The Pawn of Isis, page 15
part #2 of Klaereon Scroll Series
"You are correct. How did you find me again?"
"As before. I trusted my instincts."
"You are one of the demons," Balthazar said. "Why would you wish to enter the Abyss?"
"I want to find Lucy's ba."
Balthazar folded a piece of the flat bread. "You may as well look for a particular pebble in this desert. Isis could not locate it. What makes you believe it is possible for you? You mortals have hubris indeed."
Carlo scooped some hummus onto a wedge of flat bread and nibbled, appreciating the smooth flavor of lemon and chickpeas. "You can't dislike me both ways. Human or demon. Pick one."
Balthazar sliced some goat meat off the spit with a curved knife and placed it on the flat bread. He licked his fingers and they hissed. "You should find yourself another woman. The Vessel of Ra is no longer meant for you. She is something else now." Balthazar turned the goat carcass. Drippings fell into the fire pit, the smell making the night air savory.
"I can see you know a great deal about women," said Carlo, "living alone in the desert like this."
Balthazar's voice menaced. "Have a care."
"Fine. I don't know your history, and you've lived a long time. My apologies." Carlo wiped his hands on his pants. "I tried moving forward, and it did not work. So I married her."
"You are a fool."
"Probably." Carlo rubbed his beard. "What do I need to do to get to the Abyss?"
"If you are determined," said Balthazar, "there is one way. If you spill Isis's blood, she will notice you." Balthazar drew a curved dagger and handed it to Carlo, the handle pointing toward him. "Make her notice."
Carlo held the curved knife. "I'm sorry to miss out on your goat," he said. "It smells great." Slicing his hand opened, he dripped blood into the fire. "I wish it didn't always have to be the palm of the hand for magic," said Carlo. "So many nerve endings in the palm of the hand."
The desert shattered like panes of glass, images of Balthazar and the fire flat and spinning, fading away, behind them the Temple of Thoth revealed, images of the Golden City. Two images of Thoth in his ibis form stood on either side of the square-arched entry. The warm glow from torchlight invited Carlo inside, but no one was at home. Thoth was with Marcellus.
His hand dripped blood on the dirt beneath his feet and Carlo wrapped his hand in his cloak. He enjoyed the soft chill of the night breeze. Stone buildings became satin smooth as the fake sky purpled, an illusion of denial. Outside the city and its illusion lay pits of fire arched by smoke and ash, a dark place of damned souls, of fallen angels, what Carlo thought of as Dante's Abyss. In the Golden City, flowers wafted gently, concealing the bleak banishment the Egyptians gods had faced for centuries.
She was waiting for him, a dark silhouette of a woman, hair beaded in long braids, which whispered when she moved her head. Her eyes caught the light from the temple and flashed, briefly. She walked toward Carlo, tall and regal, her steps casual and grounded. Isis, self-styled queen of the Egyptian gods. His ageless grandmother. "Good," she spoke. "I hoped we would have a chance to talk again."
"You knew I was coming?" Carlo asked.
"Blood calls."
"Can we talk somewhere? Privately?"
Isis came closer to him, her skin warm, glowing from within. Was that why he glowed when he transformed? "If you wish the illusion of privacy, we will return to my home." Isis walked ahead of Carlo, and two attendants appeared from the shadows, clearing the road in front of them, although Carlo noticed there was no need. People and gods automatically shifted out of Isis's way, some with reverence and respect, others demonstrating distaste. There were factions among the gods. Some of the gods must have supported Ra's plan to return the Egyptians to power on earth and rule over humanity. Isis too wanted out of the underworld, but Carlo only knew her desires were to hold and imprison Ra, which she had used Lucy to do. Isis was ruthless. The question for Carlo was if she could also be benevolent.
Isis's temple was more ostentatious than Thoth's, wings from the goddesses guarding her entry way extended, forming an arch over the top of the door. Her attendants disappeared once inside. Isis stood by a brazier of flickering flame. The air was heavily perfumed from a spicy wax globe melting near it. Isis used her hand to draw the scent to her nose and inhaled. "Why have you come?"
"There have been complications with Lucy. She is being influenced by Ra. Did you know this would happen?"
"Anything was possible. The Vessel of Ra is a potent sorceress, but no mortal is a match for the will of a god."
