said. “But beautiful.”

  “Come back to bed.” His kisses became more urgent, little heat spots on her neck. She closed her eyes, sinking into his magic.

  “We could make love out here,” she whispered.

  “We’ll leave the patio doors open.” He nibbled her ear and joy danced inside her. Drunk with the newness of him, she turned and held him tight. Drusus scooped her into his arms and they disappeared into their room, into the quiet shadows that watched Octavia with other eyes.

  The sky was an indifferent blue, pale with wispy clouds. Behind Octavia in a pavilion set up to protect her skin from the sun, Calpurnia Julii, Octavia’s mother, continued painstaking embroidery on a tapestry depicting the Trial of Erasmus. Calpurnia had not talked to her eldest daughter since Lucy had been moved from the nursery to a separate room, apart from Octavia.

  Octavia pulled grass from the manicured lawn, dirt coating her hands and digging under her fingernails. She didn’t care she would be in trouble for getting dirty. All she ever wore was black. Who would even see the dirt? Calpurnia would study her hands and be cross, but Octavia didn’t care.

  Khun padded up with a stick. He was a smart looking Westie, white, but dingy from digging in the garden. He dropped the stick playfully in front of her, bowing and barking.

  Throw the stick, he thought at her. Throw it!

  Octavia picked it up and lobbed it away. Khun shot forward, crouched and nibbled the wood, barking his delight. Then he pranced back toward her, tail counting his happiness in strokes like the metronome during Octavia’s harp lessons.

  Lucy, eight years old, played away from the pavilion, chattering to Ra in a childish singsong, building a faerie house from twigs, rocks, and leaves. Because of what had happened, Lucy was skittish around Octavia, and Octavia stayed away from her. Ra, perched in a tree, condescended a beady eye toward Octavia.

  You can’t do anything right, Ra said. I can only be yours if you kill her. Don’t you want my power?

  Octavia patted Khun, who yapped again and wiggled his tail, ready for the stick. Ra looked away, no doubt eyeing some delicious mouse. Lucy didn’t seem to notice Ra talking to Octavia at all. Binders could only hear their own demons. Why could Ra talk to Octavia?

  Lucy wasn’t growing right. Her head was a little larger than the rest of her body, her back a little crooked. If someone studied her long enough, they would see something wasn’t right in her proportion. Father called her malformed. Uncle Bartholomew, who was shorter than Octavia even though he was a grown man, treated Lucy with special care. She wasn’t so bad, compared to Uncle Bartholomew. Ra said she was shaped like Ptah or Bes.

  If something happened to Lucy, Ra promised Octavia he would take Khun’s place. Although she had begun the preparatory studies for her Trial, Octavia didn’t think Ra could do so. Binders and demons couldn’t trade partners. Ra insisted he could, and by becoming more powerful, Octavia would please her father. Besides, wouldn’t it be best to exterminate Lucy, who was certain to shame the family?

  Octavia had tried not to listen, but one night Ra was so insistent, she acted upon what he said.

  Octavia tossed the stick toward the house and Khun darted after it. He had been a faithful demon from the day Octavia was born and he’d shown up to claim her. She didn’t mind Khun following her, but she didn’t want anyone else watching her. She felt like even the sun was watching her. What she had done wasn’t all that bad. And even if it had been bad, it hadn’t been her fault. It had been Ra’s.

  Mistraldol, the Klaereon ancestral home, was built into the Hathersage peaks. The physical house was built on the rocky hill, and the metaphysical house was built into it and under. Father explained the pockets where Solomon’s Scroll was kept connected to the sacred temple of Erasmus and were guarded by her father’s demon, Neith. He said it had a physical existence and a spiritual one. Octavia, beginning to grasp the idea of multiple dimensions in magic, decided this meant the scroll was in two places at once.

  Octavia rounded the house’s base, reaching the stairs that circled the peak, and climbed to the garden. When she reached the garden, she crouched, patting Khun with congratulations as he once again offered her the chewed stick. She scooped him into her arms and kissed his head. He barked, tail thumping her with glee.

  Octavia planned to retreat to her room on the fourth floor, the one next to the classroom where she spent time every day pouring over Binder texts, hieroglyphs, and the histories of the magical families, under Madame Dantes’ watchful eye. Sometimes Ra would sit in the window and watch her study.

