The Vessel of Ra

Chapter 20: The Underworld

Carlo stumbled from the darkness onto a rock shelf on the side of a cliff face. The sky above him reflected bright red on clouds of sulfur. Below, he could see tiny figures and fires, the ground belching smoke and steam. Behind him was a recess into the rock, not quite a cave, but more than a depression. Dirty sweat dripped into his eyes. The Solomon Scroll and its case had made the journey with him. Octavia and Ra didn't have it for the moment, but they could come and get it. How much time did he have?

Now, this was what Carlo Borgia expected Hell to be like. Like Dante. As he looked down from the cliff shelf, he saw lakes of fire. He assumed it was fire, judging from the screaming souls in torment and the giant demons with horns. According to everything he'd ever read, this Hell fit the specifications. The Borgias could have come from here, he was certain. Or perhaps he was more certain this was where his family would end up.

He stared at the scroll case in his hand. How indestructible was he? His mother stabbed him with her shears and he healed.

Best not to think too much about his mother right now. Later, after he'd helped save the world from Ra and Octavia, he'd go back to Venice and have a quiet breakdown about his mother and his grandfather.

If Carlo decided to jump off the cliff and his bones broke into a thousand pieces, would he heal? He expected yes, but the experiment would take time he wasn't certain he had. There would be pain and disfigurement. Maybe he would rather climb down. Again an obstacle presented itself—the bone scroll case burned into his left hand. If he ripped the scroll case free, that would be pain of a different sort. He had to make a decision. There'd be no getting down from this ledge without a first step.

He glanced down the rock, pockmarked in shadow. He could climb down if he was slow and careful and waited for his hand to heal after he'd taken the bone case out. Judging from when he was stabbed, healing would be quick. Best leverage the case out of his hand while he was sitting down. Wouldn't want to fall off the ledge because of pain. Could he mutilate himself? The questions he was asking himself these days!

Below, the ground rumbled. Sweat crept into Carlo's eyes. He licked salt off his upper lip and a groan escaped him. In this most desolate of places, everything hit him squarely on the jaw. He dropped his hands and allowed himself the luxury of sobbing. His body shook.

When he was done, his situation had not changed. He sat up. He could slog on now a little more. He was no use to anyone if he stayed in despair.

Carlo let out a breath and studied his hands. Better to peel the case away, or rip it? He grabbed one end of the bone, smooth and warm, and levered it upward. His palm tingled with fire. No, he wasn't going to rip it off.

"Come on"—he mimicked Paolo's voice—"you're smart. You don't want to shame the family. Think your way around the problem." Carlo stared at his hand. "I'd tell you to go to Hell, Grandpa, but then I'd have to put up with you here." He opened the case.

Solomon's Scroll was a humble object given its reputation and all the fuss; thick paper rolled upon itself. When Carlo unfurled it, he recognized the writing as Hebrew, in a strong, firm hand. The ink was dark, not faded. Magical ink. A nauseous feeling in Carlo's stomach could have been caused by smelling brimstone, fire, and decay, but Carlo thought his demonic nature might not enjoy the Solomon Scroll. Too bad for him. He tucked the scroll into his cloak, the magic chafing his skin through layers of clothing, like an annoying bug bite he could not scratch.

Carlo studied the scroll case, an ancient artifact full of history and power. He should keep it safe, at the very least count it as a treasure, a token from his first magical battle. Or not.

He dashed his hand against the rocky cliff floor, the scroll case at a slight angle. It pried partially off his hand and he shouted―at least he thought he did. The bone case fragmented into tiny bits, flying about him, sparking as magic was released, the resulting explosion drowning out the screams of the damned. Carlo skidded across the rock floor as the magic discharged, slamming back into the recess. Damnation, that hurt. Rocks skidded in a rain to the ground below him. The bone case was still melded to his palm, but he could flex his fingers over the flat fragments left. Blood dripped from his hand and from where fragments sliced his face. Carlo's heart hammered. He slowed his breathing, closed his eyes, and focused beyond the pain. With his eyes closed and his ears numbed, he was in oblivion, which wasn't bad given his alternatives.