The Vessel of Ra

by Catherine Schaff-Stump

  “Please, Drusus, run.”

  Ra screeched. Octavia’s hand twisted into Ra’s talon. She sliced toward Drusus.

  “Ra! You… do… not… control… me!” By the time she slammed her hand into Drusus’ chest, it was her hand again.

  Why fight me, Octavia? We want the same things.

  “Drusus belongs to me. He’s mine. I won’t let you…” Her stomach chilled. “Drusus,” she said. “You have to go. I might… I will… he wants me to kill you.”

  “Can you fight him?”

  “I can’t.” She laughed, and it echoed off the walls of Mistraldol. “I wanted him! I wanted this! It’s too late for me.”

  “I won’t leave you like this.”

  Kill him. He is weak. He will make you weak.

  “I’m going to get the scroll and use it to call the gods to me. My destiny. Unless you can find a way to stop me. Can you?”

  “Yes.” He said it without hesitation.

  “Do it.”

  “I promise you I will.”

  Her mind snapped. She couldn’t have him hunting her down. Ra spoke through her. Not if you’re dead.

  “I’m sorry,” said Drusus. He raised his hands. Electricity pulsed through him to the clear sky. Lightning struck her, cracking the ground.

  Was it over? She wanted to die. She wanted peace. She wanted to find Lucy and tell her they could be sisters now. There was a silent moment, the space blank, the shadows and the lights gone, a place of balance. She held her breath for five seconds of relief.

  Then pain reversed, diminished. Inside of her, Ra soared, drunk with the energy of the sun. Drusus’ magic fed his, creating the king of the Egyptian gods anew. She burned with Ra’s power and she was yanked back. Her hesitation was weakness. Ra would cure her of weakness. She would no longer doubt Ra.

  You see? You can only trust me.

  “Yes.” Octavia’s smile was crooked. Drusus had tried to kill her. If Ra hadn’t been inside her, he would have been successful. Ra would never give Drusus another chance to get so close. “You failed to kill me. You are no consequence.” She called shadows to her, squelching Ra’s light as they crept toward her. She sent them onto Drusus, smothering him, pulling him down into the darkness. Let the shadows take him away from this danger, from this sorry place.

  Octavia glared at Caius. “You have nothing I want, Father, but your life.”

  Caius pressed into the wall. “You want the scroll, my dear girl. It is your birthright. You’re my worthy successor.”

  We don’t need him. Let me scratch out his eyes. Let me rip out his tongue.

  Caius shielded himself with his hands. “I know you have regrets about Lucy. Try not to. Ra is your true destiny. I know he wants to be rid of me, but if you let me live, I can show you secrets, ways to use the scroll you haven’t dreamed of, ways not even Ra knows. What do you say?” Caius’ smile was uncertain, but his eyes sparkled with possibility. “Will you let me teach you?”

  Octavia placed her hand on Caius’ chest. Her father’s heart drummed underneath his rib cage. “I have learned more than I ever wanted from you. Your lessons have brought me to this path. I am grateful for your lessons, but I think you have no more to teach me. Ra?”

  The god Ra cried in triumph, his screech echoing into the air. Octavia’s claws carved a ragged circle into Caius’ chest. Blood surged from his mouth. His ribs cracked. Ra wanted her to eat his heart, but Octavia squeezed it with her taloned hands.

  The tears evaporated on her face. She wasn’t certain why she was crying. Walking around the house, she found the front door locked. She walked through without opening it.

  “Where are we?” Carlo asked.

  Balthazar sucked in air as he pulled an arrow from his thigh. “This is where Caius keeps the scroll.”

  Carlo’s eyes couldn’t take everything in. The cavern walls shot up, disappearing into shadow, a dark cathedral. The stone vibrated with living darkness and when it was revealed, Carlo could see the walls were threaded with lines of quartz, greens, reds, and golds, glittering like a hidden treasure trove. Shadows on ledges and crevices whispered to him, sighings he couldn’t comprehend. Figures moved in the shadows, miniature like animals and dolls. The whispers invited him to come to them. Part of Carlo wanted to go.

  After Carlo’s eyes acclimated to the shimmer, he found the room’s main focus. An ivory pedestal upon a glittering rock dais dominated the center of the chamber. A filigreed scroll case sat on the pedestal’s top. The Solomon Scroll? The Klaereon who guarded it would prefer this ostentation.