  Octavia circled the house, opened the front door, and found her father waiting for her in the entrance hall. Bright red and blue stained glass colored him, making him look like a demon himself.

  Caius Klaereon had a hawk-like nose and keen eyes. He seemed to sift through some thoughts as he studied his daughter, found the one he wanted, and wrapped an arm around Octavia’s shoulders. “I was looking for you.”

  Octavia placed Khun on the floor and they walked to Caius’ study. The dog padded beside them. “Did you ask your mother if you could come inside?” Caius asked.

  “No,” said Octavia. “Should I have?”

  “No. No harm done. We need to have a private conversation.”

  Octavia didn’t know exactly which harm he was referring to. Today’s harm, or what happened with Lucy.

  In the study, Khun settled back on his haunches, his small face inquisitive, head cocked to one side. Octavia glanced at the full bookshelves, the large desk, the quill waiting in its inkwell.

  Caius settled in a leather chair, which sighed as he became comfortable. “We need to talk about your future, Octavia. You are eleven now. Your Trial is only five years away. We also need to talk about what happened between you and Lucy.”

  Octavia never sat in her father’s presence. Her cheeks grew gray-blue as she flushed, and tears were hot in the corners of her eyes. “I didn’t mean to do it.”

  “These things are never our fault.”

  “It was Ra. He told me if I were to get rid of Lucy—”

  Caius raised a hand. “I’m not going to scold you. You know how powerful Ra is, and how powerful Lucy could become. I think what you attempted was well considered. I have decided how to help you proceed in this.”

  “I don’t understand.” Khun bumped Octavia’s leg. She reached down and scratched his ears.

  “Uncle Bartholomew and Lucy are alike. You do remember Uncle Bartholomew?”

  “Yes.” He had only been dead for a year, after all, and it wasn’t like she was a baby who forgot things.

  “You need to know the truth about Uncle Bartholomew. Even though his demon was more powerful than Neith, he wasn’t right before his Trial or after. When a Binder isn’t right, we have to be responsible for the family’s mistakes. We dishonor Erasmus’ contract
if we aren’t. I had to be responsible for Uncle Bartholomew.” Caius stared at Octavia. “You take my meaning. Accidents happen. Not usually at your age, but you do seem an exceptional child.”

  “I didn’t mean to do anything to Lucy. It was Ra’s idea.”

  “No, Octavia, it wasn’t. It was your idea. Ra is more powerful than Khun, so Lucy is most likely meant to have the Solomon Scroll after me, but she is malformed and cannot represent our family. You are perfect. I want you to be a more important Binder than your sister. I want you to be my heir.”

  Octavia put her hands over her ears. Caius grabbed Octavia’s wrists and lowered her hands. “Your mother does not think like we do. She will make sure Lucy is safe, so what you tried before you cannot try again. Try not to think too harshly of your mother. She is not a Klaereon, so she doesn’t understand how important our unblemished honor is. Lucy will not receive the same training as you will. Lucy will lose her Trial to Ra and you will do what is necessary regarding Lucy. Ra is powerful, but he is at his most vulnerable when he first possesses Lucy. You and Khun will be there to kill her.”

  The words stumbled from Octavia. “You want me to kill Lucy?”

  “There’s no other way. She will lose to Ra, and you will destroy her and send Ra back to the Abyss. All to keep Ra from wreaking his havoc. Lucy will not be the first Binder possessed by her demon. Then, of course, you will have Solomon’s Scroll after my death.

  “Now, as to your own Trial, I want it to be a spectacular victory. I want you to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt the Solomon Scroll belongs to you, that you are more powerful than your sister and can defeat Khun.”

  Octavia felt as though she had been slapped. “I don’t want to kill Lucy,” she said, her voice soft. “I could never kill her.”

  “Dear heart, of course you can. You already almost did.”

  Khun whined and buried his nose in his paws.

  “I don’t want to hurt her,” Octavia said. “I want to make Ra go away.” She wanted what Father was saying to go away, too.

  Caius stood and patted Octavia’s head. “Ra is no threat to you once Lucy is gone. You’ll see I’m right.”