One of the priestesses returned. "Show him to the roof," Isis said. "If I am to be recriminated, at least I should be comfortable in the process."
Isis glided into the gloom of the temple. Carlo bit his tongue. Presentation was important to the gods, and he wanted her cooperation. He was led up the stairs and outside to the flat roof. Fake palm trees waved and rustled. First Carlo sat as he waited, then he fidgeted, sitting in a woven chair, standing again, grabbing a trinket and tossing it back and forth in his hands. The priestess stood by the chairs, waving a fan. Presentation was important, as was waiting. It was a power play. Well, Carlo was a Borgia. He came from a line of people who could wait. Besides, Isis would never be deprived of the opportunity to make an entrance. Both of his grandparents were vain, although Paolo Borgia did not have Isis's excuse of being a goddess.
Why couldn't Carlo have normal grandparents? People to take him boating, make him pasta, chuck him softly on the cheek when he was cute? An evil alchemist and an Egyptian god. Some luck of the draw.
Isis finally ascended to him, resplendent in a gold cloak of hammered metal scales. Her terra cotta skin lit the evening like a hooded torch.
"Can I get you a beer?" said Isis.
Carlo laughed. "That was not what I expected you to say. It is at odds with"—Carlo spread his hands toward the city—"all this."
"Our people brewed beer first. We like it."
"Not me. I can't stand beer."
Isis draped herself on a couch, allowing the voluminous cape to settle around her like rays of the sun. "You are no blood of mine." Another priestess stepped forward and handed Isis a ceramic cup. Isis sipped, glancing at Carlo over the rim of the cup like a cat. "Tell your grandmother all."
Carlo rubbed his mustache. "Lucy has emotions again. She thinks the emotions come from Ra, and we worry about her stability."
"I do not understand your interest. Her family guards her. You are not responsible for her, Carlo."
"I love her," said Carlo. "My family—you and grandfather—did this to her."
"She will be nothing but a burden to you, with no emotions of her own and a dangerous god inside her."
"Do you feel no responsibility at all?" said Carlo.
"If I had not intervened, she would be dead. She owed me a boon. What I do not understand is your interest."
"I have married her," said Carlo.
Isis sipped. "Unwise."
"You have to help her. Her situation is your fault."
"What would you have? Should she release Ra? You must bring her here," said Isis. "Where she can be watched and guided. That is the wisest for all involved, and in this way I can make the amends you desire. It was never my plan for the Vessel of Ra to leave us."
"You wish to exile her here? With all due respect, that is unacceptable."
Isis contemplated. "Because she is your wife, you feel she belongs to you? If you are selfish, you must live with the consequences. I cannot help you."
"Selfish? Me?" Carlo clenched his fists. "You used her to capture Ra so he would no longer be your rival."
Isis's voice cooled. "You mistake my original purpose. All I wished was to rectify the horrible crime of Ra ripping her asunder, but I could not find all the parts of Lucia's soul. The idea of containing Ra occurred to me when I felt she was suited for no other task. I gave her glorious purpose."
"You did this from altruism?" Carlo shook his head. "Your self-delusion is on a grand scale. Tell me you did not benefit from Ra's imprisonment more than anyone else."
"I? Certainly I did benefit, but more importantly, Lucia's sister did, and Lucia herself. Imagine if Ra had devoured Octavia Klaereon, then had moved on from host to host, wreaking havoc in your world until he achieved what he wanted, enslaving humanity, returning our pantheon to our glory." Isis's emphasis on the word glory told Carlo she meant the opposite. "Ra had to be stopped, and Lucia could do it. There was no choice for the protection of her family, of you, of your grandfather, of the numbers of humans Ra would have killed. It is regrettable, but my actions were calculated and strategic."
Carlo chewed his lower lip. "You think like a general."
"I think like a queen. You think like a lover. When Set killed my beloved, and I could not find his whole soul, I lost him to Duat, the Underworld. I weep for your pain, for I have felt it. Yet, you must understand. What you hope for cannot be. I would strongly suggest you bring her to us. To do otherwise is to flirt with disaster. You must sacrifice for the greater good, as I have done." Isis handed her empty cup to one of the handmaidens.
Carlo wasn't going to do that. He wasn't going to give up on who Lucy had been. "What if I can find her ba? Make her as she was? What if we could remove Ra, return him here?"