  Balthazar swore as he pulled out another arrow. Carlo assumed it was swearing, more from the tone than understanding the words. This arrow wriggled and fell to the floor in a puddle. Carlo winced as the efrit bled. His broad back was a pin cushion. “Can I help with anything?”

  “I will heal once I remove these, although the damage from this demonic magic will last longer than usual.” Balthazar grabbed another arrow and yanked. “Neith will arrive in a heartbeat and we will continue our battle. Am I right in assuming you will steal the scroll?” He gestured to the pedestal.

  Carlo nodded once. “I don’t like Octavia’s father having it, regardless of what your contract says. Octavia won’t do any good with it either. I’m going to take it and hide it.”

  The wounds in Balthazar’s leg oozed. “Neith is coming. Keep her from noticing your theft, else I will cease to be her primary target. I doubt you could survive even one of her arrows.”

  “I’m not willing to test your hypothesis. I’ll be careful.” Carlo spun around to get a better look. It was impossible to get the measure of the chamber. “How did they get this under the house?”

  “Magic allows for many mysteries. Mistraldol was inherited. Legend says the Klaereons conjured the extra rooms from the dark dimensions and they merged the two.” Balthazar gestured, arms wide.

  Carlo raced to the pedestal. “This is it?”

  “Indeed.”

  “This is too easy.”

  “Easy, you say? You have seen the protector. If you had walked in here at any other time, you would have been greeted by a volley of missiles. Now do your work.”

  Solomon’s Scroll was in a white bone case decorated with inlaid lines of mother of pearl. A silver energy ball sparkled around it when Carlo reached out to touch. How could he dispel the magic? Would it hurt him?

  Neith winked into existence. She pulled another arrow from her quiver. “You have sealed your doom, Balthazar. You should have returned to Erasmus’ Temple. I wish you had. I have no wish to kill you.”

  Balthazar shook his hands and fire filled his palms. “If you have no wish to kill me, put down your bow.”

  “I cannot. My master has set me against you.”

  Balthazar snorted. “Your master. You know Caius Klaereon is a corrupt man.”

  Neith studied him down the straight shaft. “It is not my place to question him. I try to guide him as best I can. When he defeated me, he became the master. What he orders I must do. How intelligent of your god, that someone like myself must carry out his orders.”

  “I know your honor and I am sorry for your fate. The One God is mysterious.”

  Neith’s arrow followed Balthazar as he circled. “This One God is an illusion.”

  “You are bitter because your kind was bested.” Balthazar moved forward, grabbed her bow, and passed her.

  Neith pulled another arrow out and plunged it between his shoulder blades. “Even if I hadn’t been ordered to kill you, I would be tempted to, to spare the world your myopia.”

  Carlo darted from the space under the dais. Balthazar bellowed behind him. Neith hit the floor, twisted away from Balthazar, and climbed to her feet. The shadows whispered, but Neith didn’t seem to care.

  Carlo flattened himself against the pedestal as much as he could and groped a hand toward the case, the magical energy surrounding it prickling. After all this was over, if he survived, he would lock himself in his grandfather’s libr
ary in Venice and wouldn’t come out until he had mastered every spell in the place. He was sick of this, of having no footing in the arcane world.

  Carlo took a deep breath and plunged his hand into the silvery sphere. His skin blistered. “Santa Maria!” He wrapped his hands around the scroll. The case burned into his skin as the sphere dissolved. Carlo gawked at the empty stand in disbelief, at the scroll and his still-smoldering skin. The pain in his hand made him want to cut it off.

  Neith hesitated, and Balthazar slapped her across the jaw. She staggered to the ground. Darkness opened underneath her.

  “He’s gone,” she said. “Your god help you, creature. Octavia has killed my master.” Neith gazed at Balthazar. “I am no longer Bound here. Octavia is no Binder. We are forever in the darkness.” Neith sank into the darkness. “No!” she shouted. “No! I don’t want to go back!” She looked over Balthazar’s shoulder. “Ra! Great king!” she yelled. “Save me!”

  Carlo bit his lip.

  The dais sparkled as intense light hit the quartz. Carlo felt heat on his back.

