“It is a bit too late for that,” interrupted one of the leathery black creatures they must have brought back from Tartarus, slithering out of the box and shifting into a woman with icy hair and fire in her eyes…
“Where did you go?” Helena’s voice demanded, bringing Anubis back to the present.
Anubis blinked, his eyes settling on her human visage, wine-colored splotches where her dead flesh had been. “I was remembering when we first met,” he replied. “When I tried to take you to meet them.”
“Ah yes,” she murmured, thoughtfully, “in their Underworld. I’m surprised they found each other in this life.”
“Well, so did you and I,” Anubis pointed out, then quieted, that memory laced with its own pain that he did not feel up to revisiting.
“Well, Xevioso is still not convinced of their benevolence. But I believe it’s less a doubt of them than it is doubt of you. I don’t think he’ll ever forgive you after you took his place.”
“I did not ask for any of it,” Anubis pointed out gruffly. “He’s lucky I turned him when I did or he would have been long deceased by now.”
“Good evening,” a gentle voice interrupted them. Thomas’s long, narrow frame had appeared in the doorway to his office, his hands folded in front of his chest. “Do we know if they will be arriving shortly? Tonight, was the night they had planned to be here.”
“They are back on track, but I don’t think it will be tonight,” Helena informed him. “They lost one at the beginning and another not too long after.”
Thomas looked concerned. “Oh?”
Helena jumped off Anubis’s desk. “Just the human and the wolf. All the ancients are fine. I should probably be going.”
Thomas frowned. “Please don’t feel you need to leave on my account.”
“I better serve the cause when I’m traveling the astral plane and listening to the spirits. You two are better served by handling the rest. I will see you all soon enough.” And she was gone.
“She seems in a better mood today,” Thomas commented.
Anubis slid off his desk to retrieve several papers stacked on top of it. “These are to go straight to the French Ambassador.”
Thomas nodded as he examined them. “Absolutely. I will tell Age immediately.”
“Actually, I was hoping to send him away right when the others arrive tomorrow evening,” Anubis said. “I do not want to deal with his temper when he realizes I have brought a ship full of white vampires to our land.”
Thomas sighed. “That would probably be for the best.”
Anubis recalled his first meeting with Thomas, when he was the Egyptian god Thoth, who appeared one day in the Underworld, walking along the shores as if he’d always been there. Anubis had approached him cautiously, assuming he belonged to another crop of humans, come to make his home in the Underworld like the other gods before him. He was surprised to learn that the humans had created him as the god of science and magic, tasked with assisting Anubis in the judgment of the dead. He was grateful to have help, the vast entirety of the realm was growing larger than he could keep up with. Thoth quickly became an irreplaceable presence and a valued friend. As with Hel, he was grateful to have found him again in his Earthly life.
“Goodnight.” Thomas gave a bob of the head and bowed out of the temple door.
Anubis tucked the rest of his papers into his desk, and locked the drawer. He let out a deep exhale, wondering why Helena had left so abruptly. Usually when she was in the mood to drink, she was in the mood for other things. Theirs was a complicated enough relationship that he had learned long ago not to question nor try to predict what she wanted. After everything that had happened, he was just glad she’d found a way to still be near him.
He exited the temple to greet a night reverberating with choruses of insects. Though the sun had long abandoned the sky, the breeze was still warm, just the way he preferred it. They were entering the dry season, but he could taste humidity in the air, as if Earth decided to give them one more rainfall before covering them with dust. He knew the late hour kept the humans of the village away, offering him a cherished reprieve; he decided to walk down to the shoreline before he headed home, hoping to see the storm roll in from the distance.
Mama Mawu appeared next to him, keeping time with his footsteps, though hers did not appear in the sand.
“Hello,” he greeted her. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“You will be meeting your real mother soon,” she reminded him, peering up with her wise brown eyes set in a face full of wrinkles, “perhaps I am feeling a bit nostalgic.”
Anubis nodded, finding her sentiment reflected his own state.