"Not to the Golden City. He would be banished to where Osiris rules, Duat."
"There's a difference?" asked Carlo.
"Duat is for the souls of the dead, even the gods, to be weighed and judged. If a god betrays the Binder it is allied with, that god is destined for Duat and judgment."
"Wait," said Carlo. "Ra could have been banished to Duat? All that Lucy has endured is for nothing?"
"Do not jump ahead of events. Ra has indeed betrayed Lucy, but neither Lucy nor Ra are truly free from each other until there is a Trial." Isis smiled, thin lipped. "The Binders destroy those of their number who become Demon Bound, and the offending god is banished to Duat, their soul judged accordingly, in essence destroyed by us, a failed pairing. You know a Trial cannot happen between Lucy and Ra, because their souls are severed. As matters stand, one is incomplete without the other. Lucia and Ra must co-exist.”
Isis flipped one of her braids. "Restoring Lucia's soul may help her control Ra, sway him more to her. Her character is strong. Regardless, I have had no success finding her ba in all the places I can look."
"Do you think"—Carlo nurtured the idea slowly, turning it over as it germinated inside of him—"the reason Lucy's ba cannot be found in the Abyss is because it is not in the Abyss? What if my grandfather—?"
"Paolo Borgia may have it?" Isis sat forward, her lip curled in distaste. "A distinct possibility. When was the last time you saw him?"
"The last time you did. I have no idea if he's responsible."
"If he is dead, you would be spared a great deal of grief. And if he is dead, he is in Duat, that decision made for him when he made his pact with me. He would have had his heart weighed and judged, and Osiris would know his secrets." Isis leaned back on the couch, studying Carlo with kohl-lined eyes. Her voice remained chilly, her eyes sharpened slightly. "You must ask Osiris. Promise me, Carlo. If you cannot find her ba, return her to us."
"I can't make that promise. How do I get to Osiris?"
"There is no other way besides dying." Isis's hand plunged into Carlo's chest. His world tunneled as he felt his bones wrench and his body blossom into throbbing pain. Isis held a round lump of flesh in her hands. His…heart? She wrung it of blood, and Carlo's body slithered to the ground.
Carlo screwed his eyes shut tighter, trying to shut out the pain of raw nerve endings, hot, white, fiery. He knew he was resilient, but he didn't believe he could heal from having his heart ripped out. Or…maybe…no, no, no! He opened his eyes, bit back pain, and studied the bleak sky above him. Damn it, damn it, damn it. Isis had killed him and sent him as a shade to Duat.
Honestly, what did you expect? Did you expect to come to Isis, find Lucy's ba under a chair, and all would be well? He was an idiot. Always treachery in his family. Both sides of his family were full of treachery and deceit.
The world around him was painted in shades of gray and darker gray. It was unfair. Being dead shouldn't be painful. Maybe he wasn't dead. Careful. It would not do to be hopeful. What did being dead look like, exactly? What did being a ghost look like to a ghost? He examined his hand, solid, not gossamer. He climbed to his feet, gingerly, carefully, trying to step around the pain and not succeeding, and examined himself. There was no symbolic hole in his chest where Isis had ripped him apart. Carlo rubbed his eyes. Focus. The question for the long term was indeed whether he could repair his heart. Was his body capable of healing itself to that extent? He hoped so; otherwise, this trip was useless. Lucy would become worse, he couldn't help Drusus or Octavia, and he'd committed suicide. Smart and strategic, that was Carlo Borgia. There was a remote chance Isis had something clever in mind, by sending him here.
His body was covered in thin, sticky tar. Now that he was focusing outside of himself, the smell of blood was overwhelming. Below him hard shelves of rock, metamorphic obsidian chipping itself into flat semi-circles underfoot, were coated in old blood. Very underworld. Carlo cast in his mind for any interesting reasons for this blood he could remember from reading Egyptian mythology. Nothing came to mind. His eyes carved a shape out of the uniform gloom: a square low building which sat alone, the only structure for miles, therefore his destination. His world was pain as he took his first steps.