  Golden Octavia stared at him. “Demon boy,” she said. “The scroll belongs to me.”

  Octavia and Ra strode through the hallways of Mistraldol. Shadows parted before them, scattered to the ceiling, to the corners, floating in the hall like curtains. The voices in her head mocked her. Traitor. Patricide. Whore. Ra could not shut them out. She continued into the picture gallery, the albino portraits of the blue-veined Klaereons posing with their familiars: Leto with her parrot; Cyril Klaereon, a green snake wrapped around his wrist; Gaius Klarion, gazing into a mirror, the demonic image of Bes looking back at him. There were other paintings: spouses from other magical families and the lucky Klaereons, the ones who did not receive a visit from a familiar at birth, those who were spared the Trial and Erasmus’ morality play.

  Erasmus himself was not present as a portrait, but rather across from the wall of sorcerers was a mural depicting Erasmus’ Trial: the goddess Nuit climbing from the sky to confront him and find him worthy, the efrit servant who first fought, then defended Erasmus. Octavia stopped at the mural and touched the wall. A section opened and a stone hallway, rustling with scurrying shadows, led deep into nowhere. From down the stone passageway Octavia could hear bellows and anger and begging. No doubt it was Neith because she had no host to Bind her.

  The scroll belongs to me. To us. Ra fluttered in her heart and mind, seething with anticipation.

  Octavia emerged from a portal in the ceiling and flew to the glittering floor. Balthazar, glistening with heat and sweat, skewered with so many shadow arrows they could have been quills, watched Neith as the the Abyss swallowed her. Octavia tasted fear, metallic tin, and her heart pounded. She landed and made Ra’s wings into her arms again right behind Carlo, who was holding the scroll case. It should have been impossible. Seared flesh hit her nose, pungent and unnatural. She salivated. Ra was hungry.

  “Demon boy,” Octavia said. “What you have belongs to me.”

  To his credit, the demon boy did not jump. He turned his head as though afraid. Rightly so.

  “I have had enough of this day,” she said. “Give the scroll to me and I will let you live.”

  Carlo shook his head. “You will not understand now, but I assure you, you will thank me later.”

  “This is your last chance.” Octavia’s bones bent. Ra burrowed through her chest as she fell to the ground. Ra’s golden talons flashed, the light causing the crystals in the cavern to wink. He flew toward Balthazar, who turned from the disappearing blackness and caught his talons, pulling him from the air and slamming him to the ground. Balthazar wrenched a fragile wing, and it broke. Octavia cried out. Ra took to the air with his good wing, scratching. One claw raked Balthazar’s left eye. She didn’t have much time before he came back and her mind was less clear.

  Carlo hesitated, glancing between the scroll and Balthazar.

  “You can’t help him,” said Octavia. She tried to stand, but slipped in the sticky light leaking out of her onto the floor.

  Carlo could see through the hole in her chest. “Are you… are you going to die?”

  “He’s not through with me, and I’m not through with him. You must go.”

  “Go?” Carlo glanced from crevice to crystal to shadow. “Go where?”

  “Where you belong,” said Octavia. She pointed to the shadows. “They’re waiting for you.” Black tendrils shot out and wrapped around his ankles, pulling him in.

  “No!” Carlo tried to grab the pedestal, the ground, anything. He moved toward the corner.

  “Stop!” Octavia whispered. “Listen to them.”

  Carlo slid into the darkness, millions of dark points smothering his body.

  Balthazar’s laughter echoed to the top of the chamber. He released Ra. The demon dragged his wing, limping toward Octavia. Ra burrowed back into her, and Octavia screamed.

  Balthazar’s laughter died. “You have made mistakes, Ra. I leave you to contemplate them. You killed the only Binder with a true tie to a demon when you killed Caius Klaereon. You are left with nothing.

  “Octavia Klaereon, do you hear me? I can do nothing for you. You know this. You feel your life fading?”

  She did. She huddled on the stone floor. Ra’s rage gave her tremors.

  “If only you had Bound Khun… I wish your soul peace, Octavia Klaereon.” A clap of red thunder, and Balthazar was gone.

  You have lost the scroll. Ra’s anger was red in her mind.

  “It’s not yours,” said Octavia, her teeth chattering. So much pain. “You heard him.”

  I am the king of Egypt. I can command my people. If there is a problem, it is you.