“Do you remember the day we watched the French roll in, all those years ago?” she asked.
“How could I forget?” he said softly, the vision of ships rolling along the jade-colored sky as clear in his mind as if it was yesterday. He realized what she was doing. Though his physical self found a cluster of stones to stretch his body out on, she was taking him back there, when the place they were standing on was called the Huada Kingdom, one hundred and fifty years ago. HUADA KINGDOM, 1726
Anubis stood on the shores, his bare feet sinking into the sand, watching the ships boasting the colors of the French Company drift in with the waves. Each time the white men came, it gave him a new sense of dread, wondering how many African people would be sold to them this time. Today brought a stronger sense of foreboding, for he knew King Haffon had made arrangements for a group of Frenchman to settle in Savi, near his palace compound, in the hopes of improving relations between them while increasing productivity. The very thought of it made his blood boil, but he was forced to be patient, keeping his fury contained. Since his initiation as the upcoming High Priest, he was forced into the role of spiritual advisor to the king. It was a position he gravely detested, having to pretend he didn’t mind the constant battles created to capture more prisoners and forced to turn a blind eye when he sold his own wives if their numbers were low.
“Let him win his wars and collect his slaves,” Xevi had told him one day when he discovered him angrily pacing about their compound. He was the great-grandson of the High Priest who Mama Mawu replaced, later revealed to be Xevioso, the reincarnated god of thunder. He was up next to be High Priest himself before Anubis came in and took the role, and he never quite forgot about it. They were forced to share a convent and, despite any misgivings, they were expected to remain harmonious, working alongside each other until the day Anubis would take over. “It is better that he sells captives than take more of our people,” he said.
“They are all human beings,” Anubis shot back.
“Your job is to heal, comfort, and serve your people. You are their future High Priest. You cannot let your anger turn you away from your true calling.”
Anubis had scowled, trying not to let the underlying animosity between them distract him from Xevi’s words, for he knew, deep down, he was right. Yet he struggled to remain passive, a constant war inside him as each day passed. He could feel his restlessness beginning to reach its breaking point, which was usually the time when his mentor stepped in to talk him out of any action.
Mama Mawu was not only the Queen Mother of their village, but his adopted mother; she took him in after his own mother died from a snake bite. She had taken one look into his unusual sky-blue eyes and called a meeting of Elders, proclaiming him to be Anubis reincarnated, the god who came to save their people, as was told to her in a dream. She was met with plenty of resistance, particularly from Xevi’s grandpa Papa Ode and a few female priestesses who had hoped their next elder would also be female. But Mama put her foot down, reminding them with her intense black eyes who she was and what she was capable of.
Although he had only been six years old at the time, he remembered the ceremony before his initiation, could remember the feel of his little heart hammering against his ribs and the worry that the congregation would be able to see it beating through his scrawny chest. He recalled the temple filled with bodies huddled alongside the walls watching him enter, shadowy figures amongst the animal lard candles and gruesome talismans. He could still see Papa’s tall, barrel-chested figure in the far back, positioned directly in front of a shrine crowded with blood-stained statues and bones, one for each of the gods and their ancestors, the white of his eyes glowing against his leathery skin. He could still smell the freshly slaughtered animal offal and herbs, the stench of chicken blood as Mama sprinkled it on him, could hear the drums and voices as she cried out, “It is him! Our ancestors have spoken!” and the sounds of the room erupting into joyful dance.
“You still remember your initiation so clearly?” a low voice asked him.
He looked down to see Mama had joined him, right on cue, the tiny hair that managed to peek out of her bright head wrap now silver, laugh lines creasing her eyes. “I’ve asked you not to read my thoughts,” he reminded her, not unpleasantly.
The wise woman smiled. “I know, but sometimes I can’t help myself. You might be the future High Priest, but you are still my son.”
Anubis watched the ocean push the boats closer. “Of course, I remember.”
“I was met with such resistance then. They told me you were far too young to go through with the initiation. Papa wanted to have me removed from my position. But you died and were reborn, stronger than ever before.”