An oblong shadow floated over his head. The sky in front of the oblong shape split in a mighty rip and coalesced into sinuous waves. Carlo jumped. It wasn't Nuit climbing down from the sky, but what he saw was equally terrible. A monster snake coiled around the boat. Carlo, mouth agape, watched the small crew of the flying ship engage the great fanged serpent. This he knew from reading. The boat of the sun sailing a perilous journey through Duat, fighting off Apep, the god of chaos, all so mankind would continue to exist and the sun would rise each morning, the myth playing out right before his very eyes.
The ground shook. A lion-headed goddess twice his size ran across the slick rocks and leaped into the sky, launching herself at the giant snake. Her hooked sword bit into the shadowy flesh and she sliced downward, hanging onto the blade as it dragged down the snake, opening a jagged gash, spraying blood into the air. It rained down on Carlo, and Carlo’s hands became glowing weapons. Sekhmet had drenched the blood of the earth in mankind after Ra had set her to the task. Now she was doing the same with Apep's blood.
The snake hissed and screamed, and the ground shook. Egyptians climbed onto the snake. The snake bucked and wound around the boat tightly, which groaned like it would shatter. Arrows volleyed into the air, some striking the gods, who continued to hack and slash at Apep.
The lion goddess landed in a crouch near Carlo, her fur coated in Apep's blood, her tongue licking her maw. She curled her lip, ran her tongue over blood-covered teeth. "I am Sekhmet," she announced, "the drinker of blood. You are trespassing, mortal. Ra has declared me your executioner."
"I'm not your enemy," said Carlo. Sekhmet was cured in the mythology, returned to her aspect as the goddess Hathor and yet, here she was as Sekhmet vindictive, blood thirsty, and intent on killing him.
"All humans must bow before us or perish."
"I'm not human," said Carlo. Not entirely.
"You are human," she said. "And you will die." Sekhmet roared forward. Carlo wouldn't go down without a fight, but he also knew he would go down. Blood rained from the sky.
Well, if Carlo really was dead, Sekhmet couldn't kill him again, could she? He hoped not. Carlo dodged to one side, crouched, and picked up a flake of brittle obsidian. He almost passed out, brown spots twinkling in his vision. Not much of a shield, but something. She swung again, and the obsidian cracked. The sharp edges were now something he could cut with. Muscles rippled under Sekhmet's fur. Where could Carlo do the most damage?
Sekhmet swung a massive arm and Carlo flew back, stunned, sliding over the slick rock. Carlo shook his head, clearing away the spots which danced on the edge of his consciousness. His chest hurt. Trying to stand was like clawing through pain. Get up. She's going to gut you. On your feet!
Sekhmet pounced, her sword swinging. Carlo closed his eyes, made himself small. A loud clang, and the blow never landed. As Carlo's vision cleared, he saw a jackal-headed god deflecting Sekhmet's sword with a hooked khopesh. Overhead, Apep shuddered and uncoiled itself from the boat of the sun. Apep plummeted as the boat moved forward. Mankind would survive another day.
"You must run," the jackal-headed god shouted. "Run for the temple of Osiris."
Carlo pushed himself up from the ground, slid on blood. Apep thudded on the ground, which rumbled like an earthquake. Carlo fell, but fought to his feet, back into his run, tasting blood and fear. The noise stopped. The snake and the two gods were gone. All he could hear was his own ragged breathing. Breathing? He wasn't dead?
Carlo laughed, hysteria, relief, amazement. Sekhmet hadn't killed him. Apep hadn't crushed him.
"Son of Isis."
His stomach flipped. Carlo turned, moved into a crouch and stared up at the jackal-headed god. His mouth was dry. "Anubis?" He hoped he had it right. Wepwawet was also canine, and traveled in the boat of the sun.
"I am Anubis." The god reached down a toned arm. "You are a child of Isis."
"Grandchild of Isis?"
"It is the same to us." The god crossed his arms in a way that reminded Carlo of Balthazar. "Someone must teach you to fight."
"You're right," said Carlo. He took Anubis's hand and let himself be pulled up. "Thank you for saving me."
"Hathor suffers from madness," said Anubis. "She is unable to contain the power of Ra. You were in no danger. No one dies here."
"Because it's redundant?"
Anubis made a scoffing noise which Carlo was surprised to hear come from his canine mouth. "We cannot die. You should consider this a temporary state."
"I think I can die," said Carlo. "I think Isis killed me."