  “What have I done?” said Octavia. “What have you done?” She clutched at her clothes, at her body, as if she could find Ra and extract him like a splinter. “Get out! God save me! I want Drusus! I want my sister!”

  A great weight pressed her down to the ground. Her hands trembled as she brought them forward, an obeisance to the great king.

  Your hysterics disgust me. You will do as I say. You live at my mercy. Mine! Your life is fading, but if you cooperate, I can save you. Now, this can be pleasant for you or I can force you every step.

  She could feel it, how he was eating her essence.

  It’s much easier when you cooperate. What has changed? Don’t you want the power I have for you? You have been leashed by a demon all your life. Why should our arrangement be any different? At least as a master, I will be less perverse than your previous one. Now, say what I want to hear.

  Octavia’s head felt the cool stone floor. “What do you require from me, Great King?”

  I require you to obey me in all things. We will find the scroll and I will use it through you.”

  “Balthazar said we cannot.”

  Heat exploded through her body, and she writhed. He burned her for what seemed an eternity. Could Lucy have withstood this? Could Lucy have controlled Ra?

  You will find a way or I will destroy you before I go to a new host.

  Octavia lay on the ground for a long time. She knew she was lost. Her family was gone, and this house, her birthright, she would never see again. Ra would pursue the scroll and there was nothing she could do to fight back.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Since Lucy had been reassembled, she did not need to sleep. Her new body never tired. When she tried to sleep, she drifted in and out, memories flooding her, her past life seen through the new lens of no emotion. This gave her the chance to remember things in excruciating detail as she examined the scenes her mind revisited. Her father had always criticized her. Up until now, she always thought her deficiencies were with herself, and she never watched the way he looked at her with disgust. She had been certain she was malformed and weak, but Caius Klaereon lied to her. When Drusus suggested Lucy was worthwhile and she didn’t have to die in her Trial, she had believed he was wrong. Drusus had seen the truth.

  Hugging herself, she paced across the floor. Her c
hamber held a bed, a reed mattress supported by a decorated frame, which was painted with Lucy capturing Ra. It was Lucy’s victory foretold for show, she knew, and perhaps encouragement. Several wooden chairs decorated with gems and gold leaf, and a single lamp flame burning in the constant gloom comprised the rest of the furnishings.

  Blood came through the skin of her hands in droplets as Lucy focused on the magic inside of her. She willed the blood into hard crystal. Her red magic was a globe in her hands. She knew she was unusual. When you were visited by a demon familiar at birth, regardless of your parents, you were gifted with Binder magic at the expense of all other magic. Lucy was a powerful magician, Isis said. Had the Julii magic of her mother’s family manifested because Caius had not allowed her to learn Klaereon magic?

  Lucy liquefied the crystal and absorbed the blood back into her hands. The past was another life. In this life, she had to concern herself with Octavia and Ra. They were Lucy’s responsibility. She studied the intricate floor, counting the small tiles.

  There were dates and water on the table by the lamp. Lucy never had much appetite, and since she’d died, she had less. She drank the water in two huge gulps, then left the room in her feathered cloak. Her woven sandals shuffled in the hallway. Two servants bowed as she passed. Lucy nodded, but they did not look up. She found what she was looking for—dusty stairs leading to the roof.

  Lucy stared into the distance of the Egyptian city, low buildings made of mud and stone, palm trees, and a river winding through green banks into the distance of a starry night, its water silver as it reflected the moon. The city was not dark. It almost seemed as though the horizon was backlit by light. Then Lucy noticed: the city had an illusion of depth, like a painting. She was standing on a stage, a small huddle of buildings in front of a painted Egyptian landscape. What lay beyond the picture was a mystery.

  She could see the city for the fake it was. The air smelled hot, like heated stone, like a giant fire. The perfumes in the air disguised it, but in the background, Lucy could smell brimstone. She closed her eyes. There. The city exuded the same magic she felt from Isis and Thoth, but there was a sharp line where the Golden City stopped and what was out there began. A magic barrier, which made the city its own place for Egyptian gods in exile. There must be places with true shadows and demons, the lesser shadows Binders used to make their magic. Fallen angels, the place of lost souls. This deposed pantheon pretended the shadows didn’t exist. They were living the best lie they could under the circumstances.